“Religious chambers. I hate religious chambers.”

It must have been close to midnight. Normally, in the empty silence of the night, when all the priests and diviners were asleep in their beds, the blood red glow of the Shard died down. But this wasn’t a silent night. From the other side of the door to the innermost chamber of the temple, there was a loud scratching of metal against metal. Two dark figures, hidden in shadow, kneeled in front of the door to the sacred room, one of them twisting a hairpin into the lock, the other looking nervously about, as if expecting trouble.

“Why do you hate religious chambers?” Tibbet whispered as he craned his neck to the side.

“They’re all doom and gloom,” Astrid replied, never taking her eyes off of the lock.

“Do you really think so?”

“Well, here anyway. They always lead to punishment and sacred fasts.”

“Not a big fan of the fasting?”

“Oh, I fast,” Astrid chirped. “Presently after dinner.”

“At ease, Astrid. You’re off duty.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help it.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

She laughed softly. “As sure as I know that there’s a ramrod stuck straight up Sir Aeson’s…ah ha!” There was a soft clicking sound and the door croaked, swinging inward a foot or so.

“You got it.”

“And you doubted me.”

“Did not.”

Red light spilled into the hallway as the duo crept into the chamber, Astrid’s jester bells ringing loudly in the silence. Quickly, Tibbet shut the door behind them. “Welcome to the inner sanctum,” Astrid addressed him with wide arms.

“So this is what a Zaynar sanctuary looks like. I’m impressed. And a little bit afraid.”

“Oh, Zaynarism is all nonsense when you get right down to it,” Astrid told him dismissively.

“Well, what are we looking for?”

“The scrolls. Old Uri writes all of his prophecies on scrolls.”

“Old Uri?”

“The high priest.” Astrid pointed to one side of the room. “You start over there, I’ll look here.”

Tibbet wandered to where she pointed. He looked up at the etchings briefly, looking as though they were stained in blood under the red glow of the Shard. “This is sacrilege,” he muttered.

“Not really,” Astrid replied as she began digging through a bowl of fruit offered as tribute.

“Why do you say that?”

“Zaynarism is really all about seizing power in the end,” she explained, popping a green grape into her mouth.

“And wealth,” Tibbet murmured as he ran his hand along a rich carpet rolled up, leaning against the wall.

“They tend to be one and the same.”

“You have a wonderful way of rationalizing things.”

“Thank you.”

He moved further down across the room, half looking for the scrolls, half reading the scenes up across the top of the wall. His eye fell on a tall, narrow wicker basket with a tight lid over it. As he started to near it, his hand reaching for the lid, he heard Astrid hiss loudly. “What? What is it?”

“You don’t want to open that,” she said firmly.

“Why? What’s inside of it?”

“About a dozen rattle snakes.”

“I don’t want to open that,” Tibbet agreed, pulling his hand back quickly. “Why are there snakes?”

“They create a sense of fear. Fear is power.”

“You know, where I come from, wisdom is considered just as important as power.”

“Well, you won’t find any of that here.”

Tibbet encountered a second wicker basket. This one had no lid so he braved looking inside. “But you will find scrolls,” he said triumphantly.

Astrid skipped over to his side, accompanied by the clamor of her bells. “Quick, find the one for Evanthea.”

Nodding, Tibbet started digging through the basket, occasionally pulling out a scroll to look for some key word that would give them a hint of what was going on in the palace. “Queen Evanthea came to see me this morning, before the cock crowed,” he read. “This must be it.”

“Keep reading,” Astrid urged him, crouching on the ground, her hands resting on her knees.

“Before the cock crowed? Who talks like that?”

“Read!”

Tibbet stood up, pacing the room as he read aloud. “She asked the goddess to help bring an end to the war with the Duracs and restore the glory due to the Alastrian people. The goddess was with her and sent me a vision of a Hylian boy who would restore the balance of power. Zaynar told me that she would wipe his memory of all the past so that his life might be reshaped according to Alastrian will. She said that he was destined to mate with Evanthea’s daughter, producing a son that would be the founder of a lineage of warrior kings, the likes of which had never been seen before, possessing the greatest power in the entire realm.

“This being the case, I instructed Evanthea to send her daughter Idina to the shore where Zaynar would deposit the boy, in order to claim him as her husband. He will henceforth be known as Prince Oren, and provided he performs a blood sacrifice to Zaynar by the next new moon, he will forever be champion of the Alastrian people, their eternal servant.”

“Is there anything else?” Astrid asked.

Shaking his head, Tibbet rolled up the parchment again. “That’s all it says. And that’s no little amount of information.”

“Then he really is your friend, Link.”

He nodded. “Hyrule’s greatest Hero.”

“You keep calling him that.”

“Well, he is. He rescued my sister, Lyna, when a madman tried to use her to take over Hyrule.”

“Then he must be very valuable.”

“He’s powerful,” Tibbet explained.

“How powerful?”

“Powerful enough to wield Light Arrows and defeat the crazed, pig monster semblance of Ganondorf Dragmire.”

“How powerful?

“Very,” Tibbet said, sticking the scroll back into the basket.

“And if the new moon comes and he makes blood sacrifice, he’ll belong to Evanthea and Idina forever.”

“Which would make Alastria the ultimate power in the realm.”

“The question is what are they going to do with that power?”

Tibbet and Astrid exchanged a look. Astrid’s face, still painted white, caught the glow of the Shard, giving her the appearance of a phantom of some kind. It was Tibbet who braved to say what was on both of their minds. “Conquer Gonzalo.”

“And everyone who thinks she would stop there, stand on your head,” Astrid quipped.

“With Link leading her armies, she could very likely take over the realm, including Hyrule.”

“At the cost of thousands of lives,” Astrid added.

“More like hundreds of thousands.”

“And if Link performs a blood sacrifice,” she continued, her eyes going inward as the scenario played out in her mind, “he’ll feel no remorse. He’ll lose all sense of conscience and mercy.”

“Which would turn him into a killing machine.”

“And founder of a line of warrior kings.” Astrid scowled. “That part of the prophecy doesn’t make sense. Why would his son be the founder of a line of warrior kings and not Link himself?”

“I don’t know.”

From the other side of the door, the sound of footsteps began to emerge, accompanied by the drunken singing of the priests and priestesses of Zaynar. “Looks like the ball is over,” Astrid hissed.

“We’ve got to get out of here and fast.”

Astrid stood up. As she did so, the bells on her hat started ringing. Frustrated, she grabbed hold of the fabric, ripping the bells off. Looking from side to side, she raced to the bowl of fruit, dropping the bells into it. “I know a fast way out,” she told Tibbet, tossing him an apple as she turned to face him.

“Without those bells, you’re less of a jester,” he joked dryly, catching the apple in his hands.

“I’d rather be less of a jester and more of a living person at the end of this night,” she answered back. “Come on.” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him forward. The two of them raced out of the chamber, shutting the door behind them. Inside, the Shard slowly faded, drowning the etchings in darkness.

 

Although it was very, very late, Evanthea could not sleep. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to be the only restless soul in the castle. Long after the ball had ended, she encountered Captain Aeson walking uneasily through the hallways. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to join her in the salon for a game of chess. Now, hours later, the Queen and her Champion sat across from each other at an oak table, fast engaged in their fourth game of the evening. All the while, they chatted about things of little consequence until Evanthea stumbled on a raw nerve.

“I didn’t see your sister at the ball this evening,” she commented absently, sliding her rook forward five spaces to capture his pawn.

“She decided not to attend,” Aeson replied, shifting uneasily in his chair. “She’s a bit…”

“Moody?” Evanthea supplied.

“Yes.”

Evanthea laughed softly. “Teenage girls,” she said with a wave of her hand. “They’re all so unpredictable. I thank Zaynar every day that Idina’s grown out of that irritable phase.”

“So her mood is just due to her age?”

“I should think so.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose that I have three more years of this moodiness to look forward to.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Evanthea responded. “Honestly, Aeson, you’ve been above and beyond the call of duty with your Olivia ever since the loss of your parents.”

“It was hardest on her,” Aeson sighed, pushing his knight around the chessboard. “The younger ones don’t really remember mother and father. Olivia and I do and will always carry that with us.”

“You’ve served as an excellent father to them,” Evanthea praised him. “You are a man of high caliber. Honestly, I think that if our ‘Oren’ hadn’t been sent to us, I might have been tempted to arrange a match between Idina and yourself.”

“I would hardly be worthy,” Aeson said carefully.

There was a soft tapping on the door to the salon. “Come,” Evanthea barked as she moved her queen. “Check.”

