The Brush Tiger of Derven Ch. 12-14

CHAPTER 12: BARGAINING CHIP

Namora jerks awake, eyes flying open. She is confused for a moment, expecting to see the inside of her carriage where she remembered falling asleep. When the heaviness of her body reminds her mind of the events of last night, she exhales sadly. Her throat aches from screaming. She doesn't recall much of the ride or even how she got into the room she is in. Her eyes focus; she is sitting on a bench in what appears to be an office in the castle. Looking to her left she sees Franklin is chained to a metal loop protruding from the floor. His one good eye is trained on her.

"Princess?" he questions. He must have said it several times because he seems shocked when she finally responds.

"I am sorry for the trouble I've gotten you into, Franklin. I couldn't leave you behind. It seems silly now, the attachment I made to you...but while this is not how I expected my morning to end up, I dare say it might be better than spending time in Alumenia." She didn't mean to say her true feelings out loud but her haziness clouds her better judgment. She can see Franklin smile.

Looking around the room she tries to take it all in; it is cold and sparsely decorated. There are no windows. The stone walls are stained with soot from the torches that provide the room with light. To her right, there is a small, elaborate wooden desk at one end with a lovely plush carpet in front of it. Namora sits on a soft bench between the desk and Franklin. Behind him is a tall fireplace that takes up most of the back wall, the fire raging as if someone just tended to it.

She looks back to her right; the desk is a mess, strewn with various papers and books. None of them look important enough to warrant her attention but something shiny does catches her eye. She sits up a little straighter, her back is stiff and her leg aches. She can see a small decorative knife half tucked under some papers.

Painfully she gets up. She bites down hard enough on her lip so that she doesn't yelp but she draws blood. Pushing through her aching leg, she slowly hobbles her way to the desk. On their way to the castle, Eric must have rechained her wrists in front so that she could ride with him. She leans against the desk, the edge pressing against her right thigh so she can reach over towards the middle. She manages to grab the knife without disturbing many of the papers and carefully slides the knife up her left sleeve.

"Mora," Franklin whispers urgently. Her head snaps over to him; it is the first time she has heard him call her that in a while. The word sounds odd to her ears but she likes the way it sounds with his voice. He has a look of desperation, like he tried to get her attention before and she didn't hear him, "I hear footsteps."

Namora quickly makes her way back to the bench, still biting her lip. She manages to fall into a sitting position just as the door opens. Exhaling slowly, she sits up straight and replaces the pain in her face with the calm, collected composure that she has learned to hide behind. Eric enters, followed by John and Dell. Behind them, an older, elegantly dressed woman floats into the room. Her pale blonde hair, coupled with white skin and a light green dress make her seem washed out, like a ghost. Her dark blue eyes contrast greatly with the rest of her. Eric stands tall and his eyes fall on Namora though he announces to everyone, "This is Queen Sheynne of Sceadu."

Namora leans forward as much as she can, trying to mimic a bow. When there is no acknowledgement made to her, she keeps her head down while she quietly speaks, "I do not mean to be rude, Queen Sheynne, but I fear if I rise I will end up on the floor."

"Very well," the Queen speaks firmly, "What is your name child?"

She leans back, raising her eyes to the Queen, "I am Princess Namora of Derven."

Her chin is high; she doesn't have to pretend to be regal like Namora does, it comes naturally to her. She wagers the Queen is a very manipulative person. "Soon to be Queen Namora of Alumenia, I understand?" The Queen's voice is cold.

"You are correct, Queen Sheynne."

The Queen looks her over with dark beady eyes. Namora can feel her palms start to sweat under the Queen's gaze but she doesn't move or even blink. She imagines that this is what a brush tiger must feel like when it runs across a hunter.

"Your alliance with Alumenia poses a threat to Sceadu, you must realize."

She lets the silence hang in the air before she responds, "An unfortunate result that I am aware of. However, I must do what is best for my people. A decline of King Irron's offer would be..." she pauses, trying to find the right word, "catastrophic. I am afraid I had no choice." Her voice slightly cracks when she sees Franklin slouch a little, the weight of the words hitting everyone in the room. Even though it is unspoken and something that should have been secret, Namora knows the Queen realizes she was forced into the marriage.

