Kore's Field Read online

  It was then, at that very moment, that I made my fatal mistake. I didn’t understand it at the time, but many years later I overheard a conversation between two courtiers that shone light on my error. They were talking about the challenges of deer hunting, and one of them remarked, “What deer don’t realize is that they have the advantage. They think that just because they don’t have fangs or claws, their only defense is to run. But they’re wrong. The deer that lives the longest isn’t the fastest one—it’s the deer who knows when to run and, more importantly, knows when to keep still.”

  To this day, I wonder what would have happened if I had kept still. Perhaps I would have blended seamlessly with the broken Myrillans surrounding me, indistinguishable from the young mother beside me clutching her baby. Indeed, every person’s attention was fixed on the horrific spectacle up on the dais, and I was no exception. But when the king’s gaze passed over mine, I turned my face away ever so slightly, afraid he would recognize me.

  In an instant his rage had vanished, replaced with glee. I heard the servant whimper as the king released him, and the air relaxed considerably. Up on the dais, towering over every Myrillan subject, the king took a step forward and held out his hand.

  “I see my long-lost niece has finally arrived,” he said, beaming at me. “How good of you to join us at last, Princess Alyce.”

  Chapter 2

  Shocked silence rippled through the throne room, immediately followed by an outbreak of whispers. The sound of my name being hissed over and over—“Princess Alyce, Princess Alyce”—breezed through the Myrillan crowd, while the enemy soldiers only glanced at each other in confusion. Amidst the whispers I heard a woman remark, as clear as a chime, “By the gods, all these years I thought she was dead.”

  I considered staying put; surrounded by my countrymen I felt a camaraderie I’d never known before. But when the king was in one of his rages I knew it was better to quietly comply. Keeping my eyes down, I smoothed the front of my dress with shaking hands and walked to the dais. The soldiers parted before me without a word, momentarily forgetting their spears and arrows. I stopped before the king, who took my chin in his meaty hand and lifted it, forcing my gaze to meet his. He smiled to himself, as though savoring a private joke.

  “You’ll want to get cleaned up, niece, before our honored guest arrives. Take her to the chamber and find something decent for her to wear,” he said to the handful of servants cowering behind him. “The queen will go with you to ensure our dear princess looks her very best.”

  The servants bowed and my aunt took my arm. Her fingers dug into my skin; I could feel their chilliness even through my sleeve. Cold and silent, she had terrified me more than the king on the few occasions our paths crossed. With iron-like strength she pulled me toward the chamber door. I had no choice but to follow her, though her wooden feet halted when a trumpet blast sounded from outside the throne room. All heads turned toward the doors, which swung open with a bright bang. A man with yellow hair and beard swaggered into the hall, not bothering to conceal his delight.

  “Kneel for Prince Admetus, conqueror and savior.”

  Most of the Myrillans did as he ordered, and those who didn’t were forced to their knees by the soldiers. The servants around us dropped down obediently and only those left of the royal court—the king, the queen, and I—remained standing on the dais. I watched the influx of soldiers, fascinated and horrified. I had heard of Prince Admetus, son of the Itomian king, only through rumor. Vicious and cunning, he craved a kingdom of his own. A privilege that, as a second son, he would likely never enjoy except by taking it with force.

  You may have heard the rumor that the prince blazed into the throne room riding a chariot pulled by a lion and a wild boar. As fantastic as this sounds, it is not correct. The prince entered the throne room on foot, flanked by standard-bearers and leading a sea of soldiers. My skin prickled at their sheer number. For the first time in my life I understood the true meaning of terror. With their bloodstained armor and swords and spears clutched in their hands they looked capable of any measure of violence. They might kill us in our own castle, or parade us naked through the streets like slaves. Whatever the prince desired. We were utterly powerless against one man’s whims.

  The prince approached the throne without invitation, grinning like a boy who’s just won a very clever game. The sweat of battle glittered on his golden forehead and his eyes crinkled with amusement. He was handsome, but in a bland way. Most princes are. The only fault in his perfect face lay in his nose. It swung slightly to the left, as though it had once been broken and not healed properly.