The door slid open. Ismene silently entered the chamber, closing the door behind her. At this late hour, she wore a simple cotton night chemise, a royal blue robe tied over it. Her long, dark hair was pulled into two braids that hung down her back. “I am sorry to interrupt,” she said, curtsying deeply.

Aeson, who had just moved a pawn, jumped up to his feet, bowing his head. “Your majesty.”

“Yes? What is it?” Evanthea asked sharply.

Ismene looked at her mother. “May I speak with you?”

Evanthea threw a weary glance at Aeson. Moving her queen forward, she muttered, “Checkmate.”

Bowing, Aeson picked up his red cape which had been flung over the back of his chair. “Well played.” With a respectful nod to Ismene, he departed from the room, the echo of his spurs clicking down the hallway until they faded into the night.

“Sit down, child,” Evanthea told Ismene, gesturing to the vacant chair. Ismene silently settled down. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” Ismene replied. “Mother, I really need to speak with you.”

“About what?”

“About Oren.”

Evanthea sighed. “How did I know?”

“Mother, please.”

“I saw the way you were looking at him during the ball, young lady. That sort of behavior is unbefitting of a princess.”

Ismene blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You’re attracted to him,” Evanthea put it plainly.

“What? No! Of course not, that’s not what I wanted to talk about at all.”

“Deny it all you like, young lady, but don’t take me for a fool. I know you better than you give me credit for.”

“Mother!”

“All right, all right. What did you want to talk about?”

“Mother, listen to me. What we’re doing is wrong.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lying to him like that, it’s wrong. We have to tell him the truth, about who he is. It’s the right thing to do.”

“You are arguing against the will of Zaynar, Ismene.”

“Perhaps, I am.”

“That’s a serious crime, as you well know.”

“Is the goddess always right?”

“Ours is not to question,” Evanthea replied. She began to set up the chess pieces again, as if for a fresh game. “Zaynar has given us a gift. It would be immoral to turn it away.”

“Oren isn’t a gift, he’s a person. With a life and a past of his own that we’re denying him with this ruse.”

“You pity him?”

Ismene was taken aback for a moment. Finally, she nodded. “Yes, I do pity him.”

“That is very noble of you, Ismene. Nevertheless, the hoax will continue. You need only wait until the next new moon then it’ll be all over.”

“It will be a life sentence.”

“After the blood sacrifice, nothing else will matter, my dear.”

“He’ll be the prisoner to a falsehood!”

“Ismene, you will cooperate.”

“But it’s wrong.”

Evanthea played with the chess pieces a bit more. “Duke Eglamor was at the ball tonight,” she said in a soft, deadly voice.

Ismene sunk back into her chair. “Mother…”

“He’s still very fond of you, you know.”

“He’s a pompous, self righteous cad.”

“He still wants you for his wife,” Evanthea finished, looking up at her daughter with cold eyes.

“I won’t have him.”

“Your will is submissive to mine, Ismene. And if I chose, I can give you to him. You know that.”

“Are you threatening me, Mother?”

“You will cooperate with this ruse. It will be the most satisfying solution to everyone’s problems.”

“If marriage to Eglamor is what it takes to do the right thing that will be my punishment.”

“I have important things to attend to; I don’t have time for your insubordination. Astrid wasn’t at the ball this evening. She’ll need to be properly punished.”

Ismene closed her eyes, folding her hands submissively in her lap. “As your will commands,” she finally whispered.

“That is a proper daughter,” Evanthea said proudly. “Now off to bed with you, my dear.”

“Yes, Mother,” Ismene answered, getting up to her feet without making any eye contact.

“Goodnight, Ismene.”

Ismene was halfway to the door. After a moment of hesitation, she turned around, looking over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Mother,” she said sharply. With that, she slid the door open and slipped out of the room.

A great amount of indignation surrounded Ismene as she made her way down the hall. How dare she, the princess fumed to herself. Her mother had actually threatened her. Never, not in her wildest moments, had Ismene ever imagined Evanthea capable of such a thing.

Thoughts of Duke Eglamor filled Ismene’s vision. She loathed the man with a wild passion, everything about him from his fat, pink face to the wisps of brown hair he would comb over his bald spot. Many times, she had noticed him leering at the backside of the serving maids while attending court. The thought of being yoked to him as a submissive wife was unbearable, not because she feared he would cheat on her, which he had done on his previous wife, but because she feared the disgusting man would be faithful to her. Yet Ismene would have born this punishment quietly, if that had been all, but the thought of something happening to Astrid was too much.

In truth, Ismene didn’t know if she would ever wed, but she was certain that if she did, it would be to someone of her own age, someone she loved. There would be no arranged marriage for her. A part of her had pitied Idina when she learned about the prophecy and that her sister was fated to wed a man she had never seen before, but that pity was quickly turned to indignation when she saw the way Idina behaved around her Oren.

Now, all of Ismene’s pity fell onto the boy. He seemed to be a good man, even though she hardly knew him. His shape and dress told her that he had seen many things, gone on many adventures and had a clear sense of who he was. To take that all away was beyond cruel. It was downright evil. Ismene found herself longing to take him in her arms and protect him from Idina.

Was she attracted to him? The thought suddenly struck Ismene like a harsh blow to the head. Her mother certainly seemed to think so. Beyond a doubt, he was a handsome man, with the pale, glimmering skin of a Hylian. Ismene had to admit that when she caught his gaze, she felt something. But what was it? A part of her wanted to answer fear, but how could she be afraid? What was there to be afraid of? Perhaps she did feel something for the boy after all. Although she knew that should have bothered her, she was undaunted. Someone had to care about him, instead of just caring about the power he represented.

 

Perhaps what frustrated Link most about suddenly being royalty was the myriad of servants who fawned over him and did everything for him. He couldn’t so much as undress himself without a dozen stewards all fussing his clothing, as if he couldn’t take off his shoes by himself! Finally, at long last, the last of the valets vanished, leaving Link blissfully alone in the anteroom of his apartments. They had managed to drape him in royal pajamas, but at least they were gone.

In the silence of the very, very early morning, Link paced back and forth across the chamber. He had been working so hard to drudge up some glimmer of memory that by this point he was too exhausted to sleep. Every once in awhile, a small article or word would spark the dimmest ember of a memory, but before he could fan the flame, it would smother. Oddly enough, the words that should have been closest to his heart, his own name, Idina’s name, and the like, sparked nothing for him. It was always, silly, trivial words.

And then there was that minstrel. He was the first and only Hylian Link had seen in the castle and despite the dismissal the knights had given him, Link could not be so quick to forget what he had said. Crystal Maidens? Somehow, Link was certain that was important. Rescued? How could he have chanced to rescue a Hylian maiden when everyone said he had been off to war with the Duracs? The two stories just didn’t combine. Furthermore, why would he bother to rescue a Hylian girl when he himself had been banished from Hyrule?

Far too many questions, far too few answers, for Link’s taste at least. He sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. The ball tonight hadn’t made things any easier. Strangely enough, what scared him the most wasn’t the thought of a blood rite. No, what absolutely horrified him was the way he had felt when talking with Ismene. There was no question about it; he felt his heart flutter a bit when she approached. He knew it was wrong, of course he did. She was his wife’s sister! There was just something about her, something sweet, something kind and intelligent and he was drawn to it.

With a frustrated grunt, Link stopped pacing. It was far too late to wonder at such complexities. As much as he tried to suppress it, a yawn managed to escape. Bedtime, he decided. With heavy footsteps, he made his way through the anteroom to the curtains of the bedroom. The Alastrians sure liked curtains. Frankly, Link preferred doors. They provided a lot more in the way of privacy. As he parted the curtains and walked into the bedroom, however, all hopes for privacy dissolved.

The bed in the middle of the room was round, with a wide assortment of satin pillows on top of gold silk sheets. Lounging on top of the sheets was Idina. Her clothing was something scandalous, a coal black negligee underneath a sheer black robe that left little to the imagination. Her hair was down, loose, although it still seemed rather stiff from the vast amount of hairspray it required to stay up on top of her head. The lighting in the room was terrible, no more than a few flimsy candles. Their light bounced off of Idina’s face at odd angles, making her features even more sharp than before.

She looked up as Link entered with a silly, half intoxicated smile. “Well, hello stranger,” she said.

“Idina,” Link stuttered, involuntarily taking a step back.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered.

“It’s not my birthday,” he replied, not entirely sure if that was true or not.

