The Brush Tiger of Derven Ch. 28-29

CHAPTER 28: HEIR

Mora wakes before the sun, Rick still deep in the middle of his slumber. Carefully she rises from the bed, wincing slightly when she stands. Finding the jar of cream on the floor, she makes short work of rubbing it into her wounds, a relieved sigh when the pain retreats and pleased to note that her broken fingers have seemed to set though they are a little stiff.

Sliding on her underdress before her robe, she gives one last lingering look to Rick, who lies peacefully still, his chest slowly rising and falling with each deep breath. Silently, she crosses the room and slips behind the privacy panel, depressing the small hidden latch to open it, shutting it with a soft click. Her limp has now lessened and she is able to navigate the black hallways easily, noting the muffled sounds of talking as she passes by areas occupied by servants or other attendants of the castle.

She is barely back into her room with the panel shut when Eunice softly knocks on the bedroom door, peeking inside, "Time to rise, Queen Namora." The old woman looks startled briefly when she realizes that the Queen is already up, "Oh! My, sorry my Lady." Quickly she retreats to the closet, finding another red dress and helps Mora get ready for the day.

When the old woman goes to put the crown on her head, Mora halts her, "I am riding to the western village today, so perhaps we hold off of on the crown. Would you see to it that Captain Franklin and Officer Jackson join me shortly for breakfast?"

The woman bows before disappearing, "Of course, Queen Namora."

Mora rises from the vanity and slowly stretches out her limbs, walking to the ante chamber. On the desk, she discovers a large wooden box—one she recalls seeing her father hover over many times. Though there is no key hole, it is locked shut, however Mora knows how to open it. Her fingers trace over the intricate carvings, settling on the symbol of Derven, a genderless body with its hands folded in front, torso extending outwards into roots instead of feet. Pressing gently on the hands before squeezing two of the roots together, the royal box unlocks, lid slightly ajar.

Inside, she discovers a hefty stack important documents written and signed by her father; though most are simply contracts with Geofen in regards to exporting Derven goods in exchange for fish, a few are regarding local matters of land and such. Nothing entirely pressing; she imagines that the contents were things that used to be in the desk, but upon his death bed her father requested everything be packed away safely, no doubt by Laren.

After gathering up the documents to place them into the bottom drawer, she reveals a dark, leather bound book. Opening it up, it is hand written in a delicate scroll in a language she doesn't recognize; her fingers trace over the feminine penmanship, curious as to the meaning behind the words. Before she can ponder it further, or explore the rest of the contents of the box, there is a knock on the door.

Eunice pokes her head in, "Franklin and Jackson are in the breakfast room, my Lady."

"I shall be right there," she replies, latching the box closed.

The walk to the small dining room is quick, where she finds Franklin and Jackson standing, waiting for her. She offers them a small smile before taking her seat at the head of the table and motioning to the open chairs, "Please, gentlemen, eat with me."

Finding it odd, they glance at each other before sitting down and joining her for breakfast.

"Thank you for taking care of that yesterday," she says softly. "I think it goes without saying that you will mention it to no one, nor will you speak of it unless I specifically talk to either of you about it."

"Of course, Queen Namora," they reply almost in unison.

"Have arrangements been made for those who perished in the battle?" She asks with a sad tone in her voice, her eyes locked onto a plate of sweet rolls in front of her. Since her acceptance of Irron's proposal, she has not had bread, even after it was called off. Though Rick asked her, she feels that rushing into marriage with him is imprudent. Never the less, she knows that her heart is spoken for. Doing her best to ignore the bread, she reaches over it and picks up a bowl of fruit.

Franklin notes her choice before looking back at his plate, "The King's funeral has been set for this evening just before sunset, Queen Namora. After his body has been laid to rest in the royal tomb, those who lost people will set their pyres alight. I imagine we will be able to see many burn from the roof of the castle, though not as many as Geofen or Sceadu."