"Unfortunate, indeed," she pauses, "I am sorry, Princess Namora, but our law dictates that any man caught trespassing shall be sentenced to death. Any woman caught trespassing will become an indentured servant until their debt is repaid." The Queen nods to John; he walks over to Franklin, pulling a knife from his belt.

"Surely you can make an exception, given the circumstances, your Highness," Namora lets the panic creep into her otherwise calm voice. She knows just as well as the Queen, how to manipulate this situation.

Queen Sheynne looks at her, trying to discern if Namora's concern is for herself or her escort, "I am sorry, Princess but I must also do what is best for my people. The law is the law." John places the tip of the dagger at the back of Franklin's neck, glancing briefly to Namora, almost apologetically before he braces his body to shove the knife in. Franklin stares at the floor without objection. Her heart aches for her friend; she now knows that she wouldn't subject him to marrying her. She couldn't do what King Irron did and force someone into something as permanent as that. Even though, she wants him to live a long and happy life with a woman he loves.

She pulls the knife from her sleeve. When Dell and Eric see her they instinctively block her path to the Queen. Namora is a good shot at throwing knives but she only has one. With three opponents and an injured leg she wouldn't stand a chance. Her mind quickly weighs her options; left with no choice, she raises the knife to her own throat.

John sees her and removes his knife from the back of Franklin's neck, looking to the Queen for direction. Franklin raises his gaze to Namora, pleading with one good eye for her to put the knife down. She looks at him, silently wishing him a long life and hoping that he will be able to find what she cannot. A soft smile touches her lips; though she won't ever get to find love, she won't get to know King Irron intimately. It is a trade she is willing to make.

Namora holds the knife steady despite her aching body. She waits until the Queen steps out from behind the two men. Her voice is calm and level now that she has chosen her path and means to see it through to the end. "I was hoping that it wouldn't come down to this your Majesty but by now I would wager that my third escort has reached my father's castle in Derven," she can see surprise on Eric and Dell's face. Apparently she wasn't the only one who didn't think of the possibility of a third man; she can also see the Queen's skin flush ever so lightly. That is the problem with being so pale, there isn't much to hide behind.

"I sent a message with him, warning the King that if he did not hear from me by nightfall, I am in danger and in need of assistance."

The Queen's cheeks grow darker as she blushes with anger at the gall of a prisoner threatening her. She pauses, before speaking carefully, "Very well then. I shall send word to King Nathanial on your behalf. I will request a meeting in one week to discuss the terms of your release," she clasps her hands together, behind her back. The look on her faces tells Namora she takes pleasure in the words that will come from her mouth, "Until then, however, you shall remain in the custody of a Master, disguised as an indentured servant to ensure your safety."

"And my escort, Captain Franklin?"

Her head tilts to the side, "The law is the law, Princess. I think you will find that I have been more than accommodating, given the circumstances."

"On the contrary, I do not think that you have been accommodating enough. I will agree to remain in your land for a week as a servant," Namora says, somewhat distastefully, "but only if Captain Franklin is released alive, along with my carriage and the body of my other escort, to return to Derven with word for my father," she lets herself reflect the perverse pleasure that the Queen spoke with, "Those are my conditions and should you deny them I will deny you the only bargaining chip you have-my life."

The Queen narrows her eyes at Namora; the redness in her face makes it clear that she does not appreciate the threat. The tension between the two women makes the air so thick it is palatable. Eric shifts nervously. His green eyes look Namora up and down; she doesn't need to see the pleading look in them when he speaks quietly to her because his voice betrays his affections, "Come now, you aren't going to take your life, so why don't you put the knife down."

Her anger flares inside of her again, rushing from her stomach, past her cold heart and to her throat. She is irritated that these Sceaduians aren't taking her seriously; to make her point, Namora presses the knife against her skin. Her heart races when she feels the sharp metal break through and warm blood rush to the small cut. She can see Franklin lean forward, pulling on his chains, trying to find a way to stop her even though he knows it is pointless. The other three men shift nervously while the Queen stands still.