She shrugged one shoulder up to her ear. “No, but you still have a present waiting for you. Why don’t you come open it?”

“Idina, I beg you to stop.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m really not in the mood for –”

Idina sat up, looking a bit cross. “Oren, you’ve been gone for years.”

“I know. I know, but Idina –”

“What could possibly make you want to be away any longer, Oren? It’s been years!”

“I know!” Link bellowed back. Quickly, he sat down on the side of the bed. “Listen to me.” Cautiously he took one of her hands, continuing in a lower voice than before. “I don’t want to…well…until I get my memory back…this feels wrong, somehow.”

“Oren, I am still your wife.”
“Well, technically –”

“Technically!”

“I know that you’re my wife!” he squealed. “But…but…until I get my memory back, I can’t ignore the fact that you’re a complete stranger.”

“And what if it doesn’t come back?” Idina asked, wounded. “What if you’re like this for the rest of your life? What does that mean for us? For the family we were going to start?”

“I don’t have all the answers,” Link replied. “And believe me; I have just as many questions as you.”

“Oren, we can’t wait for you to sort things out. We have a future to build together.”

“Please try to understand…”

Idina touched his hair lightly, raking her fingers through it. “Let me help you,” she begged him.

Link took her hand, gingerly prying it out of his hair. “That’s not the answer, Idina.”

She drew back, as if struck. “Oren…”

Abruptly, Link rose to his feet. “I think I’m going to take a walk,” he said, managing to avoid eye contact with her. “I need to clear my head and I don’t think I can sleep.”

“Don’t do this to me, Oren!”

“You can stay here,” he told her.

“Oren!”

Without looking back, Link marched out of the room, the curtains closing over Idina’s protest. Briskly, he made his way out of the apartments all together, a mistake, for he soon found himself completely lost in one of the many corridors of the castle. His heart, he had to admit, was racing, but strangely, it was out of fear rather than desire. What reason did he have to fear Idina?

She was unnerving, to be certain. Very forward at times, except for in the shadow of her mother. The way she treated other people was almost cruel, especially the servants. Perhaps what truly bothered Link the most about her was the fact that she didn’t know the diviner’s name. How could someone grow up around a person and not know their name? To be certain, Idina was self centered, at least from what Link had seen of her, but that was hardly fearful. There was something more…

The hallways of the castle were almost sinister at night. Aside from the dull light of some wall mounted torches and the occasionally passage of a knight patrolling, they seemed dead, completely void of the festive quality from a mere few hours ago. As Link stalked down, uncertain of where he was going and not particularly caring, for once, he listening to the echo of his footsteps.

A frown marred his face. Something wasn’t right. He stopped walking and the corridor was plunged into silence. Slowly, almost carefully, he took a step forward. The echo sounded again. He stopped. Silence. Another two steps forward. Echo. Link pounded his foot against the floor three times in quick succession. When he stopped, he heard three loud repetitions.

He whirled around, his hand going instinctively to his side as if to draw a weapon, which of course, he lacked. Standing behind him was Astrid, her white face gleaming orange in the candlelight. When he saw her, she pounded her foot against the floor three times quickly. “You shouldn’t follow people around like that,” he told her sternly, although not really meaning to scold her.

“I do many things that oughtn’t.”

“What are you doing awake at this hour?” he asked.

Astrid began to walk in circles around Link, forcing him to turn to keep eye contact. “Why, this is the time of night when the castle is busiest.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye. This is the time of night when Evanthea always creeps off to plot with her flunkies.”

“Flunkies?”

“And the time of night when liaisons occur.”
“Flunkies?”

“And, indeed, the time of knights.”

“What does that mean?”

Immediately, Astrid stopped orbiting about Link. When he stopped turning, an incredible wave of dizziness beset him, causing him to stumble over to a wall for balance. “Most castle business takes place in the clandestine hours of the evening.”

“What’s that got to do with you?”

“Why, castle business is my business.”

“Is that so?”

“I assure you, sir, I know more about what happens on these grounds than even Evanthea herself.”

“So you’re snooping?”

“I like to think of it as being a well informed citizen of the castle.”

Link squeezed his eyes shut, still trying to steady himself. “That’s deplorable.”

“Well, I realize it’s hardly behavior befitting of a Hero,” she chirped. “But then again, I never claimed to be one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Link asked. Oddly enough, he felt another ember of memory glow, but as always, he couldn’t seem to kindle it. There was no response. Link opened his eyes to find Astrid gone, absolutely no sign of her in the abandoned hallway.

 

All the courtiers dreaded another early morning call to court, but much to their relief, none came. As the sun rose, most of them were lying blissfully asleep in their beds. Evanthea was awake. She blamed it on old age when her bleary eyed servants arrived to dress her in royal robes, but the truth of the matter was that uneasiness of her mind had caused her to sleep fitfully and she had finally given up. It was that conversation with Ismene. Realizing her own daughter stood in opposition to the hoax made Evanthea begin to wonder about the rest of the castle. The entire kingdom itself wouldn’t be a problem of course. How often did they see their royals anyway? The castle would be another matter.

The Queen marched her way down the abandoned halls, her attendants struggling to keep pace, yawning like vulgar scullery maids. When they arrived in the throne room, it was clean as clean could be. Some servants must have been up all night to tidy it up after the ball, but it was well worth it. Leaning against the wall was the nighttime herald. He seemed to be playing a dice game with a stable boy. The Queen’s arrival caught them completely off guard and both of them jumped up to their feet, stiff at attention.

Evanthea pursed her lips together. Normally, such behavior was unacceptable and she debated punishing both of them, but somehow, she knew there were more important matters to attend to. “Fetch the top ranking knights,” she snapped at the frightened herald.

“Yes, your majesty,” the herald said, bowing nervously and then running out of the room.

“And you,” Evanthea turned on the stable boy. “I believe you have duties to be attending to.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the boy whispered. He stooped down into a bow and was so terrified that he backed up all the way to the door in the same froglike posture.

The thrones had been returned to the dais. Calmly, Evanthea seated herself in her chair, casually drumming her fingernails on the arm. Everyone waited in silence. The ladies in waiting exchanged nervous glances. None of them could be certain of what kind of mood Evanthea was in today. They all knew better than to speak first, idle conversation was something their Queen loathed and they would only speak when spoken to or else remain silent.

“Orly,” Evanthea called to one of the ladies.

She stepped forward with a curtsy. “Yes, your majesty?”

“I’ve broken a nail, go fetch the manicure kit.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Orly replied, scurrying out of the room as fast as etiquette would allow.

It wasn’t long after that the sound of armor clanking down the hall could be heard. At this hour, before the castle was truly awake, the knights were usually sparring in full gear. It was the only time the knights ever wore the full, bulky suits, other than on holidays. No doubt Evanthea had interrupted one such spar, but she didn’t particularly care. Her uneasy mind had to be settled, one way or another.

The first to enter the throne room, of course, was Aeson. Evanthea had to admit, he looked very becoming in the armor, much more muscular and almost illuminated with the reflections of the morning daylight. Following after him came a few of his top officials; the three lieutenants, and even his own squire followed along.

“Good morning, your majesty,” Aeson said with a low, respectful bow.

“Good morning, your majesty,” the other knights all chorused, each of them stooping as best their armor would allow.

Evanthea nodded. “Good morning.” By this point, Orly had scurried back into the room, kneeling by Evanthea’s side. Evanthea gave her a hand and the girl set to work filing the Queen’s nails. “Gentlemen, I wish to discuss the status of our little ruse. Tell me, how are the courtiers and servants responding?”

“There has been little incident,” Aeson replied.

“Little incident is not the same as no incident. Tell me what’s been going on behind my back.”

“There was a cook who stated, and I quote, ‘this ordeal is rubbish.’”

“Ten lashes should be enough to silence her,” Evanthea said. “What else?”

“Duke Icus expressly called the ruse an absurd pipe dream that would never, ever come to fruition.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye.”

Evanthea sighed. “See that he is removed from court until he has a change of heart.”

“We’ll do so at once.”

“Anything else.”

“I don’t believe so, my Queen.”

“Sir!” one of the lieutenants exclaimed. “The minstrel.”

Aeson glanced at the lieutenant before addressing Evanthea again. “Yes, there was an episode involving that Hylian minstrel.”

“The one who’s always telling your sister those disgusting stories? Is he back again?”

“He is, my lady.”

“What did he do?”

Aeson frowned. “He had a chance encounter with Prince Oren in the hallway and proceeded to address him in the familiar.”

“Oh?” Evanthea muttered, her eyebrows lofting.