Her heart aches while she slowly chews through the fresh strawberries, "Perhaps if we had arrived sooner—"

Franklin cuts her off, "It wasn't necessarily a matter of timing, my Lady. Irron's army fought with an uncanny precision, almost as if they were one massive unit. Geofen, though they have a trained militia, were not prepared to handle a battle. From what I saw, their forces are the weakest amongst the nations. Though Sceaduians are capable and well practiced, their tactics are crude and they do not work well in groups; I suppose they are more used to fighting one on one instead of depending on each other. When the first wave of our forces joined the fight, the casualties took a substantial decline."

"How many lives were lost?" She asks, softly.

Jackson clears his throat, "From Derven, my Lady—fifty three. Each other nation had closer to a few hundred men go down."

Sighing, she closes her eyes; if she had gone after Irron sooner during the battle, there would have been less casualties. Idly pushing a piece of cold ham around her plate, she says, "I'd like you to make it known to the villages that any excess food or cattle they have beyond what they need for winter, shall be brought to the castle within the next few days—have a fair trade offered for it, whatever is within the treasury that they need, be it cloth, metal, supplies or whatnot. I realize that this would normally fall upon Laren to attend to, but as he is looking after Alumenia, I will have to rely on the pair of you to assist me with matters of state for now."

"Of course, my Lady," Jackson replies, "We will see to it after breakfast."

"I'd like you to appoint a few worthy soldiers to see to it—have them meet with the Advisor of Trade in town to see what offerings can be made. I am in need of you two to accompany me for a small journey this morning to the western village."

...

Despite the early hour, her arrival at the western village does not go unnoticed. The sun barely peeks over the mountains, shining brightly in the crisp cool air while the farmers start their day in their fields. They all stop their chores, respectfully dropping to a knee with their hands over their hearts. She offers them a soft smile, inclining her head as acceptance of their gesture. When she reaches the small village several women and children appear in the plain market square, repeating the sentiments.

"Queen Namora," the mayor says as he rises, "please accept our condolences at the passing of your father. He was a great man and will be earnestly missed."

She nods thankfully, dismounting her horse; the fabric of her red dress wafts around her, the color still making her uneasy, "Thank you, good mayor. I know that these past few weeks have been difficult on everyone. Now that our disagreements with Alumenia have been resolved, life should return to normal soon. King Nathanial's funeral will be held at the castle this evening, if any of you wish to attend you are welcome; please know, though, that no ill thoughts will be held if you are unable to make it. We all grieve differently."

With a nod and a sad smile, the mayor bows, "Thank you, Queen Namora. May I ask what has brought you to our small village?"

Walking along side the man while leading her horse, she makes it clear to the others that she wishes a word alone with him. Soon the people return to their day, leaving Mora with the mayor, Franklin and Jackson trailing behind her. She speaks quietly, "I am looking for a man named Irving."

"Oh, yes," he replies with a smile. "He lives at the end of this road, my Queen. If you wish, I will fetch him for you."

Offering a smile in return, she mounts her horse, "Thank you mayor, but I have used up enough of your valuable time today. We shall visit him on our own." As the man bows, she spurs her horse into a quick trot out of the village.

It is a distance away, though the ride doesn't take more than a quarter of an hour. The road winds through the fields before parting a thick cluster of forest; just beyond the rust laden branches lies a quaint cabin that reminds her of Amyee's. She slows Greystar to a walk before halting him all together; from a small garden in the front yard, a man rises and walks towards them. When his dark brown eyes catch Mora's, she draws in a sharp breath; his deep auburn hair is tucked behind his ears, stretching down to his shoulders it frames a strong square jaw, his tall frame is slender though laced with muscle. It is as if she is looking at a younger copy of Irron; he is a handsome man, his features not marred with the evil darkness his father radiated.

Quickly, Irving drops down to one knee, his hand on his heart in a fist, "I apologize, my Queen, I did not recognize you."

Steadying herself with a deep breath, Mora dismounts, "It is quite all right as we have never met before, Irving."

Chancing a glance up, he looks at her curiously, "You know my name?"

"Yes," Mora replies, smoothing out her dress. She turns to her guards and motions her hand out, letting them know that she wishes to speak with Irving alone. Franklin and Jackson are clearly unhappy with the decision but they obey none the less. Turning back to the man, she says, "Please, Irving, walk with me."

