The Narratives of Kaos: Book 1: Chapter 5: Zandri

Chapter 5

Zandri

“Good morning, Miss,” Dawn said as she entered, a breakfast tray in her hands.

Princess Zandri muttered something from her bedsheets, more a groan than a greeting. She struggle to break the crust that had formed in her eyes. The pinks and whites of her chamber came into focus at last. Ornate and even gaudy possessions of hers aligned the cluttered room.

She sat up, her hands holding her midsection.

When was the last time I’ve eaten, she thought as her body nagged her. Her stomach growled as the smell of salt fish hit her hard.

Dawn placed the tray on the princess’s night stand, careful not disturb the fragile trinkets it was laden with.

Zandri admired the baker’s bread and took in the smell, once again, of the salt fish. Two sausage links smoked underneath a blanket of barley. A pile of dried, red grapes sat to the side, but Zandri hadn’t much cared for fruits. They reminded her of her too much of her grandparents.

“Thank you, Dawn,” she said as she began to eat, indulging in a link of sausage. Her mother’s voice told her to slow down with her food as to not corrupt her elegance. But Zandri was much too hungry, and they was no one to see her but Dawn, one of the most timid servants in the castle.

Dawn hesitated as she wrung her hands with her apron, her face going sorrowful. “There is something else, My Lady. I am sorry to inform you that Mr. Holt will be taking taking holliday over the spring.”

Zandri’s heart sank, and the salt fish she had just bitten into lost its flavor in her mouth.

Frederick Holt, her father’s most trusted soldier, had been Zandri’s best friend since she was born. The girls that worked down in the pasture or even the village were either jealous of her, or didn’t share in the interests she had. And the boys were much too easily romantically interested in her after they came to a certain age.

Holt, on the other hand, was like family, almost a brother to her father. His iron will and undeniable courage were things the princess had always admired. Not to mention he seemed to always have time for her, no matter how many orders her father barked at him.

Going a full season without him by her side-

“Miss?” Dawn lightly shook the princess out of her stupor.

“Please make me look presentable,” Zandri said curtly. Despite her hunger, she pushed the tray aside. “I wish to speak with my father.”

After a painful few minutes of Dawn eliminating the tangles of the princess’s golden locks, she head out to find her father. Now cloaked in a silk scarlet gown that dared kissing the floor, and a chain girdle belt, Zandri made her way through the maze like corridors and stairways until she found herself stopping before her father’s room. She observed the cracks in the wood, remembering when she was small enough to be eye level with them. Then, subconsciously, she turned to the banners with her father’s jestún. Golden tendrils dances on a velvet cloth of a coated cherry. Symbols dotted the canvas, but one stuck out to Zandri. A ruby. Standing for the beauty of the kingdom. That beauty died alongside her mother.

She shook those thoughts from her head. She heard voices coming from the other side of the door, but knocked anyway.

A slight scramble ensued behind the door before it burst open.

The king loomed over her, his beady eyes alight with fury. His red doublet was lined with gold trim. A bushy forked beard of black covered most of it, however. Heavy rings clinged to his fingers.

His face lightened at the sight of her. “Ah, my daughter. What is it? I’m quite busy at the moment.”

Behind him, she spotted a man, spare and haggard, with white and raspberry robes engulfing his small frame. He stood hunched over an oak table, his hands flat on its surface. Some spews of white sprouted out of his otherwise bald head, spreading lies about his true age. In a similar fashion, his jowls shook when his mouth stretched into a cold smile.

Chathral Ronan

The small bit of breakfast that the young princess indulged in came up to her throat at the sight of him. She forced it back down with a hard swallow.

Chathral was the King’s uctor, the royal financial advisor. In actuality, he had a plethora of responsibilities, as the term uctor was a loose translation of the old Kaotish language, and the position of uctor was only used to describe the one man. It was, however, Chathral’s financial advisement that he seemed to take precidant with.

“Chathral and I have much to discuss,” her father continued.

By his tone, Zandri began second guessing the true severity of her visit. “I heard that Holt is taking a leave of absence in the Spring. I was wondering why that is.”

The king gave her a dignified look. “It is because he deserves it. The man has been loyal to me for eighty seasons, I think a short reprieve is well deserved.”

“When is he to leave?”

The king turned to Chathral, who’s smug smile stretched his wrinkled face in a disturbing manor. “We were just discussing the matter. Holt will be escorting Chathral to a meeting King Pod in Cegord.”

This caught Zandri’s attention. “Why’s that?”

The king hesitated. “He is going to propose a deal between the two of us that I came up with.”

    “What is it you’re asking for?”

    The king smiled out of the corner of his mouth. “Do not fret on it, my child. You are above such meaningless doldrums.” He took her hands in his, his skin warm and soft, but his rings chilling and smooth.

    She removed herself from him, crossing her arms. “I am fifteen, Father. The legal age where I may indulge in your politicking if I so wish.”

    “Gods, that is true.” He scanned her with mournfulness. “I still think of you as a child, yet here you stand, almost a woman grown.” He shook his head in earnest. “However, I still think it would benefit you to remain distant from these proceedings. At least for the time being.”

“Sealris Pod is getting involved with his kingdom’s politics, and I’m a good few fortnights older than he is.”