“It seems that in his former life, our Prince Oren wasn’t a nonentity and in fact had some respect in Hyrule. The minstrel called him by name.”

“What name was that?”

The Captain glanced uncertainly at his lieutenant. “Lunk?”
“Link, sir,” the lieutenant supplied.

“Link,” Aeson said, turning back to Evanthea.

“A peculiar name,” the Queen murmured. “You say that he’s more than an nonentity?”

“Aye, my lady. Apparently, the minstrel spoke of a great rescue that Link performed back in Hyrule. Something about maidens.”

“Oh dear. Well, this is no good. This is no good at all.” Evanthea watched Orly working on her nails, weighing out the possibilities and consequences of the chance encounter.

“Prince Oren seemed to take him for a madman, your majesty,” the lieutenant offered.

“The minstrel is still a great threat to our ruse,” Evanthea answered. “And, if this Link is as famous as we’re led to believe, all Hylians in the castle could pose a potential problem.”

“Madam?” Aeson asked quizzically.

“Captain, how many Hylians are currently listed as residing in the palace? Apart from our minstrel friend, of course.”

“Ten, I believe,” Aeson answered.

“Which ten?”

“Three of them are musicians, one is the royal portraitist, two work as healers, and four are tutors for the children of the lower ranking lords and ladies.”

“Add the minstrel and we have eleven Hylians living in the castle.”

“Aye, my lady.”

Evanthea sighed irritably. “Well, it seems we have no choice.”

“Your orders?”

“Captain Aeson, I order you and your knights to banish every Hylian living under my roof.”

If Aeson was at all surprised by this proclamation, he didn’t show it. “Go to the castle steward,” he barked to one of his lieutenants.

“Yes, sir.”

“Get a list of all the Hylians living here and their room assigments.”

“Aye,” the lieutenant said, bowing and exiting the room.

“You three,” he said to the other knights, “rally everyone to the training arena. I’ll address them there with orders.”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused, quickly exiting after their fellow.

Once they were gone, Aeson turned to address Evanthea. “You know I would never question your judgment in front of the men,” he said softly, “but I beg your permission to speak freely.”

“Granted,” Evanthea replied.

“This action will not be taken lightly by the Hylian monarchy, should these eleven return to Hyrule.”

“I had considered that possibility,” Evanthea replied.

“This may well be seen as an act of war.”

“Oh, really, Captain,” Evanthea sighed, “It’s not as if I’m having them executed or even harmed in any manner.”

“The Hylians believe in freedom of movement,” Aeson explained.

“I don’t really care what the Hylians believe in,” Evanthea snapped.

“What I mean,” Aeson corrected himself, “is that they won’t take kindly to this action.”

“We only need two more days,” Evanthea replied. “After that, Hyrule will no longer be a problem, even if they do act on the threat. Alastria will be the leading power in the realm.”

 

By mid-morning, the hallways were ringing with the patrols of every single knight available in the castle. Even the men who had just come off of their night watch were instructed to help comb the castle for Hylians. The frightened courtiers clung to the walls, getting as far away from the passing troops as they could, lest they be accused of hindering the search, an act of treason in Alastria. Of course, Evanthea hadn’t made her intentions entirely public, so many feared they too would be arrested for the petty crimes of their pasts.

Tibbet, certainly, had no idea what was going on, but considering the actions he had taken with Astrid last night, he felt it proper to stay out of sight. Being a minstrel, and therefore of a lower status in most foreign lands, he was adept at ducking guards. Indeed, he often boasted to Olivia that he could hide in the shadows better than the Keese of Hyrule. Unfortunately, shadows were in low supply at this hour of the day, but still, Tibbet managed to stay out of sight.

He took pains to make his way through the castle via the narrow servants’ hallways, climbing the twisting spiral staircases of iron. They lacked the simple elegance of the more aristocratic hallways, but then again, one tended to encounter far more interesting people in the back of beyond anyway.

“You!” a booming voice shouted.

Tibbet’s heart leapt up into his throat. He turned around, but, much to his relief, he saw a knight closing in on a kitchen wench behind him. Quickly, Tibbet slipped behind the staircase as the brassy woman turned around, planting a hand on her hip. “Yes?” she asked loudly, making no attempt to hide her annoyance with the knight’s interruption of her regular routine.

“Have you seen…?” The knight looked down at a small sheet of paper in his hand, “…a minstrel answering to the name of Tibbet?”

“Not today,” she replied, “but I’ll wager anythin’ he’s off beguilin’ the Lady Olivia.”

Indignation filled Tibbet’s chest, but he didn’t dare go out to defend himself. “Wonderful,” the knight groaned. “Just wait until I tell the Captain.”

“Why? He fixin’ to string that boy up by his lute strap?”

“Something like that,” the knight grumbled, continuing down the hall to the peels of laughter from the woman.

Tibbet started to walk out from behind the staircase, but suddenly a hand from above clamped down on his shoulder. He looked up to see Astrid crouching on a step, her arm reaching out from between the rails of the banister. She pressed a finger to her lips, signaling silence then gestured for him to follow her. Tibbet nodded, carefully tip toeing up the steps to meet her. Clandestinely, they crept to the top of the second floor landing. Astrid grabbed Tibbet’s arm and dragged him down the twisting and turning hallways. Soon, Tibbet recognized where they were, they were in the hall leading to the private apartments of the royal family.

“We could be hanged for being here,” Tibbet hissed. He didn’t add the nasty mental image seared into his mind of being strung up by his lute strap.

“You might,” she replied, “I have the run of the castle. And as it is, you’re in a bit of trouble.”

“What’s going on?”

“The Queen made a proclamation this morning. All Hylians have been officially banished.”

“What?” Tibbet scoffed indignantly. “She can’t do that!”

“She can and she has,” Astrid answered.

“But why?”

“If I had my druthers, I’d say it’s because of the scene you caused with Prince Oren.”

“Link.”

“Same difference.”

“So because of that she’s banishing all the Hylians?”

Astrid shrugged. “She’ll risk anything to have the ultimate power in the realm, you know that. Even war with Hyrule.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Tibbet sighed.”

“Which is a problem,” Astrid agreed. “If you’re powerless.” There was a glimmer in her raccoon eyes.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that we’re not powerless.”

“We know what’s going on.”

“Knowledge is power.”

Tibbet unconsciously found himself pulling down the brim of his floppy hat, over his ears. “We can do something.”

“What’s more,” Astrid responded, “we’ve no choice but to do something.”

“But what can we do? Make sure the sacrifice doesn’t go down?”

“There’s no way we can do that. Just imagine how many guards there will be at the ceremony.”

“Well, what would you suggest?”

“We need to get Link out of the castle,” Astrid said firmly.

“But how are we going to do that? The place is crawling with guards.”

“You managed to make it this far,” Astrid muttered. “Using the remote hallways will help.”

“It won’t get him out though; the main doorways must be heavily protected.”

“True…” Astrid stared at the grotesque head on her jester stick, contemplating their options. “Then again, the knights don’t know about every entrance to the castle.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s a Durac prisoner in the dungeon.”

“I heard about that,” Tibbet admitted.

“No one knows how he got into the castle.”

“I’ll bet he knows.”

“Maybe we could find out,” Astrid offered.

“And use his route to get Link out.”

“Of course, we’re assuming that Link will want to be rescued,” Astrid pointed out.

“Link is my friend,” Tibbet said thickly, “I have to help him, if it’s within my power.”

“So that’s his real name.” Both Astrid and Tibbet whirled around. Behind them, leaning against the doorway to her private apartments was Princess Ismene, dressed this morning in a robin’s egg blue robe, her hair loose and wavy from last night’s braids. She clutched the neckline of her robe, holding it closed as she made her way to the duo on the opposite end of the hallway.

“Princess Ismene,” Tibbet croaked, dropping down to one knee.

“Get up,” she told him gently.

Astrid stepped forward. “Princess, we were just…”

“Oren’s real name is Link?”

The jester and the minstrel exchanged a look. “Yes, your highness,” Astrid finally answered.

“You want to help him?”

“Yes,” Tibbet replied nervously.

“So do I,” Ismene declared.

Tibbet blinked. “You do?”

“I feel sorry for him,” Ismene said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Please, let me help you.”

“Princess, your mother w –”

“Never mind my mother,” Ismene cut him off.

“We’d be best to mind her,” Astrid said. “She’s put out a proclamation to banish all Hylians for fear that the ruse will be discovered prematurely.”

“She has?”

“Aye.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that,” Ismene grumbled. “The ruse has already been discovered.”

