Mom and I are still cleaning up from last night’s baby delivery when Braxton knocks once on the door to our home and office before entering. He toys with one end of his mustache. “A royal messenger just arrived!”
Mom and I stare at Braxton and then glance at each other, Mom’s dark eyes no doubt as wide as my deep blue ones. With Inizion being one of the most remote villages in Amenyl, for a royal messenger to show up here meant it was an incredibly important message.
Maxwell pokes his head out of the cotton sheet divider nearby. “I’ll go listen,” he tells his wife, Barbara, who is lounging on one of our patient cots with their newborn son, Scott.
“We better go too,” Mom says to me.
I follow Mom and Maxwell outside, my sleepy eyes squinting at the bright sun peering over the horizon. Our building is the most set apart, just off the main street where the majority of the wooden and straw-thatched homes and businesses were.
Just beyond the humble people of Inizion are six tall men on horses in beautiful, gleaming platemail armor that glistens in the sun. Their capes and the flag that one of them carries bears the Verlassen shield crest, a gray wolf pictured from its shoulders to its head howling on a yellow and purple checkered background. In the midst of the armored men is a seventh man who wears the shield crest on a long vest on both the front and back, the edges of his half-yellow and half-purple clothes underneath glinting with gold. Even the buckles of his black velvet shoes glisten.
I can’t help staring—I’ve never seen anything quite like this. Verlassen foot soldiers came once a few years ago because of some nearby bandit activity, and that’s the only other sight I can compare this to, which is just as awe-inspiring and intimidating now as it was then. The sight of such wealth and training is equally stunning and terrifying. It reminds me of how simple of a life I live in Inizion.
The royal messenger, who wears a flat cap on his head, sniffs, waiting as people continue to press forward. No one wants to get too close to the horses, who look a bit skittish. Or, too close to the guards, one of whom is toying with a polearm weapon with a blade on one end of it, like someone had taken a hoe and turned the blade sideways so it ran edgewise along the length of the wood. I can see Elah, one of the young men of Inizion, make his way toward the front of the crowd, eager to get a closer look.
The royal messenger gives us a look of disdain before pulling out an elegant scroll. The handles of it look like they’re made of gold, and the parchment has velvet on the backside. He clears his throat. “Our great King Mahlir of Verlassen, the ruler of Amenyl and your king, people of Amenyl, is proud to announce the upcoming coronation of his eldest son, Prince Philander, as the official heir to the throne, in six months’ time. All people of Amenyl are invited to attend in celebration. King Mahlir of Verlassen is also eager to announce that it is at this time that Prince Philander will choose a consort as future queen. As a result, all maidens are especially invited to attend the coronation and present themselves before Prince Philander during the celebration for consideration.”
The royal messenger pauses deliberately as Odell and Sharon give an excited gasp. I feel a rather uncomfortable knot in my stomach and lean toward Mom, even as I give a polite clap of applause with the rest of the crowd. While rumors are exaggerations more often than not, I’ve heard enough about Prince Philander that I know some of it must be true. And all the stories about Prince Philander agree that he’s a womanizer. I don’t think he’s going to be a bad ruler, but I don’t want to be his “wife” in name alone. Unlike Odell and Sharon, who have clasped their hands in excitement and now jump in place, I have no desire to be considered as a consort. That said, I do want to see the Golden Palace, and wonder at how many coins it would take to visit, just to witness the celebration. It would be a party like no other!
“On a more serious note,” the royal messenger says, interrupting the bustle of the crowd. “King Mahlir of Verlassen would also like all men between the ages of sixteen and thirty-five to consider joining the army, or even the royal bodyguards. Your King desires you to know, good people of Amenyl, that there is no war, and that you are quite safe. However, he does ask for your continued support, like the rest of Amenyl supports the Verlassen royal family, in the unlikely event of an attempt at war by some less civilized manner of men. Therefore, please consider a long, steady employment in the Verlassen military, including room and board as well as good pay, and compensation to your families if you were to so happen pass into Ariadna’s arms in the very unlikely event of an actual war.” He gives the men around him an expectant look, as if he would be surprised if they said no to this offer. I can see Elah nodding to himself, as if he were deciding then and there that he was going.
“That is all.” The royal messenger rolls his scroll back up, setting it in the elaborately stitched satchel hooked to the side of his well-groomed horse. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to continue on my route.”
“Don’t you want to rest for a bit, good sir?” Brian asks. He’s the leader of Inizion, although he always tells us not to call him “chief” or “sir” or anything like that. He says he’s not anyone special to have a title. Which is one of the things I like about him.
“I would prefer to leave immediately,” the royal messenger drawls, “hence my early arrival to escape this wretched, chilly spot and return to more pleasant abodes.”
I stare at him, surprised at his cold response to Brian’s welcoming request. Sniffing again, the royal messenger turns his horse and rides back out on the dirt path headed southeast.
One of the soldiers stalls his horse and turns his helmet down to Brian. “Pardon our charge’s attitude,” he says, his voice muffled a little. “He’s been on the road for a while and has a weak constitution for such travel. Thank you for your offer. I wish we could stay—Inizion looks like a peaceful place.”
The furrow in Brian’s brow smooths away, and he gives the soldier a warm smile, reaching up with one hand. “Thank you. Take care, good sir.”