"I am afraid, Warden Eric, that it is unheard of for a Derven to make a threat without the full intention of carrying it out," Sheynne's cold voice says.

Eric balls his hands into fists. Though her eyes are connected with the Queen's, she can see his jaw clench in anger. He takes a large step towards Namora. Without hesitation, she pushes the knife further, widening the wound so that blood flows freely down her neck and into the fabric of her dress. She wonders if anyone will visit her grave. She hopes not.

He freezes. All eyes remain on Namora. She gives the Queen a moment before making her decision to carry out her threat, "Very well then." She finds it easy to threaten her life, as it was never her own. All she was, was a protector of Derven. She realizes that she never had true control over anything but now she has control over her physical death because without anything to live for, her heart died a long time ago.

Her arm tenses, readying itself to draw the knife across her neck and end her suffering when the Queen finally stops her, "Enough. I will concede to your demands. Warden John, you may release the Captain and escort him to the border. Warden Dell, send for Master Rickan. Warden Eric, see to it that the Princess doesn't get a hold of anymore weapons," the irritation in her voice does not suit it well. She spins on her heels and leaves the room, followed by Dell.

John unchains Franklin, helping him to his feet. It seems odd, since hours ago he wanted to kill him without a second thought. As soon as Namora drops her arms into her lap, Eric quickly makes his way across the room. He angrily takes the knife from her, "Such recklessness," he mutters.

Franklin walks stiffly to Namora, dropping down to one knee in front of her. She can see the pain in his one un-swollen eye. He is not happy with what she has done. In another time, in another world, her heart might have opened up for him but now it lays dead, beating for no man.

"What shall I tell the King, Princess?" he speaks quietly to her, the words sounding a bit more personal than they should have.

She ponders his new found gentleness to her; it takes her a while to realize that he isn't complaining about her, which means that he is actually furious. She supposes she would be too, if someone tried to sacrifice themselves for her. "Tell him that I am under the care of the Queen. She wishes a meeting within one week to discuss the terms of my release," she pauses. She removes the wretched Alumenian ring from her finger and hands it to Franklin, "Tell Laren to send word to King Irron that until negotiations have been made, our wedding will be on hold and that he is not to do anything to jeopardize the meeting between my father and the Queen."

Franklin takes the ring, "Anything else, my lady?"

She nods, "Yes..." hesitating, she tries to word what she wants to say correctly, "Also tell Laren this: 'While a harsh winter overcomes the forest, the brush tiger always sees the rising sun with remorse.'" Franklin gives her a questioning look. When she doesn't say anything more, he puts his fist to his heart. She selfishly hopes it won't be the last time she sees him. He stands slowly, not wanting to go but is forced by John to leave the room.

Through her composition she has told Laren that even though she is a prisoner to the Sceaduians, she sees it as slightly better than being married to King Irron. An odd smile crosses her lips when she thinks of last night; it wasn't in the way she wanted but she got her wish. She crossed into Sceadu land and though she is now a prisoner she starts this day with nothing and free from the responsibility of a Princess. She never imagined the cruelty of the Sceadu but she is slightly grateful for it because if they had been kind they would have let her go and her fate would still be the same. It seems selfish for her to consider enjoying the possibility of being free from her country only to be enslaved by another but when it all boils down to it, she simply exchanged the Derven chains of selflessness for the real ones of Sceadu.

Eric kneels in front of her, revealing a finely made, delicate set of chains. He unshackles the thick heavy ones from her wrists, "Do you know much of Sceadu?" He speaks quietly.

Namora gives him a befuddled look, "Do you honestly think if I knew much about your barbaric practices that I would have come anywhere near this country?"

He snorts, "Fair enough. I am sure that our practices seem cruel and harsh to you but the way we do things has kept our lands safe from intruders for hundreds of years," he lets the shackles fall to the floor before gently putting the other set around her left wrist. "The people of Sceadu treat those of higher positions with respect. Since you are to be an indentured servant, in order to pull it off you must do as your Master commands, run at his every beck and call, take care of that which he needs."

