The captain stiffened and the four sailors that were minding the oars all eyed him. She had put him on the spot. He was quiet for over a minute before speaking. “You’re right, Princess. I have given you my word and my honor rests upon it. Master Zagre, inform Lieutenant Petit that he is acting captain until further notice.”
“Aye, Captain Batard,” the man said, briefly touching his cap before returning both hands to the oar.
Elea felt a pain in the back of her throat and tried unsuccessfully to swallow it down. The illegitimate captainwasa man of honor and she used it to manipulate him. She tied a scarf around her recognizable purple curls, unsure of her welcome among the people of Urka.
The cockboat docked on a beach about a quarter of a mile out of town. Gerard helped her out of the vessel and then carried her trunk as he followed her. She watched his men give the captain one last salute before starting to row back to their ship.
They walked together in silence, guilt choking out her power of speech.
Elea passed through the crumbling stone wall that surrounded the city, and she realized that it was little more than rows of dilapidated cottages. Some were missing windows and shutters. Others had holes in their roofs that were poorly patched. But what truly shocked her was the people. They were dressed in rough, dark wool, their faces gaunt and filthy. The few children they passed looked worse than the adults. Their clothes were little more than rags hanging from their narrow frames. Her people were starving. She’d known it was bleak being a peasant, having no legal rights or aristocratic privileges, but she hadn’t realized the squalor of their living.
“I had no idea it was this bad,” Elea admitted, covering her nose with her hand. “Are the other cities in Urka this poor?”
Gerard shrugged his shoulders, still carrying her trunk. “Some poorer. Folks who live in castles rarely understand how the rest of the world struggles by.”
Argylly Castle, in contrast to the cottages, was in pristine condition. The stones shone in the afternoon sun. A row of guards wearing the green uniforms of Urka guarded the main gate. They did not appear to be suffering from any hardship. Their faces were healthy and full, as if they were well fed. Their uniforms were clean and crisp, embroidered with golden trigons, the symbol of their country.
Elea couldn’t help but wonder if she revealed her true identity to the soldiers, if they would bow to her as queen, or if they would attempt to capture her and take her to her uncle Laird Lochdon. She hadn’t done anything in her twenty-one years to earn their loyalty. Or the loyalty of the peasants. She’d been too busy comparing herself to Nora and stewing over her grandmother’s prophecy that she would be the greatest ruler ever known. A prediction that had made her own father hate her and send her away to marry a foreign prince.
The earth began to shake. Gerard dropped her trunk and grabbed Elea by the arm to drag her into the middle of the street away from the buildings. She watched in horror as roofs caved into the cottages. Screams and cries rose above the sound of the rumbling. It was like a thousand drummers beating at different times.
Then, as fast as it started, the earth shake ended.
Elea touched her forehead, left shoulder, and then right shoulder, making the sacred trigon. “May Màthair watch over and protect us.”
“Look at her!” A young man, his face covered in spots, pointed at Elea.
An older woman with stringy white hair covered her mouth with her dirty hands.
A broad, bearded man with dark skin and no shirt dropped the hammer that was in his hand. It fell to the ground with a loud thud.
Elea winced.
More and more people seemed to crowd around her and Gerard, circling them like vultures. Gerard wore his Kaulish naval uniform. She touched her hair nervously, only to realize that her scarf was not there. Everyone could see her violet hair.
They knew who she was.
Elea needed to say something. More people were gathering around her, encircling her. She wouldn’t be able to run away, even if she wanted to. There were so many smells. It was hard to discern who was feeling what: Hate. Anger. Hope. Fear. Disbelief. Surprise. The scents nearly overwhelmed her: sweet, sour, putrid, and pure. Elea felt nauseous. It was too much at the same time. Her stomach turned and she closed her eyes.
Someone clutched her arm. Opening her eyes, she saw Gerard.
“You must do something, Princess.”
Elea cleared her throat, trying to keep the breakfast in her stomach from hours before down. “I am Princess Eleanora, and I am here to free you, my people, from the lairds and the aristocrats. We are the children of Màthair and she loves all her children equally. . . . No one will ever be a serf again in Urka!”
The older woman with the stringy white hair began to cry.
“You and your children will never have to go hungry to pay taxes to greedy lairds or a king who does not see you as people but as serfs to do his will and fill his coffers.”
There was still a cacophony of smells, but Elea no longer felt overwhelmed. The strongest smell was honey—sticky yet pure hope. That warm feeling grew in her own chest and spread to the darkest corners of her soul. She smiled as she turned her head and looked at the faces of her people. They believed in her. She should believe in herself.
A little girl with blonde hair and a face dotted in freckles stepped forward from the circle. “Can I touch your hair?”
Elea shook out her violet curls and then kneeled down on the street. The little girl came to her and gently touched her dark purple hair. She blushed and then ran back to the crowd, to the arms of the dark, bare-chested man, who was probably a blacksmith.
Standing back up, Elea turned in a full circle so that she could see all of their faces. “If anyone else would like to touch my hair, you can,” she said. “It is a mark that I have a gift from our goddess, but most importantly, it means that I will fulfill the prophecy. A new Yakura will arise. Will you be a part of it?”
“Yes,” the blacksmith said in a loud baritone.