“By this lob,” Astrid said, smacking Tibbet’s arm.

“Ow!” he yelped.

Ismene looked at him. “Tell me what you know, precisely.”

Tibbet rubbed his shoulder absently. “Link is a Hero of Hyrule. Your goddess Zaynar kidnapped him, wiped his memory, and dropped him down on the Alastrian beach.”

“The memory loss is only permanent if he performs a blood sacrifice by the next new moon,” Astrid added. “Specifically, it seems, the sacrifice of the Durac currently rotting away in the dungeon.”

“Otherwise he’ll get his memory back?” Ismene asked.

“Aye.”

Ismene looked at Tibbet. “It’s not safe for you to be seen in the hallways. Come into my apartments, no knights will search for you there.”

“Princess, I…”

“Do as I say,” she told him gently. She turned to Astrid, putting her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Astrid, will you bring him to me?”

“Prince Oren?”

“Link.”

“Aye, if that’s what you wish.”

“It seems only fair that we should tell him what we know,” Ismene declared, “before smuggling him out of the castle.”

“I’ll fetch him at once,” Astrid promised. She jumped up, landing with one heel cocked, bowing her head. With that, she spun around and scampered down the hall, flailing the jester stick about.

“You say Link is a friend of yours?” Ismene asked Tibbet.

Tibbet nodded. “He is. He saved my sister from evil clutches once.”

Putting her hands on Tibbet’s shoulder, Ismene drew him back to the door of her apartments. “Then come in here at once and tell me about him. I want to know everything.”

 

As Aeson walked down the hall, he listened to the sound of his keys clank against his armor. Somehow, the noise soothed him, even though it was quite grating in reality. It reminded him of his dignity, of his position of high honor, of his duty to Queen and country. Unfortunately, the noise was not enough to draw away his attention from the frightened courtiers, clinging to the walls as they watched him pass, flanked by his customary honor guard.

Everyone seems overly frightened today, due to the attempts to round up the Hylians. Aeson found himself questioning Evanthea’s decision to keep quite about her proclamation. It seemed to him that the silence was merely causing more panic for the people who didn’t know what was going on, but were completely innocent. Well, no one was completely innocent, Aeson supposed. Most people were guilty of small crimes, here and there: Bribery, embezzlement, infidelity and the like. Himself excluded, of course.

Aeson rounded another corner and found one of his lieutenants, running in the opposite direction, making a hasty beeline toward him. “Captain!” the breathless knight shouted.

“Yes?”

“I have report.”

“I’m listening,” Aeson said.

“We’ve managed to round up the tutors and the healers. The portraitist has barricaded herself in her quarters and the musicians seem to be out riding.”

“Well, have an escort arranged to greet the musicians when they return to the stables,” Aeson instructed his underling. “As for the portraitist, just get the skeleton key from my office and pull her out. Try to do it as silently as possible. Don’t use force unless absolutely necessary.”

“Aye, sir.”

“What about the minstrel?”

“There’s been no sign of him, sir.”

“Find Astrid,” Aeson ordered.

“The jester, sir?”

“Where ever she is, the Hylian minstrel is likely to be nearby.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

“Try to calm things down. The courtiers are starting to panic.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

The lieutenant continued off down the hall. Aeson went on his way, his escort trailing behind. Halfway to the kitchen, he suddenly stopped, impulsively taking a right and turning down to the hallway of apartments for the higher ranking officials of Evanthea’s court. When he got to the door of his own apartments, he gave a look to the honor guard, signaling for them to wait outside. He ducked in the door, closing it behind him.

In the main sitting room, he found his little brothers and sisters gathered at the feet of their tutor, listening to the woman’s hypnotic speech as she drilled them on the alphabet. With a small smile, Aeson continued through the room, walking as smoothly as possible so as not to disrupt their lesson with the obnoxious clanking of armor. As expected, when he arrived at the entrance to Olivia’s room, the accordion doorway was pulled tightly shut.

“Olivia,” he called, rapping his knuckles on the door gently.

Much to his surprise, all he heard from the other side was a simple, “Come in,” from Olivia.

Aeson unhooked the latch and slid the door open a foot or two, sidling in before closing the door behind him. Olivia was sitting on the foot of her bed with an open book in front of her. She was dressed in her riding breeches with a silk, white poet’s shirt for a blouse. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a thick braid, although a few curls had managed to escape and now hung loose around her face. “You’re not going to appear in court dressed like that, are you?”

“I thought I might go for a ride,” she replied dully.

“You’d best avoid the stables for awhile,” Aeson told her. “There’s going to be an arrest there, soon.”

“More Hylians?”

“What?”

“Don’t take me for a fool, Aeson. I know what’s going on. Evanthea has you rounding up the Hylians like cattle.”

“The Queen’s orders are to banish them from the castle. I’m just doing my duty,” Aeson answered tightly.

“That’s all you ever do,” Olivia sighed. She stood up, walking over to her big brother, nearly a head taller than she. “What’s next? Genocide? Oh, I’ve forgotten, we’re already champions of that with the Duracs.”

“Olivia!” Aeson shouted. He pulled back his hand, slapping her across the face. Olivia’s head snapped to one side, but she quickly turned back, looking up at her brother with blazing eyes.

“You know it’s true,” she said challengingly.

“How dare you say that,” he barked. How dare you! After what they did to our people! After what they did to our parents!”

“The Duracs aren’t savages, Aeson. They’re people! And if you had any idea how wrong it is to classify an individual by his species then you’d understand…” her voice broke, tearfully. “Aeson…”

The knight stared down at her for a moment. With a sharp pang of guilt, the enormity of what he had just done hit him. He drew her into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Olivia,” he whispered, pressing her cheek against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s too much,” Olivia sniffled. “It’s just too much.” She drew back, looking up at him. “Aeson, you have to listen to me.”

“I know, I know,” he said, holding up a hand to silence her.

“You do?”

“I know you’re fond of that minstrel,” he continued, “but Olivia, I’m completely choiceless.”

Olivia seemed to withdraw for a moment, inwardly. “Tibbet,” she muttered. Blinking, she turned to look up at Aeson. “Yes, Tibbet. Aeson, you can’t arrest him, it isn’t right.”

“It’s not our place to question the orders of the Queen.”

“But what if the Queen is doing something wrong?” Olivia persisted. “You’re a knight; you stand for justice, not blind obedience.”

“In this case,” Aeson said heavily, “they are one and the same.”

“You know what she’s doing is wrong.”

Aeson looked down at her. Olivia’s cheek was turning pink where he had struck her. Gently, he touched her face, enormous guilt tormenting him. “I’m powerless,” he told her softly.

“And so you’d condemn an innocent man?”

“I know the minstrel…I know Tibbet is your friend,” Aeson sighed, “but right now, he’s also an enemy of the state.”

“For what crime? For being born with long, pointy ears?”

“Please don’t do this to me,” he begged her.

“It’s not about you, Aeson!” She turned her head, as if expecting another slap, but thankfully, none came. “It’s about doing what’s right.”

Aeson leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I have to go,” he told her.

“Aeson…”

“By the end of the week, all of this will be over and done with and we can return to our lives,” he promised. “And I’ll make it up to you, I swear it.”

“Please save your pity,” she told him icily.

“I’ll take you out riding. I’ll even arrange for you to ride one of the royal thoroughbreds, if you like.”

“Shiny beads and shallow flattery.”

“Olivia, I’m trying as hard as I can.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but sometimes trying isn’t enough.”

“I’m sure your friend Tibbet will be able to return in a few month’s time,” he said, rather unconvincingly.

“Will you please go?” Olivia asked him quietly.

Aeson looked down at her. She looked back up, perfectly calm, almost placid. It was a bit eerie to him, as Olivia had never been known as a stoic. “All right,” he agreed, “all right.” He stepped back to the door, watching her as he went.

Olivia licked her lips. “Goodbye, Aeson,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said shaking his head, “so terribly sorry.” With that, he turned around, parting the accordion wall and going through. He began to make his way back to the hall, once again passing his younger brothers and sisters with their tutor. They seemed completely undisturbed by the scene that had taken place and Aeson hoped with all of his heart that they had remained completely ignorant of it all, though his reason told him that wasn’t possible with such thin walls.

As he walked away, he felt uneasy, as if a part of him had been deprived of power. Perhaps it was because of the harsh scolding he had received from Olivia. She was right, after all. The Hylians certainly didn’t deserve to be banished. What he was doing was wrong. On the other hand, perhaps it was because, unbeknownst to him, as he departed from Olivia’s room, he left his keys behind, clutched firmly in his younger sister’s tight fist.