"Ha," Namora can't help but laugh; when Eric gives her a stern look, she explains herself, "Doesn't sound much different from a marriage. Except for the marital obligations..." she trails off when Eric shifts nervously.

"There are a few of the rather deplorable Masters who require those services of their servants as well..."

Namora clenches her jaw, fire raging inside. I'd like to see him try, she thinks. She attempts to calm her voice trying not to sound too angry, "And this Master Rickan, he is one of them?"

Eric shakes his head, clasping the other chain around her right wrist, "I do not know him personally, but I do not believe so. I do know his Barman, however-"

Namora cuts him off, "Barman?"

"Yes, Master Rickan is a Tavern owner. If he tries to do anything," Eric tenses up, "Anything at all, you tell the Barman to send for me. Understood?"

Namora looks at him closely, for the first time. Her anger and rage towards the man that prevented her from escaping seems misplaced now. After all he did save her life, even if it was extremely painful. When he raises his green eyes and they lock their gaze, she waits for her heart to pound. There is nothing, only the ache of her tired body. She comes to terms with herself, truly knowing for the first time that even when stripped of her title, she is not like other women. Her heart beats for no one. She speaks quietly, "Am I to understand, Warden Eric, that you have a fondness for my well being?"

Eric looks away quickly. He avoids her eyes by busying himself with a kerchief that he pulled from his pocket. He wets it with water from a canteen. He slowly reaches up to her, recalling what happened last time he tried to touch her skin. When she doesn't move, his hand drifts forward and he tenderly wipes the drying blood from the small amount of exposed skin on Namora's neck, "I can't imagine that there is a man alive on this island who wouldn't fall in love with you, Princess."

She catches his eyes when they flicker up briefly. She sees what she believes is a genuine desire in them. Shifting uncomfortably she wonders what that feels like, to want someone. Pushing the thought out of her head, she thinks that had the circumstances been different, he could have been as likable Gregory and Jackson but as he remains her captor, any feelings of friendship she has towards him don't exist. She can see the longing in his eyes while he looks at her neck and decides to defuse the situation with a joke, "I don't think that Warden Dell could ever like me."

Caught off guard, Eric laughs deeply. He stands up in front of her, "I'm sure that when he gets over the fact that you tried to kill him, he'll come around."

Namora tests the sturdiness of her new chains, tugging on them slightly, avoiding Eric's wanton gaze but his voice draws her eyes back to his, "They are more symbolic than functional."

"They mark me as a servant?"

He nods, "Yes, but not just any servant, an extremely expensive, desirable, obedient servant. Even though you are lower than any other free person in town, there is still a caste amongst servants. I doubt you will come across any of them but this will tell the other Masters that you are off limits." He regretfully opens a wooden box that sits next to her. Inside is a beautiful silver choker. It takes Namora a moment to recognize that its designs match the chains on her wrists, at which time it begins to lose its appeal. Eric sighs, lifting it out of the box. It appears to be tiny in his hand, more like a bracelet. He pulls it open carefully and leans towards her. His rough hands brush her skin when he pushes her hair away to latch the collar around her neck. When it clicks shut, he drops down onto the bench next to her.

"This collar is the mark of an indentured servant. Below the borders of Sceadu is a line of a great material they call magnetic shale. This collar is the opposite of it. Should you try to cross the border, the opposing forces of the two will cause several metal points to protrude from the inside of the collar. The wounds they inflict are fatal-you will bleed to death if you try to leave."

Her life being of no consequence to her, she has no fear of the collar killing her, "How close could I get to the border without dying?"

Eric gives her a stunned look, "You're not going to go do something stupid like you did with that knife, are you?"

She draws her eyes away from his, "Of all people, you are not one who can tell me what I can and cannot do with my own life."

He doesn't like her answer but he thinks that maybe if she knows better she won't test it, "I imagine you could come within ten feet or so, though I don't know for sure. The closer you get, the more the collar will cut into your skin," he looks at the silver circle on her neck. From the corner of her eye, she thinks she can see regret in his eyes, like he wishes he could be the one to take care of her for the week. His voice is softer, "I would guess you could get within five feet of the border and not die from the wounds, though I wouldn't recommend it."