Crown

c h a p t e r 5

Isabella twirled her knife in her hand. When was the last time she had been in a battle?

She chuckled without humor.

Never.

That was the answer. In fact, even her father hadn't been in any. Darius was a small kingdom. No river to nurture her soil. Just one lake, Lake Gry, circled the castle like a perimeter and a coat of defense. There was a river that flowed from the mountains of the North. People referred to it just as the River.

But it was separated from their Land by the Tenebris, a thick forest of oaks and teaks, and the Barren Terra, a wasteland that stretched three sides of her Land.

Isabella wondered if she should travel north and ask help from the Mountain people. They lived on the foot of the Greater Mons and called their land, the Mons Terra. In south was the Land of South. She would definitely reach the Land of South faster than she would reach north, even though she would have to cross the Barren Terra in both cases.

She stood up from her bed. They needed allies to win this war. Darius herself was not enough. Even with Sir Isaho by her side, she would have problems securing her Land if she did not have enough armed men.

Lucas' own Land and his conquered ones were on the west bank of the River. The Conqueror would have to cross the Tenebris, the River and the Terra before he could reach Darius. That would take him time.

What if he had already crossed the River? What if he was already past the Tenebris? What if Lucas had sent an emissary to Darius not to warn them but to fiddle with their emotions?

She couldn't leave. Isabella realized that now. With Sir Isaho on the Wall, she had to accept up the position of the Head of the security of the castle and the citizens.

She gave a last twirl to the knife in her hand and then threw it with the strength of every fiber of her muscles in her arm. The knife cut through the air with a high-pitched wail and stuck a wooden board on the opposite wall with a sharp twang.

Isabella sat down on the edge of her bed and bleakly watched the end of the knife vibrate rapidly from the impact.

She sought for her daffodils.

***

Milenna woke up startled and out of breath.

She sat up on her bed and looked around, feeling disoriented.

The din and clash of metals still rung in her head. She gave herself a good shake.

Just a nightmare, she thought. She did not know why she had that dream. She had never witnessed a battle. She had never been in any battle. When she was a child, around three or four years old, her Sir Isaho used to tell her tales of battles but she hadn't had these until much later. She remembered having the dream first at the age of nine.

There was no order to the incidents, no background story. Just an endless clash of swords and twangs of bows in a sea of blood. The scenario never changed.

Even after all these years, it still had the same effect on her. Only now, she calmed herself quicker.

"Just a dream," she whispered. She curled her legs up and buried her face in her knees. The nightmare had carried a certain sense of doom tonight. It made little sense to her. She knew she shouldn't pay any attention to such crazy notions but a part of her couldn't help but wonder.

What is going on?

During dinner time, her sister had taken extra measures to avoid any kind of conversation with her. At first she had thought, Isabella just wanted to pretend everything was all right in front of the maid serving them dinner. Then she had realized it was more than just that. Isabella had been trying to pretend everything was all right in front of her too.

It baffled Milenna. If something was awry, why would she not tell her? She might not be eager to pick up a battle-axe but she was the princess of Darius. She had a right to know. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Nothing was out of place.

But she just... felt it. She knew it in her heart that Isabella hadn't skipped her daily ritual with her horse just because. She knew her sister wasn't carrying her sword because she had suddenly missed it.

What was it?

Milenna lifted her head and focused on the wall opposite to her. No answer came to her, but it helped to calm her heart.

She didn't know how long she had sat like that by the time she heard a loud, hurried taps on her door.

"Princess!" There was an urgency in the voice.

The princess frowned.

"Princess!" This time the voice was louder and more urgent.

She climbed off her bed, slipped on a robe over her nightdress and hurried over to her door.

A maid's face appeared as Milenna parted the door a little. "Tara!" She exclaimed and opened the door. "What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

Milenna had had night time visitors before. Every time, they came to her to ask for medicines. Someone had a headache, someone's child had a high fever, someone's leg was paining. It was nothing new to her. But none of them had looked as scared as Tara did right now.

"Tara?" she said a little forcefully.

"Princess, you must come with me right away." Tara said. "Sir Isaho- "

"Sir Isaho?" A chill ran down Milenna's spine. The old knight was like a father to her. In the King's absence, Sir Isaho was there to show her what it was like to have a father. He was the one who taught her how to carve wood, found a teacher for her when he noticed her interest in the art of healing. If anything were to happen to him-

"Sir Isaho had sent a few soldiers here. They have brought an injured man with them."

She took a brief, selfish second to thank the stars it wasn't Sir Isaho on the sick bed. Then she slipped out of her room and walked towards the room where the injured were generally laid. Tara followed her quietly.

"Injured did you say?" she asked.

"Yes, Princess." Tara said. "A man of unknown Land. He is carrying five arrows in his chest."

Milenna stumbled. What?

"Princess, we must hurry. He is still breathing but I am afraid, it won't be for long."