Adalina clung to the last, warm strands of her dream as the voice of her mother intruded. It was already fading into forgetting; something to do with the travellers they had met on the Western road, the ones who had made her look into the face of their veiled priest.
“Ada,” her mother said again, rocking her shoulder gently, “there is an emissary for you from the prince.”
Adalina opened her eyes. Her mother’s handsome face smiled but her soft, brown eyes looked anxious.
“It’s early for the prince,” she replied, but she pushed herself onto her elbows and rubbed her eyes as her mother prepared clothes.
“Don’t try to make me dress like they do,” Adalina warned Winilind, who tutted but swapped a flowing, cotton dress for leather breeches and a dark shirt.
As Adalina dressed, her mother tied her braids. The tent was already warm. In the daytime it became unbearably hot. She missed their old roundhouse with its thatch roof and cooling, clay walls. She missed the fire on chilly nights, when her father would read or tell stories and she and Oli would curl up together beneath the hides. She missed her brother.
Winilind squeezed her shoulder and rested her forehead for a moment on Adalina’s back. They each recognised when the shadow of memory passed across the other’s mind. Her mother held her shoulders and turned her round. They looked into each others’ eyes.
“You have brought us so far,” Winilind said. “Go quickly, don’t keep their messenger waiting.”
Her mother and father worried so much about the opinions of their hosts. Adalina, too, concerned herself over the impression they made but she did not fuss and worry about every interaction, as though her people were beggars before the king’s men. He was their king, too, if the old stories were true. They did not come to burden the West with new worries, but to forewarn its people of what would descend upon them if they failed to act. They were only people to Adalina: richer, more powerful, blessed with peace and security. But only people, after all.
In her own time, she exited the tent.
The camp into which the Hallin clan were gathered resembled an imitation of the forest villages. The tents were assembled in the same pattern as the roundhouses, but with no communal fire at the centre and no wall of sharpened stakes at the perimeter. The village at home had been surrounded on all sides by a thick mass of trees and foliage, pressing in like water trying to fill empty space. This camp was surrounded by a flat, barren plain. Instead of the outside pushing in, the inside spread out. Families moved farther apart each day. Young men and women would disappear from the camp of refugees, and rumour would arrive that they had gone to seek employment in the nearby city, swapping the clothes and ways of their people for whatever they could beg, and taking on strange new customs and work. Adalina’s job was not only to win over the court of King Brunulf, but to keep her own people together.
She blinked in the sun and looked for the messenger. A man in blue robes with a yellow stripe waited on the edge of the camp, accompanied by two servants who stood behind him. Not the usual plain clothes of a lone messenger.
Between Adalina’s tent and the emissary, Elder Mildred waited to intercept her. The old woman stooped and jabbed her stick into the ground as she approached. Her long, silver hair trailed in the dust. Adalina’s stomach tightened.
Since Adalina’s election to the position of elder, which followed the disgrace of her father and the Hallin’s escape, Mildred had tussled with her for authority over the clan. There should have been three elders, by tradition, but Elder Joturn had been left in the forest and Mildred would not hear of replacing him until they knew he was dead. She treated Adalina, a woman of nearly twenty years, as though she were still a child. She seemed torn between seeing her as a protege and a rival. Adalina valued Mildred’s experience, but the old woman had struggled to cope with life outside the forest. She drank and cursed, and her sparse moments of pithy wisdom came interspersed between sorrowful reminiscence and bitter outbursts. Increasingly, the clan looked to Ada for leadership.
“Your new friend sends a message,” Mildred announced. “Not addressed to the leaders of the Seveners, but to you personally.”
“Yes,” Ada replied. “Mother told me so.” She swallowed her irritation at Mildred’s accusatory tone and said: “Will you come with me to hear it read?”
Mildred smiled and shook her head.
“I won’t intrude, but I remind you of this: the day you became an elder, you gave up private affairs. There is nothing you do which does not carry a consequence for the clan.”
“I understand, Elder Mildred,” Adalina replied. As if I don’t know that. Every waking moment I work for the clan, while you drink and complain.
“As well you should. Go on, find out what he has to say to you.”
Adalina nodded and stepped around her. Clansfolk greeted her as she crossed the camp to meet the messenger.
“Good morning, Elder Ada!” the twins, Koen and Kuno called in unison from where they crouched, attempting to milk one of the Hallin’s few remaining sheep. Kuno’s scarred and blotched face twisted in concentration as he returned to his task beneath the ewe, while Koen giggled and failed to hold it still. They were doing the best they could, since the clan’s former shepherd and shepherdess, Thilo and Lien, took half the sheep and went into the town with their baby to start a new life there.
Aimar, the man who had once been the village craftsman, nodded respectfully as she passed. He was busy studying some scrolls he’d acquired, no doubt planning to discuss them with her father.