He is surprised but rises easily to his feet, only hesitating a moment before matching her pace. His stride is naturally confident but his voice is somewhat apprehensive, "I was very sorry to hear about King Nathanial. He was a good man—I owe him a debt I can never repay."

She glances at him sideways for a moment, walking silently into the forest just beyond his yard before speaking, "Had I known about you, Irving, I would have introduced myself sooner but my father never mentioned you."

"Oh," he says, somewhat dejectedly.

Understanding the emotion behind his response, she clarifies, "It wasn't because he didn't care about you, Irving," she sighs. "Tell me about yourself."

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, his shoulders deflate a little, "There isn't much to say, my Queen."

"None the less, please start at the beginning," she replies.

"I was born in Geofen. My mother never spoke of my father, no matter how much I begged. I have no idea if he died before I was born, or if he lives still, if he was good to her or not. I do know, that she loved me unconditionally. She had no means to support herself and your father, the kind man that he was, took care of us. I felt so comfortable around him when he would visit; I am embarrassed to admit this, Queen Namora, but I always thought of him as my father. I know we have never met before but I used to pretend you were my sister," his face starts to flush. "It is a ridiculous notion for a bastard like me to believe in such things, but those were the dreams of a foolish youth. As my mother got older I worked in a small school in a coastal village to do the best I could to support us. After she died, it was hard for me to live in Geofen; I had so many memories there of us."

He turns away from her, stopping to kick at the base of a tree; he thinks that Mora cannot see the tears in his eyes, but she can hear them in his voice, "King Nathanial brought me to Derven. He gave me a home, a life—and now that he is gone I cannot thank him." Hastily he wipes his eyes before turning back to her, "So I shall do the next best thing and thank you by any means necessary." Irving lowers down to both knees, his voice shaky, "My life is yours, Queen Namora, to do with as you see fit."

Her chest tightens at his sorrow, his sincerity; she knows deep within her heart that he is not like his father. Mora reaches a hand out to cup his cheek; her breath catches in her throat when he closes his eyes and leans into her palm. Slowly, his hand raises and encompasses hers; his fingers wrap around it and he brings her hand to his lips, placing a lingering, gentle kiss on the back.

Mora's eyes grow wide when her heart skips a beat. Tentatively she removes her hand from his, motioning for him to rise before looking away and continuing her walk forward, deeper into the forest; he drifts by her side. She forces her breathing to be even and slow, her mind reeling with the confusion that he evokes in her. "Tell me, what do you know of the events of the past month?"

"Your engagement?" He says tentatively; when she nods for him to continue, he does, "I had heard that you were engaged to be married to King Irron. He came here for a week to court you, then he returned to Alumenia. During your journey there, you were captured by Sceadu," he shrugs. "I don't know why, but King Irron plotted your demise and sent an assassin to kill your father. War was declared against them and I learned yesterday that they were defeated."

She nods, "That's the gist of it, though there is quite a bit more depth to the story than is made known. You will speak of this to no one, mind you—King Irron threatened to refuse merchants access to his lands if they dealt with Derven, unless I agreed to marry him. That is the sole reason why I accepted—he was a horrific, wicked man. It was a while before I discovered it, but he plotted to have me killed; he had his men chop down a tree to prevent me from making it to Alumenia and as a result my party tried to go around it, unknowingly crossing into Sceadu. That is why I was captured—their policy for trespassers is death, however I made a deal with the Queen and stayed there under false pretenses; she was worried for her country, as an alliance between Alumenia and Derven was a threat to her. My father negotiated with Queen Sheynne and part of that included calling off my engagement with Irron. Once he learned of this and that I knew his initial plot, he declared war on Sceadu and Derven. Irron's character was made known to Geofen so they sided with us in the battle. And yesterday, I killed him."

Irving stops in his tracks and looks over Mora; she holds his gaze, unnerved to discover that her heart is beating quickly as she stares into his eyes.

"Why would you tell me all of this, my Queen?" His smooth tenor voice asks, his brows crinkled while his eyes wander over her face.

When she opens her mouth to speak, her hesitation lingers, her breathing quick. Closing her mouth, she turns her head away, removing her gaze from his so that she can concentrate. Her eyes drift shut and she forces a slow, deep breath into her lungs, her mind willing her heart to stop its foolishness. She has only felt this way around one other man before and she believed he was the only one capable of making heart swoon.