The soldier reaches down and shakes Brian’s hand. “You too.” With that, he turns his horse and urges his steed into a light cantor to catch up with the rest of the soldiers, who are riding around the messenger in formation.
The messenger’s slight against Inizion now calmed by the kind soldier’s words, the townsfolk of Inizion begin to talk excitedly about the news. Mom nudges me playfully as we turn back to our office and home. “Are you going to attend the coronation?” she asks.
“Only if I can sufficiently hide from Prince Philander’s gaze,” I say. Mom laughs, as does Maxwell, who is following with us to return to Barbara’s side.
“It looks like your daughter has taken on your wisdom, Demetria,” Maxwell says. “We’re going to have to call her Estelle the Wise.”
“She makes me proud.” Mom puts an arm around my shoulder, and I smile up at her. Despite the fact that we look nothing alike, almost no one in Inizion has ever acknowledged the clear lack of blood lineage between us. At least to my face. Maybe they did to Mom when she first took me in, but I haven’t heard a thing, and I’m grateful for that.
There’s a shout from outside Inizion, and I turn, gazing along the road. My mouth falls open.
Where the dirt road rises at the top of a hill just southeast of Inizion, the soldiers draw their weapons and circle around the messenger, who is ducking low on his horse. Coming up on foot on every side are darkly-clothed people. Given their mismatched armor and the scarves over their faces, I guess bandits. Inizion has seen a couple of bandits from time to time, although we’re so small that we don’t have much in the way of valuables. But a royal messenger with escorts? One armor set alone had to be worth several months’ pay, if not more. And it looked like every bandit within a day or two’s travel has gathered together and now beset them on every side.
Brian darts into his house and hurries back out. “Men!” he shouts. “A bandit attack! Grab a weapon!”
“We’re just a ‘wretched spot,’” Braxton drawls. “Why should we help?”
Lifting a woodcutter’s axe over his shoulder, Brian gives Braxton a steely gaze. “Because that’s the right thing to do. It’s what Ariadna would want us to do.”
The men share a look but then rush off for whatever they can use as weapons—axes, hammers, and pitchforks is most of what I see. Feeling sick, I follow Mom into our home and fill a satchel with strips of cloth, and then drop a number of pain-numbing and blood-slowing ointments and herbs into my basket. Where there is battle, there are wounds. And that’s where us healers must go.
“What’s going on?” Barbara asks anxiously.
Maxwell picks up our fireplace poker. “The royal messenger and his guards are being attacked.”
“Stay with your wife and son,” Mom says. “I don’t want them unattended.”
Maxwell hesitates but then nods. “Sure thing, Demetria.”
Mom slings her own satchel over her shoulder. “Estelle, come with me.” Her tone is anxious, and my heart thuds in my chest as we head out. Women and children were staring wide-eyed out at the haphazard battle just beyond. My heart wants to stay with them as I make my way closer.
The Verlassen soldiers are well-trained—bandits have fallen all around their feet. But there are far more bandits and they come at the soldiers on all sides, who are using their shields and fallen steeds for cover, the royal messenger completely out of sight now. Worse yet, some of the bandits stayed back to fire arrows into the mix, regardless of their comrades. At last, the bandits turn some of their attention to face Brian and the many other men of Inizion, who rush out with their makeshift weapons.
“Estelle,” Mom says to me as we push through the crowd in Inizion watching, “we’re just here to tend to the wounded. We treat our own first, then the bandits. Keep in mind that you could be hit in the crossfire. It’s easy for people to get confused in battle. Stay low and always have an eye out.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I’ve never worked in a battle before, and I’m nervous. But hearing the cries of agony from fallen men—and women, I spot a few of them amongst the bandits—gives me courage. They need help. Taking a breath, I follow Mom out. Spotting Elah curled up on the ground nearby, holding his hand to his side, I crouch low and hurry over.
“Estelle?” Elah asks, his voice a whisper.
I pry back his hand on his side and breathe a sigh of relief—it looks painful, but all-in-all it’s a harmless cut. “You’re going to be just fine,” I tell him. Handing him a flask of grain alcohol that we use in emergencies like this to lessen pain quickly, I pull out strips of cloth and wrap his wound. He hisses. “We’ll have to stitch you up later,” I say, “but keep these on to help stop the blood flow. Understood?”
Elah gives a feeble nod, his eyes wide on me. Patting him on the head, I urge him to take one more drink before I take the flask from him. I turn and hurry to the next person—Cooper, of all people. His arm is still fractured, and his other good arm is holding onto his right shoulder, which has the broken shaft of an arrow sticking out of it.
“I probably shouldn’t have come out here,” Cooper says between gritted teeth.
“You wanted to help,” I say.
Cooper gives a rough chuckle. “You and Demetria are always so nice about our own stupidity.”
I give a shaky laugh as I check the arrow. It’s embedded deep. “This might hurt, brace yourself.”
“Why,” Cooper continues, perhaps distracting himself, “if it weren’t for you and your mom—” His eyes widen on something past me just as a shadow falls over us both. “Estelle!”
“Estelle!” Mom screams at me from farther away.
I spin on my knees to find a bandit, one eye completely closed under blood running from a wound on his forehead, his other eye barely squinted open, swinging a stone-headed axe straight at my head.
Tamara Rivers 
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