As she neared the emissary, someone barrelled into her from the side. She jumped and let out a yelp, before realising who it was. A messy ball of straw coloured hair nestled itself against her stomach. She prised Pasha’s little arms from around her waist and the wild looking girl beamed up at her. She met the wide, black eyes with a smile of her own. Pasha had lost her father during the escape from their homeland and the girl had attached herself to Adalina like a surrogate second parent.
“Can I stay, Ada? Can I hear the gossip?” Pasha whispered, loud enough for the messenger to hear.
Adalina pinched her nose. “No you can’t, you nosey little thing. Run along now and I’ll find you when we’re done.”
Pasha scampered away and Adalina followed with her eyes until she was out of sight. In ages past, in what felt like another life, Oli would have been running right behind her.
She looked at the messenger, finally paying attention to him properly. She had not met this one before. He was a young man with short, brown curls and a clean-shaven face. From his muscular forearms and neck, he appeared more like a trained soldier than a messenger from the court. He held himself with grace, showing no impatience in waiting for her.
“You must be Adalina, Leader of the Seveners.” He flashed her a pleasant smile. “You are just as described. Tell me, how should I address you?”
“By my name,” she replied.
“What do your people call you?” he persisted.
“Elder Adalina. But I am not an elder to you.”
“Indeed not! You look even younger than I am. But you will need a proper title. We cannot simply call you Adalina.”
Adalina bristled and gave him a stony look. Who were these people to tell her what she should be named?
“Would you care to tell me your name, and then explain why?”
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“Forgive my poor manners,” he replied, laughing gently. “I am Telio, and I have a message for you from our friend, the prince.”
Adalina looked from Telio to the servants who accompanied him, then back to Telio with narrowed eyes and waited.
“Prince Tancred suggests that you come to court, to address the king directly,” he explained.
“Already?” Adalina asked. She had discussed this in person with Tancred himself. They had both agreed the time was not right. What’s changed? Why send someone else instead of coming himself or summoning her to a meeting? The young man had an air of aristocracy about him. He answered her in a low voice:
“The king has already heard Tancred plead your case, and he has dismissed it. But the prince believes that something has changed; that if the king were to meet you, to hear of your plight in your own words, he might be swayed.” Telio’s voice faltered and he could not hide his own skepticism. He added urgently: “That’s why you need a grander title: something the king and his court will understand. Can I give you some advice?”
Adalina nodded.
“It is a theatre, not a court,” Telio said. “For the performance of power. Bring servants with you to carry your gowns. When asked who you are, say that you come as the chief of all Seveners, or better yet: their magistrate.”
Adalina bit her lip.
“I am an elder only of the Hallin. There are two other Sevener clans – three others, if we still count the Sullin. How can I claim to be something I am not?”
Telio spoke as though reciting another’s words:
“To hide your own light is another way to lie. Hurean hates that.”
Adalina smarted.
“But I’m not a magistrate, or the chief of all Seveners, whatever light your prince thinks I have.”
Telio gestured at the clansfolk behind her with a wave of his arm and smiled.
“Tancred says they treat you like a princess, so call yourself that. Who else is here to plead their case? It falls to you, so embrace the role when you stand before the king.” His smile faded and he looked down, his eyes dark with warning. “If you don’t, you’ll waste your only chance.”
He reached into his robes and passed her a small parchment.
“The court of King Brunulf adjourns in the morning, just after the prayers at first light. You have one day to prepare, Princess. Follow these directions and don't be late, and do not take no for an answer at the gate.”
Telio turned to leave and his two servants followed.
“Wait!” Adalina called, and he stopped. “Won’t Prince Tancred meet me beforehand? Shouldn’t we discuss how to present our case?”
Telio shook his head.
“It will be better for both of you if this is your case. He will add his voice to yours when the moment is right.” She frowned. Have I lost my first and most important ally? Telio added:
“It’s a performance, remember?”
***
The sun had reached its zenith and now crept across the Western sky. Soon, it would illuminate the mount and the Godsroof from behind. Adalina regretted that they had not arrived before midsummer’s day, when the sun was said to set directly behind the old temple and bathe the mount and the surrounding landscape in a perfect, orange light. Mildred’s gnarled fingers snapped under Adalina's nose.
“I said, why didn’t you just call yourself a magistrate or a princess? If I were you, I would have invented a new title entirely. They’d believe anything about our people – the more exotic the better.”
“It’s not what I am, Elder Mildred. I want us to survive, not become an imitation of what they think we are.”
Elder Mildred sighed and cracked her neck. She reached out to the low table between them and took a piece of the flatbread that lay in a neat stack beside the little bowls of soups and sauces. Adalina looked sidelong at her parents. Twenty or so yards away, Luthold and Winilind ate with Pasha and her mother, the widowed warrior Beresa. Winilind leaned against her father’s shoulder, while Luthold toyed with his short, black beard and listened to Beresa. The short, stout woman waved her arms and spoke excitedly. When she reached the punchline of the story she was regaling, her parents’ faces broke into natural, easy laughter. Aimar approached them hesitantly from behind Beresa. He caught Winilind’s eyes and she waved him to a seat.