  My uncle held out his hands in a gesture of welcome. He looked more the gracious host than ever. “Welcome to Myrilla, Prince Admetus,” he said. “I hope you find my fair kingdom to your liking.”

  “I like it very much,” the prince replied, in his strange dialect. Soldiers continued to pour into the throne room behind him, filling every crevice. My eyes darted over the colorful standards, each marking a different noble in service to Itomius. Among the lions and boars I saw goats and sheep stitched into colorful flags.

  My uncle clapped his hands for more wine. The same servant who’d barely escaped with his life presented a flagon and two new crystal cups, which he filled.

  “Here are my terms, Prince,” said the king, gesturing for the prince to take a cup. “I am not the fool you think I am. I know how valuable my kingdom is, and I know your father won’t supply you with enough soldiers to secure it. When my people hear of their new sovereign, a rebellion will rise faster than your armies can fly. Keep me here as king and I will pay Itomius such tribute that even your slaves will eat like royalty. Our finest harvests will be reserved for you. Our loyalty will be challenged by none. Kore will bestow you with such blessings that you could never imagine, if only you leave me as regent.”

  I kept my face carefully blank lest any scorn show. Only my uncle would be so foolhardy as to make such an offer. The outrageous generosity underscored his fear at being turned out of his own castle. Myrilla’s fields were so poorly tended they could scarcely feed their own people, much less pay tribute to a larger kingdom. And to speak of Kore in such a presumptuous manner was enough to earn a curse from the gods upon our entire house. I had seen many suffer after uttering far less inflammatory statements concerning the gods. Kore will not be used for any man’s personal gain. Not even a king’s.

  I was fuming silently over the king’s plan when his thunderous voice filled the throne room again: “And you may have my niece, the Princess Alyce, as your wife.”

  Every face—including mine—turned to my uncle. I took an involuntary step backwards, hoping somehow I could vanish from his proposal. But my aunt, mistaking my alarm for an attempt at flight, tightened her grip on my arm and stood me before the prince.

  The yellow-bearded man joined the prince at the front of the dais and ran his eyes over me. Apparently very unimpressed, his mouth twisted into a smirk. “This is a servant,” he spat. “Do you truly expect us to believe she’s royalty? I’ve seen cattle-hands’ daughters who look more like a princess than this girl.”

  A few of the soldiers snickered appreciatively and my cheeks colored with shame. I felt the prince watching me with the same scrutiny, taking in my muddy dress and tangled hair. For a split second I saw myself as he must have: a powerless nobody with dirt and blood splattered on her face, hardly worth calling a princess. Then, from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the blind old man kneeling on the hard floor and my self-pity evaporated into rage. This was my kingdom and these were my people. I’d failed to escape, but I’d fought for my freedom that morning and had nearly won it. I was mere steps away from starting my journey as Myrilla’s rightful queen when this idiotic prince’s soldiers had quenched my hope, and now he dared to let his comrade mock me. If my mouth weren’t so dry I’d have spat in his face.

  “Look at her eyes,” said my uncle, reveling in his new role of matchmaker. “As grey as the Great Sea.
Hair darker and softer than freshly turned soil. Her royal blood can be traced all the way back to the gods themselves. Let Myrilla’s princess be the vessel for a new generation of Itomian princes.”

  Humiliation made me blush once more. No uncle should speak so crudely of his niece. I waited for the prince to protest, to say he had some heathen wife or lover waiting for him at home, or that his gods forbade marriage to any foreign princess. Instead, he fixed his gaze on my uncle and lifted his chin in triumph. “Your boasting is in vain, Falwyn,” he said. “You may bluster all you like of your people’s loyalty, but your gods delivered Myrilla into my hands. Half your soldiers laid down their arms and joined our ranks. Your Kore has already blessed me beyond measure; she started when she turned her face from you.”