 

Link wasn’t quite sure how it happened. He had woken up on a sofa in the anteroom of his apartments that morning to be greeted by a parade of servants and attendants. After a lot of fussing they had managed to dress him in a long brown tunic over white leggings with long blue snatches of fabric hanging down from his shoulders. He looked a bit like a bird. As soon as he had finally managed to shoo the stewards out of the room, Astrid had appeared to inform him of a royal summons. Before he could utter so much as a syllable, the girl was herding him out of the room, literally, prodding him along with the head of her jester stick.

As they wound their way through the halls, Link discovered that something was afoot in the palace. In every direction they turned, they found armed knights in full gear marching in formation, the clanking of their armor creating a fantastic cacophony. Link desperately wanted to stop and ask what was going on, but Astrid continued to poke him in the back, speeding him along. He wondered what it was that allowed her to take such action; the virtue of being a jester or the fact that she was the king’s illegitimate daughter. Either way, no one seemed to pay them a second glance as they passed, ridiculous though they appeared.

Soon, they arrived at the entrance of Princess Ismene’s apartments. “After you, my lord,” Astrid chirped.

“Now I’m your lord,” Link droned. “A few moments ago, I was your prize bull.”

“Not at all, sir. If you were a bull, I would have slain you.”

“With the sharp edge of your wit, no doubt.” Link entered the room, Astrid following behind him.

Ismene’s apartments were quite different from the rest of the castle in that there was nothing ostentatious about them. The floors were covered by simple off white carpeting and the walls were soft blue. As in all the other royal apartments, curtains separated the rooms, but in Ismene’s apartments, the curtains were pulled back by blue cords. Sunlight streamed in through the oriel window, making the carpet glow with reflection. The furniture, all wood, gave the room a foresty smell. Of course, the most remarkable thing about Ismene’s apartments was Ismene herself, who was currently sitting on the window ledge, listening to Tibbet, who sat on the floor, as he talked a mile a minute.

Astrid jangled the bells on her stick, seizing the attention of the room. “Princess Ismene,” she called, “your guest has arrived.”

The princess rose, swiftly crossing the room to Link. He bowed, kissing her hand politely. “Close the door, Astrid,” Ismene instructed. She turned to Link again as Astrid complied. “Come sit down, we have some important matters to discuss.”

“What’s the matter?” Link asked, following Ismene back to the window. He noticed Tibbet sitting on the floor. “What’s he doing here?”

Tibbet quickly clambered to his feet. Little as he was, he squared his shoulders, addressing Link. “I see you remember me.”

“Yes, you’re the loon who attacked me in the corridor yesterday.”

“We prefer to call him Tibbet, actually,” Astrid quipped, joining the group near the window.

“What’s he doing in here?” Link asked again.

“Hiding,” Ismene explained.

“From what?”

“From the knights. Mother has put out a proclamation. All Hylians have been banished.”

“Yourself excluded, of course,” Astrid added.

Link blinked in surprise. “Why?”

“Because knowledge is power,” Tibbet supplied.

“I don’t understand.”

“Let me be the one to speak in riddles, Tibbet,” Astrid sighed scornfully.

“Sit down,” Ismene told Link, putting her hands on his shoulders to gently press him down into a chair.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“An elaborate hoax,” Ismene replied. “Deception.”

“Of who?”

“Of you,” both Ismene and Astrid answered at the same time.

Link craned his head to look at each of them. “I don’t understand.”

“The reason you have no memory isn’t because you were shocked by war,” Ismene explained, sitting down next to him. “You never went to Gonzalo.”

“Then what’s wrong with me?”

“Your memory has been wiped by a more divine cause than war,” Astrid said, sitting down at Link’s feet. “The goddess Zaynar wiped your memory.”

“But why?”

“So that Mother and Idina could trick you,” Ismene responded. “You were never banished from Hyrule. You’re not an Alastrian general. You only arrived here for the first time yesterday. And your name isn’t Oren.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s Link,” Tibbet chimed in. He stepped forward to address Link. “You were born in Hyrule. You were prophesized to be one of Hyrule’s greatest Heroes in fact. Not three months ago, you saved a bevy of maidens from an evil sorcerer named Agahnim, among them, my sister Lyna. You drew the Master Sword, evil’s bane. You fought against Ganon. You saved Hyrule.”

“Doesn’t any of this sound familiar?” Ismene asked.

Link shook his head. “None of it. Who’s Ganon?”

“The much uglier version of Ganondorf Dragmire,” the minstrel replied.

“Who?”

Tibbet stared at him in disbelief. “Ganondorf Dragmire. Really, evil guy. Responsible for the Imprisoning War. Eliminator of dreams…um…terminator of…good stuff.”

“Good thing your occupation doesn’t rely on your use of words,” Astrid muttered to Tibbet.

“None of this is ringing a bell,” Link said, apologetically.

The minstrel was getting desperate now. “You slew the Moldorm. You entered the Dark World. You…turned into a bunny.”

“I’m certain I would remember that,” Link shot back.

“It’s no use,” Astrid sighed. “Zaynar’s put a massive whammy on him. It’s a wonder he knows he’s Hylian at all.”

“Well, the ears help,” Tibbet mumbled.

Link turned to Ismene. “I don’t understand. Why would they do something like this to me, if it’s true?”

“It is true,” Ismene assured him.

“And they’re doing it because you’re such a powerful little bugger,” Astrid supplied.

“I am?”

Tibbet sighed. “Anyone who’s able to defeat an incarnation of Ganondorf Dragmire is very powerful.”

“Which is exactly what you did,” Astrid urged. “And Evanthea is real hot to restore glory to Alastria. You’re the way to do it.”

“She wants to end the war with the Duracs,” Tibbet explained, “so she visited the diviner and got Zaynar to work some magik on you.”

“They’re using you,” Astrid told him.

Link looked down at her. “And?”

Ismene reached across, touching Link’s face and turning it to look at her. “And we’re not going to let them,” she said firmly.

“The memory loss is only permanent if you participate in the blood sacrifice tomorrow night,” Astrid said.

“If you don’t, presumably, your memory will be restored,” Tibbet added, sitting down next to Astrid.

“How can you stop it?” Link asked.

“By making sure you’re not around to kill anybody on Zaynar’s altar.”

Astrid sat up, putting her hands on Link’s knees. “We’re getting you out of the castle.”

Link shook his head. “No, it’s impossible. I can’t be left alone for two seconds here. And there are guards everywhere.”

“Yesterday, a Durac was caught skulking through the castle,” Astrid explained. “No one could figure out how he got in, but however he did it, there must be a route of escape for you. I’m going to go to the dungeon and see if I can get any information out of him.”

“I’ll go with you,” Tibbet said.

“No, you can’t. Those guards are looking for you.”

“You can’t go alone. You’ll need help and these two,” Tibbet gestured to Ismene and Link, “will draw more attention.”

“He’s right, Astrid,” Ismene said.

“All right,” Astrid sighed.

“You’ll have to stay here, Link,” Tibbet said. “Hopefully, Idina won’t come looking for you here.”

“Hopefully,” Link echoed.

Ismene placed a hand on Link’s shoulders. “Are you willing to let us do this for you?” she asked. “This is a completely academic conversation if you don’t want to be helped.”

Link looked at Tibbet. “Am I really what you say?”

“Everything and more,” Tibbet swore.

“Then, I have to get out of here,” Link replied to Ismene.

“It’s agreed,” Ismene declared. “We’re all in on this together. We’ll find a way to get out of the castle and Tibbet will take you home.”

“There’s not much time,” Astrid said, climbing up to her feet. As Tibbet rose beside her, she grabbed the brim of his hat, pulling it as far down as she could over his ears again. “To the dungeon with us. You two lay low.” Joining hands, Tibbet and Astrid raced from the room, vanishing into the hallway as the door slammed shut behind them. Link and Ismene exchanged a look.

 

Evanthea’s nerves were frayed from the racket made by the knight’s armor. Resolved to remove herself from the situation as much as possible, she retired to her apartments, arranging for her servants to draw her a hot bath. While she waited, she paced the length of her sitting room, a veiny hand pressed up against her temple as the knights trooped through the halls. It seemed like an eternity before her bath was finally ready. Grateful for the respite, Evanthea disrobed herself and sank into the delightful depths of the tub.

