Into the Deep Wood

The Negotiations were being prepared for like a holiday because, truly, they were. Aside from the kingdoms being on the brink of a war that would not only send thousands of the nation’s sons to their deaths, ruin homes, decimate farms, and strip the states of much-needed resources –it would also greatly impact and disrupt trade through the Midtrade City. And, what an occasion this was to be able to flaunt each king’s resources to intimidate the others into backing down.

Truly, it was not a war of the four kings that was being discussed here. It was a war between Aisultan and Batyr. The South and the East were nearly always at each other’s throats. The only reason it had not begun was because Batyr didn’t have the funds but had the men, and Aisultan had the funds but not the men.

Typhonos to the West was amicably aligned with, and therefore neutral between, all the other territories. Tucked away in a mountain range that acted as a stronghold, exporting all the luxuries the Territories could ask for and keeping their gates and mouths tightly shut to outsiders had gone a long way. But, his fortune depended on the other’s ability to pay for it.

Korschey had not expressed any interest in war games. His capital was locked far away in the vastly expanding forests of Roska. His interests were in parties, courts, and creating new gods and goddesses to throw into the mix of the smaller town’s beliefs. The North preferred to scatter so much misinformation around that no one could tell what was the truth, especially by the time it made it to the Midtrade City.

There were rumors that Korschey was two different kings who had lucked out more than three decades ago to look exactly the same. There were other rumors that he would not age or die and, therefore, rule forever. And, due to him never marrying, there were also rumors that perhaps his majesty had a taste for very different kinds of sweets.

In that, the Negotiations were not likely to result in any actual warfare, and the expectation was that all four would arrive and set up camp outside the city. They would eat, drink, boast, decide no one was going to war, and eat and drink some more before everyone returned to their respective states. They’d say how well the negotiations have gone and how good of diplomats their sovereigns are.

The ambassador from the West arrived at the meeting spot set up by Theodora after they had already gotten there. He was a rounder man, dressed in beautifully stitched clothes that fit him slightly too snugly in the waist. He greeted Marat with a slight bow.

“Please, this way.” He gestured away from the Cathedral.

Marat gave him a puzzled look, which the ambassador caught before turning and walking from them.

“I advise that to best pass through the doors upon your arrival, we arrive with our entire party,” he told them.

Val would sneak an inconspicuous glance at Marat any chance she could. Whenever she thought of the prior night, butterflies - although more like entire flocks of birds, would rise in her stomach. It was a warm, excited feeling. Whenever she thought of it, the corners of her mouth would lift involuntarily, and she would have to drop her glance shyly to not look like a smiling simpleton.

She was in disbelief at her own boldness and of how fast things set off once they began. How unquestioning and eager every touch had been. How easily it came to her. She was doubtful and hesitant in nearly everything, but she did not feel either of those things, once the realization was planted in her mind.

But, come morning, she was again unsure how to read him. They slept with his arms around her. She did not dream again. But, when he woke, he got up as if in a great hurry. He was fast to turn his false leg away from her sight and pull on clothing to conceal it. She saw his hands tremble slightly as he buckled his belt.

Moreover, he did not say anything. She remained with the covers pulled over her, watching him with her head propped up slightly. He never once met her eyes.

“Get dressed, we have to go.” He told her finally before disappearing out of the room.

They followed the ambassador until he pulled open the door of a shabby-looking home. It was tightly crowded with the next, the alley between them so narrow a person could not even get through - not that they would even want to; it was blocked off shortly after it started.

The narrow corridor beyond the door turned into a small room with no furniture. Two doorways branched off from it. He twisted the knob of one, and Val heard the lock of the other click open.

Inside, it revealed a brightly lit, extravagant room. Val’s breath caught; this was far beyond what even Theodora’s shop looked like. The furniture was lavish, adorned with gold, the beautiful colors of velvet, and polished wood. There was crystal and a carafe of pure - almost glowing drinking water on every table. The room was fragrant, like teakwood and mixed florals.

Only a few people were inside, and all dressed as royalty. Their beautiful shiny hair and the men’s oiled mustaches looked as if they all came right out of the storybooks.