  My uncle said nothing to this. My aunt gripped my arm tighter and pushed me slightly closer to the prince, using me as a shield against the prince’s harsh words. Harsh, and true. A chill ran down my spine when I thought about Kore’s temple on the hill, cold and empty. The last priest knew this would happen; he had tried to warn the king, but because of my uncle’s stubbornness we all now paid the price. If the prince and the priest were right, if Kore had truly removed his favor from my uncle, then I was his final lot to play. He lost no time in assuring the prince of my greatest asset as a princess.

  “She’s clean,” my uncle said desperately. “A virgin. I swear it on her life. Have your physicians examine her—”

  “Enough.” The prince held up his hand. “My men are weary from battle and I have no interest in your petty arguments. Here are my terms: I will be crowned King of Myrilla. All soldiers and citizens who swear loyalty to me will be permitted to stay. Those who refuse may peaceably leave and settle elsewhere. Each departing family will receive a gift of grain and wine to sustain them during their travel, provided from the royal storehouses.”

  “And what of my fate, Prince?”

  The prince narrowed his eyes in disgust. “You’ll have your life. For the moment, you and your family may stay in the castle. Once I am crowned other arrangements will be made.”

  My uncle smiled tightly. “I am sure the gods will bless you for your generosity,” he said, in a voice that meant just the opposite.

  The prince smiled back. “Just as I am sure they won’t spare you for hiding behind your niece.” His soldiers smirked and he studied me with what I took to be a mixture of contempt and pity. I met his gaze with tremulous resolve. He had defeated my uncle, but I would not be conquered so easily.

  “One of your terms, however, I will accept,” he said, his eyes locked on mine. “I will have your niece. Princess Alyce will be my wife.”

  Chapter 3

  Looking back on it now, the moment those words left the prince’s mouth was the moment my aunt and uncle lost their power over me. Of course, I didn’t realize it at the time. Living in such fear and isolation is not easily undone, even under the most ideal circumstances. For me, being handed over to a foreign prince I’d never met while my kingdom lay in shambles from war…I felt as though I’d passed from one imprisonment to another.

  The prince’s first act was to take possession of the king’s bedchamber. My aunt and uncle were bustled out of sight while the prince ordered all their things to be carried into one of the lesser bedrooms and deposited there. I could easily picture my uncle fuming and growing increasingly red in the face as their fine golden sculptures and other trinkets were piled haphazardly and shunted into corners. Not that very much finery remained—of the little treasure owned by Myrilla, most had been sold to finance my uncle’s military campaigns.

  While the prince settled into his new quarters, I took my place in the chamber next to his. It was the second best in the whole castle, and I suppose I should have been flattered, but I felt so sick with worry I couldn’t enjoy its luxurious furnishings or the view of the grounds from the large, open windows. My anxiety was only inflamed by the woman the prince had placed in charge of housekeeping. She had a wide, cheerful face and seemed perfectly at home ordering around the foreign servants, though she herself was Myrillan. With her hands on her hips, she surveyed the chamber and said, “I know it’s not the loveliest of rooms, but don’t worry, Princess. You won’t be staying here long.”

  She gave me a meaningful wink and returned to her task of bossing and sniping. I knew she meant well, but my stomach filled with sour bile at the reminder of the impending wedding. In a matter of days—three, to be precise—I would be the prince’s wife.

  Suddenly the thought of remaining in the castle for one more second became unbearable. I gripped the bedpost, unsure where to go, or where I would be permitted to wander, when one of my new maids came in. I didn’t know her name; I thought of my former maids with a pang of sadness. Faithful to the last, they had remained with me in the tower until the battle drew so close I insisted they depart. I could not protect them from harm should Myrilla fall to its enemies. They had kissed my hem in farewell and assured me the gods would bless me for such kindness.

  The new maid eyed me nervously. “Are you unwell, Princess?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all, only in need of some fresh air. I’d be very grateful if you fetched me a pen and a scrap of parchment, please”

  She curtseyed and withdrew, dodging two servants carrying a small trunk. They set it on the floor and furrowed their brows in bewilderment. “The prince ordered us to move your belongings in here, Princess,” said one, “but this is all we found. There was nothing else in the tower.”