The rustling of leaves causes her eyes to snap open and her head to automatically turn towards the sound; a low, guttural growl comes from the darkness of a brush thicket a little ways off. Hearing it too, Irving doesn't hesitate when he steps in front of the Queen, his back pressed against her, his arms out wide to block as much of her body as he can. The gesture shocks Mora, surprised primarily that he would consider himself in a better position to fight the animal and secondarily at his close proximity.

The loud, frantic crinkle of dead leaves signals the attack of the brush tiger. Unarmed, Irving takes up a stance to return the attack. Mora quickly lifts her dress, pulling her hunting knife free of her boot before she steps around Irving. The tiger's body uncurls into a leap, its massive paws with menacing claws spread wide to capture its prey. She barely has time to shove Irving out of the path of the tiger before leaning to the right to avoid it's claws; swinging her arm quickly she slams her knife into the tiger's passing chest, sending the beast crashing to the ground.

Before it can get up, Mora leaps on top of it, withdrawing her knife to reposition it, sending it piercing into the animal's heart. Though the animal draws its last breath and remains still, she kneels on its body, her own breathing ragged. Pulling the whistle out from under her collar, she blows on it hard, the almost silent sound calls through the trees for Greystar.

Trying to quell her racing heart, Mora tilts her head back, letting her body drift backwards towards the earth, the soft ground cushioning her fall. She stares up at the dark blue sky just beyond the rust colored leaves, until her view is cut off by Irving; he falls to his knees by her side, his body leaning over to hers when his trembling hand reaches for her face. His large fingers apprehensively touch her cheek, his voice unsteady, face wrought with concern, "Queen Namora are you injured?"

Having almost forgotten about him, she startles slightly, "No, I am fine."

Abruptly she sits up; Irving's proximity is so close that she crashes into his chest, her face hovering mere inches from his. Forgetting or ignoring his station, his hands clasp her biceps and he peers into her eyes, genuinely worried about her, "Are—are you sure?"

Mora tears her eyes from his, shaking her head slightly to clear it; though her breathing has slowed, her heart still pounds fiercely in her chest, "Do you have many problems with brush tigers in these woods?"

"They've been more prevalent recently, though I've never been attacked," he replies, letting his hands drop from her body while he leans back a little, putting space between them as he recalls the unspoken of distance left between the men and women of Derven.

"We shall host the next Festival here then. It is very odd that one would attack during the day." To get further away from him, she shifts to her knees and pulls her knife from the tiger's body, wiping the blood off on the bottom of her skirt before sheathing it back into her boot. She rises to her feet just as Greystar comes crashing into the forest, skidding to a stop, "Would you mind helping me get the tiger over my horse's back?"

"Please, allow me," he says before picking up the massive animal. She is surprised that he is able to lift it alone, his slender frame doesn't appear to house the necessary muscle. He heaves the beast over the saddle while Mora pulls some rope from the saddle bag, securing the paws to the stirrups. She doesn't bother to hold his reins but heads out of the forest, horse following behind her. Irving quickly catches up to her side.

Without hesitation, the words flow from her mouth, "He was your father."

Irving stops, startled, "I'm sorry?"

Halting to turn to him, she meets his gaze, "King Irron was your father. After your mother discovered she was pregnant with you, she fled Alumenia because your conception was a death sentence."

"I—I don't understand," he says, struggling to take the information in; his face appears slightly angry, "Why would you tell me this?"

"You are the only living heir to the Alumenian throne, Irving. The country is your birthright."

He stares blankly at the ground; they stand in silence. It is a long while before he speaks, "I'm not a ruler, Queen Namora. I don't want the throne or the country of a man who raped my mother."

Without a reply, she starts forward again. She doesn't look back, though she is relieved when Irving's soft footsteps start up behind her, he soon appearing at her side. "Did you mean it, when you pledged your life to me?"

"Whole heartedly, my Queen."

"Then I shall consider your debt repaid if you take the throne," she says softly as the open land just beyond the forest comes into view.