The ambassador led them through the crowd and to another door. A man stood there, his shiny boots looking like they never saw the road's dust, his tunic bright as if it was never washed and never got dirty.

“Master.” The guard said, bowing his head slightly.

“We will have breakfast in the gardens; these are Theodora’s representatives we have spoken about.”

The guard sized Val and Marat up, his expression condemnatory at the sight of their travel-worn clothes.

“As you say.”

They were let through to yet another room and given neatly packed bundles of clothing.

“I beg you, change. And I will meet you out there - he pointed at yet another set of doors constructed out of solid wood with frosted glass. The light pouring through them suggested that they led outside.

Val was taken to a different room than Marat and allowed to clean up and change there. A large mirror stood in the corner, its frame also seeming to be made of gold. With horror, she saw herself.

Her eyes were sunken, large dark bags under them. She looked sickly, the color of her face undertoned with gray. It looked fallen, and her lips were thinner than she remembered. Her collar bones protruded unnaturally.

She imagined this was what she looked like when she left the Hag’s Glade.

She put on the fine dress; it was pale green and so beautiful that she was afraid to even move for fear of disturbing the delicate fabric or snagging its golden embroidery. She braided her hair as she saw the other ladies do.

In the jars, she found red paste and white powder. She dabbed a finger in the red and gently pressed it onto her lips and cheeks, hoping it would give her face a more lively appearance. They did not give her shoes, so her worn leather ones would have to do. Val was grateful that they were hidden from sight by the skirts of the dress.

Marat waited outside. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was cut. He wore a black tunic and a waistcoat with white embroidery. These clothes were as fine as those she had just seen on the guard outside. Where the tunic buttoned at the top was a pure white ascot that complemented his angular jawline.

She felt the butterflies again.

Was this what he had been in his life before disgrace? He looked like he belonged here, far from the wild, tangled mess of beard and clumsily pulled-back long hair. A proper gentleman.

She could see why all the rumors concerning his transgressions with the women in the court had made it back even to her.

His eyes finally met hers, and she could see by the look on his face that he had been equally surprised by her appearance, although for very different reasons. His eyes paused on the collarbones, and he frowned.

In the garden, they ate with the ambassador as he discussed the etiquette and expectations for Val. One look at her, and he knew she needed it.

Marat remained quiet. Val began to dread that perhaps his coldness meant regrets.

She looked with interest at the garden, her mind drifting from the monotony of the man’s explanations.

Val’s eyes stopped on someone watching them from beyond it.

It was a young boy, no older than thirteen or fourteen, dressed as finely as anyone else. There was a certain presence about him that she could not quite explain. His hair was pale, almost golden white, and his eyes visibly light, although she could not tell their true color from that far off.

He stared intensely at her, the look on his face unreadable. She could not look away from him. There was something so strange about how he studied her.

And just like that, he disappeared from view.

She kept her eyes on the spot where he stood for a minute longer before returning to the conversation…

…and was met with Marat’s disapproving look.

“Would you care to repeat back what the ambassador just told you, Valeria?” He said, clearly annoyed.

“I’m sorry, this place, I am in awe of it. It is hard to look away.” She told them, omitting the boy.

Two men dressed like the guard outside appeared in the doorways. They walked briskly toward them. Marat saw them, too, and tensed. As they reached the table, one bent down and whispered something in the ambassador’s ear, who nodded back.

“Of course.” All of a sudden, he looked nervous.

This made Val suddenly very anxious, and she felt that Marat tried to reach for a knife that was not there.

One of the guards nodded to them as to follow.

“My friends, won’t you join us? It seems you have caught someone’s attention, and we must go at once.” The ambassador said, standing from the table so fast he bumped it and made the dishes rattle.

Glass-lined the ceiling to the partially closed-off gardens that they entered. It was very humid there. In the middle of the room sat two little girls, completely occupied with their own games. Just older than toddlers, both had hair so light that it could have been white - just like the boy Val had seen.

On the couches behind them sat a man and a woman. The man was large and older, his beard and hair completely grayed but neatly braided and kept. He wore white linen and around his forehead was a thin golden band. He had slightly darker olive skin and a very pronounced bridge of the nose.