  “Thank you,” I said absently. Did they expect to find glittering jewels and chests of gold in a prison? I tried not to look at the broken latches, remembering how hastily I’d dressed only a few hours before. The aftertaste of hope and longing turned my tongue bitter.

  The maid returned with the pen and parchment and I scrawled a hasty note to the prince, asking permission to journey to Kore’s temple to ask the gods’ blessing for our marriage. I expected him to deny my request, or at the very least force me to travel under military escort, but he did neither. He replied quickly, wishing me safe travels and assuring me in his note that the road to the temple would be kept clear for me and my companions. I laughed quietly and tried to imagine what it would be like to have companions I trusted enough to invite on such an intimate journey. I shook my head and threw the prince’s note into the fire. As I reached for my cloak, I noticed the maid fidgeting.

  “What is it?” I said, my fatigue making me sound more annoyed than I really was.

  She flushed. “I only wanted to ask, Princess, if you would like me to draw you a bath before you set out. You’ve had such a difficult morning, I thought you might find it soothing.”

  I looked down at my hands, still dirty from my fall in the field so many hours ago. I hadn’t changed out of my servant’s garb, and the blood on my cheek had dried into a dark, cracked scab. A difficult morning, indeed.

  I managed to smile at the maid. “When I return,” I said gently, “a bath would be lovely.”

  • • •

  My walk was silent, apart from the wind in the fruit trees and my pounding heart. The prince had kept his word: the road was empty apart from me, though I did not doubt for a moment that his soldiers lay hidden along the way, ready to drag me back to the castle if I attempted escape. The temple stood at the top of a hill, a half mile or so from the castle. On the other side of the temple lay the village, though it was more of a marketplace than anything else. Farmers and craftsmen filled the stalls with their goods to sell and trade each day, then packed everything up and returned to their farms in the evening. At night the village lay completely empty, apart from a few stay dogs and cats, and before dawn the whole routine began once more. For the longest time I thought all kingdoms functioned this way. The first time I visited the sprawling city centers of Warkenland and Itomius it came as quite a shock when I realized that not only did their cities stay lit well into the night, but people lived there as well.

  Halfway to the temple
I had to stop and sit down for a moment. The walk had drained my energy and I hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day. As I rested I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, letting the sun warm my face. The smell of the fading leaves and fresh soil filled my mind with memories of festivals from my childhood long ago, before my parents had departed to the gods, leaving my uncle to neglect the practice of honoring Kore with celebrations during each planting and harvest.

  I continued on my way, finally arriving at the temple. Its pale pink columns, crafted of marble hewn from Myrilla’s farthest mountain border, spiraled high overhead, supporting the great roof. I climbed the steps and approached the threshold, which of course was empty. No priest had resided in Myrilla since the days of my mother and father. I craned my neck, taking in the great altar. Intricate pictures of the wheat harvest, blossoming flowers, and spring plantings were carved into various panels. The images next to the high, narrow windows had worn down slightly, their sharp edges softened from wind and rain and time. The carvings closest to the center, however, remained pristine and unharmed by the elements.

  The temple’s interior glowed with beautiful rosy light, though it was very cold. At the far wall I saw an elderly woman pacing back and forth before the altar, murmuring her prayers and chanting praises to Kore. As I waited quietly, wondering when she would finish, I studied the floor; the red and brown lines shone like veins in the marble. The distant smell of charred grain, offered in the centuries before me, clouded my mind. Shaking myself, I rubbed my arms and looked at the center picture behind the altar. Carved into the pink stone was the God of Souls’ great hand reaching down toward a wheat field tended by Kore. Perhaps it was my imagination, but the heavy-headed stalks seemed to cower from the powerfully muscled hand, fearing that it would rip them from the nourishing earth and crush them in his fist.