Pasha noticed Adalina watching them and smiled. The little girl lolled her head and imitated a person snoring. Adalina grinned, then realised Elder Mildred was staring at her.
Her face went red and she returned her attention to the old woman. The lines of Mildred’s face went so deep that it looked as though tiny wires held a bag of skin in place. Mildred showed a piece of the bread to Adalina.
“It tastes strange, doesn’t it?” the old woman said. “Like chewing something that never breaks down. But it fills me up, and makes me fall asleep in the afternoon. Then I wake with a bloated stomach.”
They had not eaten much bread when they lived in the forest. They had acquired flour occasionally through trading with Scursditch, but most of their diet had been meat, vegetables and fruits of the forest. Adalina didn’t think much of Western food, either, but it was the least of her concerns. Mildred dipped the bread into the dark brown sauce, grimaced, and continued:
“Olives, they call those little black fruits. They taste like saltwater to me.”
To the side, Pasha fell to one side, as though she were drifting off to sleep. Adalina winked at her and looked away.
“Elder Mildred,” Adalina began, allowing her frustration through in her tone. “Shall we plan what I should say to the king tomorrow? Are you sure you don’t want to-”
“I’m not coming,” Mildred snapped. “This isn’t about how I feel, or how you feel, either. Don’t you understand?”
Mildred gestured at the meal that lay before them and stared at Adalina with hard eyes. Adalina shook her head slowly, but she sat up straight. Sometimes the old crone rambled about nothing for what felt like hours. Sometimes she spoke with a sharp, clear meaning. And sometimes she rambled incoherently with a meaning behind it that Adalina would only later begrudgingly appreciate.
“We eat their food,” said Mildred, “not ours. We take what is given to us instead of hunting. We live on borrowed land and the young men and women of our clan lose the skills that the forest honed in us. They walk carelessly across the ground, as though the limbs of sleepers could not reach up and strangle them at any moment. They talk loudly. I hear the name of Hurean mentioned more often than the name of the other gods, as though there were only one and not seven.”
Adalina frowned. The other elder had her full attention now. Mildred pointed to the temple of Hurean atop the mount.
“That place watches over us. The sun sets behind it every night and the long shadow it casts reaches our camp. Our people, the Seveners, are tied to our land. That is what and who we are; the forest itself. Until we return there, it doesn’t matter one bit whether you call yourself an elder or a princess or the grand wizard of the Eastern Steppes. It does not matter what clothes you wear, or what words you use. There is nothing that can damage our people’s future more than rotting here without purpose week after week.”
Adalina drew her head back and her cheeks went red. Mildred leaned forward and spoke more gently, reaching across and touching her arm with a calloused hand.
“You’ve done well, girl. You got us here, not me. You have that prince wrapped around your finger.”
Adalina blanched. She did not believe she was manipulating Prince Tancred. She liked the sincere and irascible young man. He knew his own heart, if not his mind, and she did not think she could deceive him even if she tried.
“You’ve done better than I could have. Heavens, you have secured an audience under the Godsroof itself. But don’t let your pride lose us a final victory. Take that messenger’s advice. Dress up and put on airs. Take an entourage. Impress the king and secure an alliance. Plan a performance.”
Adalina ate in silence for a while and Mildred did not speak again. The sounds of other families talking and laughing surrounded them, but no one came close. The elders always ate separately. Mildred, Joturn and Oslef used to disappear inside Oslef’s hut. It had been a privileged, special place to Adalina’s childhood eyes. It had never occurred to her that, at times, they might have been desperately lonely in there. Now Oslef was dead, Joturn was lost and only Mildred – the most unpredictable of the three – remained.
Is she right? Adalina thought to herself. She sounds right. But it doesn’t feel that way.
She masticated the chewy bread until it felt like a paste inside her mouth. The salt of the olive dish overpowered any other taste. Adalina tried to recall the taste of her mother's lamb kzatra and couldn't. She understood Mildred’s point but she did not agree.
When I go before the king, I will do so as myself. I will speak for Seveners as an Elder of the Hallin should speak.
To the West, the sun set behind the mount. The Godsroof glowed with orange light that clung to its sides. She wondered what the king was like. ‘Old, blind King Brunulf,’ the common people in the city said. Those more critical called him a failed ruler, waiting to die.
But all criticism of him, Adalina had noted, was delivered beyond earshot of his sons and messengers. And if she trusted one thing about herself above all else, it was her ability to see into the hearts of others.
She would meet King Brunulf without disguise, and decide for herself who he was.