Her heavenly moment only lasted a short while though. Relaxing among the bubbles, she heard one of her ladies in waiting walk into the room, the soles of her shoes clicking against the marble tiles on the floor. “Yes? What is it?” she asked without even opening her eyes.

“Princess Idina wishes to speak with you, your majesty,” the frightened lady in waiting said.

“Send her in,” Evanthea said with a heavy sigh.

“Yes, my Queen.”

There were a few more moments of blissful solitude. Evanthea raked her fingers through the thick foamy layer of bubbles, listening to the noise they made, so like the sound of oil hitting a hot saucepan. “Mother,” a whiny voice called soon, breaking the void of silence.

Evanthea opened her eyes. There was Idina all right. She was dressed for the afternoon already, wrapped in a splendid white chiton with a pink ribbon wrapping around her stomach. A gossamer veil hung from her shoulders, trailing down to her wrists where it was tied with white ribbons. Her dark hair was piled up on top of her head, held in place by a silver tiara made of two long rows of diamonds.

“My darling,” Evanthea said breezily, “why are you wearing that so early in the morning?”

“It’s well after noon, Momma,” Idina replied.

“Is it really?”

“Momma, I didn’t come here to discuss the time of day.” Idina opened her mouth to say something more, but the clank of armor through the hall momentarily cut her off. When the noise died down, she scowled. “What’s going on out there?”

“I’m having all Hylians removed from the castle,” Evanthea answered.

“Why?”

“To protect our little investment in Prince Oren.”

Idina sighed miserably, sitting down on the edge of the tub. “Perhaps it isn’t worth it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, darling?”

“He isn’t attracted to me, Momma. Not at all.”

“How do you know that?”

“Last night, I practically threw myself at him and he ran away.”

“Ran away?”

“Well, walked away. At a very fast pace!”

“Idina, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“How can you say that?”

“The boy is still dazed and confused. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s just being a gentleman.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Do you think it’s more than that?”

“Yes!” Idina moaned.

“Idina, I realize that you’re very eager to consummate this marriage and get started on your immortality, but you need to be patient. Right now, things are in a very delicate balance and anything that frightens or confuses him will only upset that balance. By the end of the night tomorrow, he’ll be yours for all eternity.”

“But what if he doesn’t love me, Momma?”

Evanthea shook her head, looking a little more than bemused. “This isn’t about love. This is about marriage.”

“I don’t want to be like you and Father.”

“Don’t bring us into this, Idina,” Evanthea said sharply.

“How can I avoid it?” Idina asked loudly. “You two were the very model of what I didn’t want in a marriage.”

“Your father was a mean, selfish, rotten man,” Evanthea snapped.

“And what if Oren is too?”

“Then you’ll have to find other ways of satisfying yourself.”

“I don’t want the courtiers whispering behind my back that I can’t satisfy my own husband,” Idina muttered darkly.

Evanthea’s eyes flashed angrily. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, staring intently at her daughter. When she finally did speak, it was in a low and dangerous voice. “Idina, this isn’t about pleasure. This is about your duty to your people. Someday you’re going to be queen. And you’ll need to learn to place your own desires underneath your duty.”

“Momma…”

“The diviner has decreed that your marriage to this boy can put an end to the struggle with Gonzalo.”

“I know that.”

“Too many people have died already. It’s time for the war to end. And to restore the glory of the Alastrian people.”

“So you’d condemn me to love someone who doesn’t love me in return?”

This caught Evanthea off guard. “You love him?”

“Oh Momma, just look at him, just look at him. He’s perfect. How can I help but fall in love?”

“He has an attractive shape,” Evanthea admitted.

“He’s an excelling creature,” Idina sighed longingly.

“You take care that your lust doesn’t outweigh you judgment, Idina. Many a woman has been made a fool of out of love.”

“Have you ever been in love, Momma?”

Evanthea considered the question for a moment. “Yes, I suppose I was in love when I first married your father.”

“What changed?”

“I found that his ideals and mine didn’t coincide.”

“And?”

“And after that, we found that we had little to talk about.”

“Oh Momma…”

“Now get out,” Evanthea said sharply. “I want to finish my bath in peace.”

 

The dungeon of the Castle of Rives was like any other typical dungeon, as far as Tibbet could tell. He had never really visited before, but the first thing that struck him as he crept in was how remarkably similar it was to some of the dungeons he had seen in his travels. What truly struck a familiar note with him was the smell. Dungeons tended to have a mossy, dingy smell, the more humid, the more powerful the stench. Of course, there were other smells too. There was the faintest whiff of decaying flesh in the air, as well as a small indication of stale bread, but overwhelmingly, it was the moss that tingled Tibbet’s nose.

It was surprisingly easy to get into the dungeon. All of the castle guards were so busy trying to find the stray Hylians that only one sentry was left to guard the entrance. He had been easy enough to deal with. Astrid whacked him over the head with her jester stick and he went out like a light. She was somewhat remorseful as they dragged the unconscious knight into a broom closet; he was one of the nicer ones. Still, necessity was a virtue at the moment.

Once the guard was disposed of, his keys tucked into the jester’s pocket, Tibbet and Astrid had no trouble creeping into the stairwell. They padded down the stone steps, Astrid clutching the bells of her stick in a tight fist so they wouldn’t make noise. When the duo arrived at the bottom landing, they found themselves in the very heart of the dungeon.

Of course, there were no windows. Tibbet reasoned they must have been a good twelve feet below the ground. All the lighting was provided by a line of torches on the left hand wall of the cellblock. The cells themselves were on the right side, a string of ten in a row. Just before the first cell was a table and a few chairs. On the table rested a book, a quill pen, and a deck of cards.

“The guards must get very bored,” Tibbet muttered, walking over to the table and picking up the cards.

“Never mind that,” Astrid snapped. She pointed to the book, “Look and see where the Durac prisoner is.”

“You can read, can’t you?”

“Yes, even four syllable words like condescending and patronizing. Go!”

Obediently, Tibbet opened the book and began flipping through the brittle, yellowing pages. “What’s the date?”

“The 14th,” she replied.

“That means yesterday was the 13th,” he mumbled to himself, still flipping through.

“Yes, yes,” Astrid said, craning her neck to look nervously over her shoulder for any signs of trouble.

“I think I’ve got it,” Tibbet crowed, stabbing a finger at the page before him. “Xax, son of Thisbe, arrested for lurking outside of the apartments of Captain Aeson and his family.”

“That’s our man.”

“Arrested for lurking? Boy, you folks are strict.”

“You have no idea,” Astrid sighed. “Which cell is he in?”

“Um…” Tibbet ran his finger across the line of text. “Number Nine. He’s scheduled to be sacrificed.”

“You mean executed.”

“No,” Tibbet said, pointing, “Look, it says sacrificed.”

“Oh boy…”

“Let’s go.”

Together, Tibbet and Astrid began to creep down the hallway, toward the end of the cellblock. Most of the cells were empty to be quite honest. The dungeon was rarely used for long term punishment and lately, things had been rather slow, as suggested by the deck of cards. Still, there were a few prisoners to be seen, most of them Evanthea’s own domestics, thrown into the dungeon for minor crimes. Astrid easily picked out Evanthea’s personal waiter, given a week for spilling red wine on one of her white dresses during supper.

Cell nine, of course, was the second to last. Little light fell into the barred window on the doorway, making it absolutely impossible for either of the pair to see Xax from the outside. Astrid pulled the guard’s keys out from her pocket. There were eleven of them. She looked up at Tibbet who merely shrugged. “Try them one at a time, I guess,” he said.

Astrid stepped over to the lock and began testing the keys. She cranked the first one. No luck. So she shifted to the second. “I hope he speaks Common,” she mumbled as the second key failed.

“I just hope he’s willing to help us,” Tibbet replied, walking across the room to grab a torch and bring it back.

“This is really important to you? Isn’t it?” The third key failed.

Tibbet nodded firmly. “Link saved my sister’s life. I feel like I really owe this to him.”

The fourth key failed. “You Hylians are a much closer community than we are.”

“It wasn’t always like that,” Tibbet explained. “There was a time when we fought amongst ourselves. The Imprisoning War really changed our collective outlook.”

“I wish this war would do the same for my people,” Astrid sighed as the fifth key failed.

“It might. You never know.”

Astrid shook her head. “No, no I’m fairly certain there’s no hope left for –” There was a loud metallic click. As Astrid yanked on the sixth key to pull it out, she swung the door open.

Tibbet stepped in first, wielding the torch in front of him. The cell was remarkably bare. Against the right wall was a chamber pot and a brittle, misshapen tin plate. On the left wall was a simple cot. A blue, wool blanket covered a lumpy figure resting on the cot. Clearing his throat, Tibbet approached the cot. “Um…excuse me, Xax?”