The woman was slim and dainty. Her face was thinner, with a delicate, slightly upturned nose and plump red lips. She reminded Val of a porcelain doll. Her hair was lightened by the sun, and a thin braid wrapped into the gold band running across her forehead. She had such large, beautiful green eyes. They fell on the newcomers immediately.

The boy Val had seen earlier stood beside the man and woman.

“My Lord,” The ambassador said, bowing, “may I present to you, Master Marat and Valeria of…” he trailed off, his face suddenly growing pale as he did not know how to address her.

“Of the North.” Marat filled in for him. But the damage was done, and the king waved the ambassador to leave. Once the man disappeared, horror and embarrassment written on his face, the King turned back to Marat. The hunter bowed at the waist, and Val was a heartbeat behind him.

“Well met. I am Typhonos of Nasmeria, the West.” He said. “And this is the revered Queen Mother Elena, my wife.”

The woman, only slightly older than Val, looked at them curiously but did not speak.

“My daughters, Phia and Raissa,” he continued, gesturing to the little girls, “and my son, Dimos.”

The boy stepped forward, and half bowed, never taking his eyes off Val.

“We will skip the waste of time that is pleasantries–” the King started, but the queen shot him a look that he must have known well because his words fell immediately.

“Time is never wasted on pleasantries, my husband.” She said, turning back to them. “Won’t you sit?” She gestured to the other couches around them.

Val obeyed, followed by Marat. He felt increasingly uneasy, but Val was so taken aback at the sight of the King and Queen before her that she temporarily forgot to be afraid.

“Of the North,” the Queen said, leaning forward with genuine interest, “My dear, but you did travel far. Did you come with Korschey and his people?”

Val shook her head but could not find it in her to say a word.

“Your Majesty, we have spent considerable time in the East since Valeria left her home.” Marat tried to help, but the Queen raised a thin, silky hand.

“Please, let the girl find her voice. I suspect that she had not spent much time in such companies.” The Queen’s eye traveled down to the dusty shoes Val wore that now peeked out of her fine dress. “Please, my dear. Where is it you come from?”

“I…” Val felt like her throat had gone dry, but she forced words out that she did not know she could. “I am not sure, your Grace. I do not remember my home.”

Elena nodded, turning to her husband and gave him a warm smile signaling that she was done.

“Right.” He said. “A long way, and how do you find yourself here among my court, Master Marat, hailing from the East?”

“We’ve come as representatives of a well-to-do merchant, Theodora,” Marat told him. “We have no affiliations or loyalties to Aisultan.”

Tythonos nodded.

“It seems not many do.” He said grimly.

“Dimos, please tell our guests why you have invited them here today.” Elena beckoned. Still staring at Val, the boy took a few heartbeats to answer as if considering if he was planning to at all.

“I knew her to be Golden, mother.” He said finally.

“Dimos! Please! Address our guests, where is the conduct of the polite society we have instilled in you?” The Queen looked indignant.

Val’s heart froze. She could have foreseen this moment. This was much worse than when Theodora had brought it up.

The danger of the words hung above Val, and again she felt Marat reach for his weapon, only to have his hand drop when he realized that it was not there. The King must have seen the changes in their demeanors.

“Be still. You are our guests. No harm will come to you here.” He said. “But we were not going to allow such as yourself to pass by without a proper greeting and introduction.”

“We must be on our way,” Marat said slowly.

Val saw him sizing up the room and looking for any escape route.

“Master, please, take ease,” Elena told him, reaching over and taking Val’s hand in hers. “We are not here to hurt you, Valeria. We have no need for a Golden ourselves.”

“We already have one,” Typhonos said, smiling lightly at the expression change on their guests’ faces.

The King turned to Elena.

“My dear wife, the Queen Mother. Once, she was Golden when she came to court. My greatest treasure, to this day and until all my days.” He smiled, his eyes becoming kinder as they rested on her.

Marat felt every ounce of blood drain out of him. The King’s words repeated as if an echo in his mind, not quite making sense but unable to let go of their meaning.

That would make Dimos…

A god.