Richard Ford - Herald of the Storm

‘Is it three?’ said Graye, as though her answer might win her some sort of prize.

Janessa stifled a laugh. Odaka ignored her.

‘My lady, I do not think I have to remind you of the importance of the coming Feast of Arlor and your presence at it. I cannot stress enough how essential it is that you look your best. It will mean much to your father, not to mention the future of the kingdom.’

‘If you’re referring to my being ogled and prodded like a mare in season before being gifted to the prize stallion, then yes, I am well aware of my role, Odaka. I don’t need reminding of the sacrifices I am making for my country.’

Odaka narrowed his eyes, and Janessa could see a sudden flash of anger there. She had to admit it frightened her, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

‘We are all servants of the Crown, my lady, and some of us must make greater sacrifices than others.’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ And what have your sacrifices been, Odaka? she thought, trying to disguise her disdain. What have you given up in service to my father, other than the savage plains of the southern continent and the dangers of the wild? You seem to have done pretty well for yourself, all things considered.

‘You need not worry, my lady; they say Duke Logar’s heir is a very handsome young man. Broad shouldered and well educated. I am sure he would make a very fine husband.’

‘Why don’t you marry him then, Odaka. You’re free to take the dress too.’ She gestured to the maroon monstrosity the regent still held in his big hands.

Odaka took a deep breath, this time not showing any anger, but rather disappointment. Janessa realised she was being petulant and demanding, behaviour she had seen in other nobles over the years and hated, but she simply couldn’t help the way she felt. Arranged marriages might be fine for the nobility in general, but not for her. Lisbette, her older sister, had always been paraded in front of visiting nobles while Janessa could fade into the background unnoticed. She was the errant younger sister, the flame-haired wolf of the family, allowed to run rampant and play rough. Now all that was changed and she felt flung centre stage like the star turn in a travelling show. It didn’t suit her, and she was determined to tell anyone who would listen how much she hated it.

‘I will arrange for another dressmaker to visit you tomorrow,’ Odaka said, laying the dress across his forearm.

‘As you wish,’ she replied, feeling defeated by his calmness. Her attempts to provoke him appeared to have failed, and she couldn’t help but admire him a little for that.

‘My lady,’ Odaka said with a final bow before leaving the chamber.

‘That could have been worse,’ said Graye once the large oak door had shut behind him.

‘I’m not afraid of Odaka Du’ur,’ Janessa replied, though she wasn’t sure whether she believed her own words. ‘The only thing I’m looking forward to when I’m queen is ridding Skyhelm of his influence. I have no idea why my father keeps him around. A foreigner as regent? Why did he even consider such a thing?’

‘Your father trusts him, and he hasn’t been wrong so far.’

‘My father trusts anyone who’s loyal to him, and Odaka certainly makes all the right noises in that department. He saved my father’s life when they fought the Aeslanti, or so Garret says, but there’s still something I don’t like about him.’

‘The fact that he’s a foreigner? Or the fact that he has your father’s ear?’

‘That has nothing to do with it. My father can have any advisers he wants, but if he thinks they can order me around when he’s not here, he has another think coming.’

‘So you won’t be meeting with Duke Logar’s son then?’

‘I will do as I please and speak to whom I wish.’

Despite Janessa’s protestation Graye couldn’t wipe a wicked smile off her face.

‘I’m sure you will — but they do say he’s very handsome.’ Graye jutted out her jaw and crossed her eyes, giving her pretty face a ridiculously thuggish appearance. ‘And he’s broad shouldered, remember.’ She began to stride around the chamber like a bowlegged ape, which provoked peals of laughter from Janessa.

‘When Duke Logar’s son comes to court I will be the perfect lady,’ said Janessa, finally composing herself. ‘And I’m sure he will be the perfect noble; talking about swords and hunting and war, and I’ll be bored but shan’t show it and then he’ll kiss my hand and that will be that.’

‘What will be what?’

‘Then I’ll be betrothed.’ As soon as she spoke the words, she realised that despite all their joking, it was the only conclusion there could ever be.

‘You’d better let me carry the wedding train,’ said Graye.

‘You and Odaka can do it together,’ Janessa replied.

They both laughed at that.

But all Janessa could think was that her future had been mapped, the ship set sail, and no matter what she did to steer there was nothing she could ever do to influence its course.

The Temple of Autumn stood on the second highest promontory in Steelhaven, only eclipsed in majesty by the royal palace of Skyhelm and in height by the Tower of Magisters. It rose like a stone monolith from the bare rock, its yellow granite walls as stark and forbidding as any great citadel. On its northern bastion stood the massive statue of Arlor, the Windhammer, the Wild One, Great Protector of all the Teutonian Tribes, on whose shoulders it was said the Free States had been built. Rising from its southern bastion, guarding Arlor’s back and watching for danger from the Midral Sea, was the statue of Vorena. She stood tall and proud, grasping spear and shield, her plumed helm rising towards the blue sky.

Some scholars of ancient history stated it was she, and not the Windhammer, who had first established the Teutonian Free States and that it was Arlor who had followed her into battle against the daemons that threatened to annihilate the tribes of men. True or not it mattered little, for both were now venerated across the Free States. Temples dedicated to the seasons were in each of the four city-states, but the Temple of Autumn was by far the largest. It was a place of devout worship, a fortress monastery where the wisdom and philosophies of the gods were taught alongside strict martial traditions. Where priestesses were inaugurated and warriors tempered.

It was also the place Kaira Stormfall called home.

She stood in the central courtyard, a training square for the Shieldmaidens of Vorena, but also consecrated ground and a place of devout worship. On clear days the Matron Mother would often lead the Daughters of Arlor in prayer here, while the Shieldmaidens watched from the sidelines, guarding their territory, ever vigilant. Now though, the square was being put to its primary use — a practice yard — and nothing but the sounds of battle permeated the air.

Under Kaira’s watchful eye young acolytes of Vorena were being trained in all manner of weapons. The youngest girls, some barely more than five winters, used wooden swords, their bodies covered in layers of light cloth armour lest they became overzealous. Older girls, almost ready to become full Shieldmaidens, trained with real weapons, their blades razor sharp, their spear tips easily able to penetrate the most well crafted plate.

At Kaira’s side stood Samina, her sister in all but blood, and a warrior equal to her in rank. They called her the Coldeye, for her ability to stare down the most ferocious opponent; her aim with spear and bow was almost matchless.

Almost.

Kaira was more than her sister’s match, as she had proved a number of times, and the rivalry still burned between them.