“He has been trained to take such a position, unlike yourself. I won’t forbid you, but warn you I must. Running a kingdom is a tough task, My Daughter, and I hope you don’t take an interest in it before you are ready... as your mother had.”

    Zandri knew the mentioning of her mother sparked the end of their conversation. “Very well.” She bowed her head slightly, then, trying not to catch a glimpse of Chathral Ronan, she departed.

Only a select few places in Stock had cobblestone. Most roads were paved dirt

and uneven. Despite its pride, Stock was the least affluent of the three major kingdoms of Kaos. Here, however, one wouldn’t have guessed that by the sight of the Destishni’s courtyard. The pasture down below was covered in a luscious, green overlay. Wooden shacks poked through the hillocks that sprouted in a serpent like manor. Wild animals roamed from place to place, no fence to bind them. The smell of hot iron and sweat from the forge wafted up the hill. But it was overtaken by the aroma of manure that took hold of the stables that sat on the edge of the courtyard.

    The Garco brothers waited by the stables. Equet, the elder of the two, named after the Great Horse of Tyric, stood tall over his younger brother. His brooding features didn’t weaver in his near fourteen years.

    There had been a time Zandri found herself smitten with him, but in due time she had gotten over his rugged appearance and mysterious personality. Besides, her father would have never approved of any relationship between her and a stable boy.

Equet’s brother, Firmus, looked more like their father. Stout and a bit plump, with a flat face and a soft look about him. He was nervous about most anything, especially things his brother wasn’t.

They donned nothing but burly trews that were pulled over their stomachs, almost aggressively so.

    “Morning, Princess,” said Equet as the princess neared him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for Frederick, have you see him?”

    “Holt?” He crossed his arms over his bare chest and nodded once. “We’re waiting for him to get back from taking Sabel out for a ride.”

“Sabel?” Zandri had never heard of a maiden named Sabel, nor had she ever seen Holt attempt to woo anyone. She just assumed he was married to his job as her father’s dux. Nonetheless, she would have to question this Sabel.

Equet turned his head to her, one eyebrow raised. “You don’t remember? She’s the orchi I showed you last week. That horse that came with the recent shipment from Andor.”

    Zandri felt her face go red. “Oh.”

    “Here he comes,” Firmus squeaked. His high voice forced Zandri to swallow a laugh.

Equipped with his personal plated armor, Frederick Holt rode atop a brilliant black orchri that charged up the thin dirt trail to the courtyard. His hair was slick, tumbling down to rest on his plated shoulders. His eyes were sharp and full of experience, almost cold, but his face was brightened by a warm smile that stretched from ear to ear.

It was not a common sight.

“Ah, Princess,” he said as the horse trotted to a halt. “How are you this fine day?”

“Fine.” She avoided his eyes, deciding to cut right to the subject. “You are to leave in the spring?” Her voice broke near the end, but Holt didn’t seem to notice.

He stepped off of his horse and patted the stead on the chest. “Indeed,” he said cheerfully. “I intend on taking a short leave.”

    Zandri mindlessly watched the Garso brothers escorted the horse to the stables, it trying to stray away and the boys having trouble controlling it. “How long?”

    “Into the summer months if I so wish.” He smiled. “Your father was most lenient on deciding my date of return. Good man, your father.”

“I suppose,” she muttered. “Where will you go then?”

“If he will have me, I’ll stay with Chris. I’ll go and visit him after I accompany Chathral to meet with King Pod.” His eyes suddenly narrowed on her. “You have been getting along with him, haven't you?”

    “Who, King Lasiter?” She feigned innocence. “I can’t say I have spent enough time with him to form an opinion.”

    Holt’s skeptical look made her giggle. “I meant Chathral.”

    “Oh, right. Well…”

    “Zandri…”

    “Hmm?”

    He sighed. “The man has done nothing wrong.” He began making his way back to the castle. Zandri followed hesitantly. “He may be… set in his ways, but he is only doing what your father asks of him.”

Zandri was about to rebut when Richard Giddish came running up, his chopped hair bouncing with every step. His prudy face, damp with sweat, was drawn up in a scowl. His red tabard flapped behind him as he dashed through the courtyard.

“Frederick,” he uttered under heavy heaves. “A boy is here. He says he has an accordance with the king.

Zandri frowned to herself. Why was Holt needed on such a minute dilema? Surly Richard Giddish was high enough in command to deal with the matter.

Nonetheless, Holt- and Zandri -followed Giddish out of the courtyard and to the nearest gaurdtower, where a boy stood, peeking from the gate.

    He seemed like he had made a living as a walking pile of soot. His hair was an unreadable color, just messy and uneven. Zandri thought she could make out some freckles beeneth the grease on his face, but she wasn’t sure if it wasn’t just bits of grime. Holes dotted his clothes, alongside splotches of the same filth that swarmed him.   

    He examined the castle and the courtyard, muttering to himself.

    “You there, boy!” Holt called.

    The boy turned his head.

    “You seek an accordance with King Joseph.”

    The boy made a distasteful expression and spit out, “Yeah.”

Holt thought for a moment. “What’s your name, boy?”

“You haven't heard of me? I’m Francis Cobham.”

At this, Holt’s face went gaunt.