“Is he asleep?” Astrid asked, trailing after Tibbet.

“I guess so,” Tibbet answered. He took a few more precarious steps forward until he was right next to the cot. “Hello?” he whispered, jabbing the figure with his finger.

“Is he dead?”

The minstrel grabbed the woolen blanket, yanking it off of the figure. He gasped, taking a step back. Lying on the cot was a limp, ghostly white figure with no hands, feet, or eyes. “What the…?”

Astrid took a step forward, poking the figure with her finger. She heard a soft rustling noise underneath the white covering. “It’s straw,” she mused.

Tibbet held the torch closer to get a better look. Indeed, lounging on the cot was nothing but a straw doll, approximately the same shape and mass as a Durac would have. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Astrid said. She stooped down and picked up the blanket, throwing it back over the lumpy mannequin.

“We’d better get out of here,” Tibbet muttered, taking a step back.

“You read my mind,” Astrid answered, already halfway out the door. As Tibbet passed through, she swung the door closed, as silently as possible, and removed the key. Tibbet crossed to replace the torch. “Dead end. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Tibbet echoed. “We need to find our own way out of the castle, I guess.”

They started walking back up the cellblock. “Can’t you Hylians do some sort of teleportation spell?”

“Only those with the highest level of mental training and discipline can do that,” Tibbet explained.

“In other words, not you.”

“Yeah.”

“Halt!” Looking up the hall, Tibbet and Astrid spotted a gaggle of soldiers standing on the bottom of the stairs. Leading the pack was a knight that Astrid recognized as Aeson’s first lieutenant, a rather unpleasant individual all things considered. It was this particular knight that stepped forward, looking directly at Tibbet. “Under the authority of Queen Evanthea of Alastria, you are an enemy of state and hereby banished from the Castle of Rives.”

Astrid and Tibbet looked behind them. There was no place to run. Astrid stepped forward, standing in front of Tibbet protectively. “This man has done nothing wrong,” she said firmly.

“Don’t cause a scene, Astrid,” the lieutenant snapped. “You’re in enough trouble as it is for being down here.” He snapped his fingers, pointing at Tibbet. Two of the hulking knights started walking to the boy.

“Stop!” Astrid shouted, getting in the way. As if brushing aside a flea, one of the guards knocked her over. Astrid fell to the ground, her hat falling off and rolling to Tibbet’s feet.

Eyeing the guards, Tibbet stooped down to pick up the hat. “You have no warrant to arrest me,” he said carefully, stepping back.

The guards continued advancing on the minstrel. “That’s really not an issue,” the lieutenant snorted. Tibbet turned, taking flight down the corridor. The knights easily overtook him, each one grabbing one of his arms and hoisting him clean off of the ground so that he was running in midair. One guard handed him to the other who promptly flung the minstrel over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Put me down!” Tibbet demanded, flailing his arms and legs to no avail.

“We’ll take him to the Captain,” the lieutenant barked.

“Let me go!”

“Bring him here.”

Tibbet over his shoulder, the hulking guard walked back to the staircase, mercifully stepping around Astrid who was still on the floor. As he passed her, she sat up, long, glimmering locks of dark brown hair falling around her shoulders. She looked up and caught Tibbet’s eye as he was carried to the stairs. In that moment, a strange understanding passed between the two of them. Everything they did now was for the cause. The urgency to rescue Link, which had so filled Tibbet’s spirit, passed into Astrid through her clashing green eyes.

Soon, Tibbet was hauled up the stairs and out of sight. “Get above ground where you belong,” the lieutenant snapped to Astrid.

“Will I be able to see him again?”

“Most certainly not,” the man sneered. “Why would you want to associate with criminals anyway?”

“Oh…I just want my hat back,” she sighed as she stood to brush the dust off of her trousers. The lieutenant scoffed and marched back up the stairs, following Tibbet’s cries. Astrid remained below, wondering what she would do now. Not only had she lost an escape route from the Durac, but she had lost her partner in crime. She knew very well it was her duty to save Link above all other things, but an urgent part of her wanted to rescue Tibbet too. Her soul was torn in half, each going in a separate direction. Still, she knew what Tibbet would have wanted her to do. She would see Link’s rescue through.

 

“They’ve been gone too long,” Ismene said, drumming her fingers on the windowsill. She and Link had been sitting in her apartments for what seemed like an interminable amount of time. Most if it spent in awkward silence. As she gazed across the room, she noticed that Link seemed withdrawn, as if existing solely in a world of his own thoughts. Of course, she couldn’t blame him. She could only imagine what it would be like to have no past. Gingerly, she made her way over to him, sitting down beside him. “Listen, Oren…I mean Link…”

Abruptly, he snapped out of his dream world, turning to look at Ismene. “Say it again.”

“Say what?”

“My name.”

“Link.”

Hesitantly, he reached a hand forward, pressing his fingertips lightly to her jaw. “Thank you.”

Her jaw nearly quivered. Link’s fingers felt warm and smooth against her skin. “For what?”

“I don’t know,” he said, studying her face as if to memorize it. “For revealing the truth to me.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“You didn’t have to do it.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why? And don’t tell me because it was the ‘right thing’ to do. People know what’s right and don’t do it all the time.”

“I suppose,” she said slowly, considering each word as she spoke it, “because I could empathize with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I first saw you, I felt a great swell of…”

“Yes?”

“Pity.”

Link withdrew his hand, leaning back to look at her. “Pity?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not what I was expecting you to say.”

“What did you want to hear?”

He stood up, pacing uneasily across the expanse of the room, over to the window where Ismene had been only a short time ago. Fretfully, he turned around to face her. “Ismene, I…”

“Yes?”

“I have something I need to confess to you.”

“What is it?”
“I find you to be…stimulating.”

She smiled slightly. “You flatter me.”

“No,” he said, crossing back over to her. “Not at all.” He knelt down in front of her, taking one of her hands in both of his. “You are, quite possibly, the most fascinating woman in this entire castle.”

“Thank you.”

“And I feel guilty for these feelings. Since everyone keeps telling me that I’m supposed to love Idina. When I see her, I feel nothing. I feel worse than nothing, I feel empty.”

“She’s not your wife,” Ismene said in a barely audible whisper. Why was he talking of love?

“I know. Now, I know.” He shook his head. “It never made sense that I could love her when…”

“When what?”

“When there’s someone like you around to outshine her.”

Ismene closed her eyes. “Link, I have to confess something to you.”

“What?”

She opened her clear eyes, looking into his with great intensity. “I’m attracted to you. I can’t help it. When you look at me, you go right through me and I feel as though I’m completely…”

“Powerless?”

“Yes.”

Link stood up, sitting down next to Ismene again. He released her hand with one of his and slowly brought it up to touch her face again. “I feel exactly the same way,” he told her.

“So we’re both powerless.”

“It would seem that way.”

“What do we do?”

“When you’re powerless, you only have two choices.”

“What are they?”

“You can either fight back until you perish in the fight…”

“Or?”

“Or surrender.”

“Surrender.”

“Yes…”

Ismene bit her lips together. “Link, if this plan of Astrid’s is carried out, it’s possible that we may never see each other again.”

“I know.”

“And I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering…”

“…what might have been?” Suddenly, Link leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers. They were warm and sweet and he was compelled to press them into a gentle kiss. Much to his sheer delight, he felt Ismene kiss back, turning her head to one side. Letting go of her hand, he reached his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, so close that he could feel her heart beat. It was racing.

The complete ecstasy of the embrace was over before it had completely sunken in. Ismene pulled back slightly, but Link felt as though she were still pressed against him, his skin alive with her touch. “Link…” she whispered.

He looked at her, his gaze half amorous and half childish. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. Without another word, the two of them surged forward at the same time, engaging in a second, even more passionate, kiss. Ismene raked a hand through Link’s hair, her fingers trembling. He reached up and caught her hand, pulling it down, right in between their two hearts.

“Whatever it is,” he whispered, breaking away from the kiss, “it feels…”

“Right,” she finished for him.

“And whatever feels right must be right.”

Ismene pulled back. She rose swiftly from her seat and crossed the room to the window. Pulling on the gold cord, she lowered the blinds, twisting the rod to shut them. The room grew dim with only the light which escaped from in between the slats managing to illuminate things. Ismene turned away from the blinds, standing in front of them to face Link. That little light was enough to catch her hair and silhouette, making Ismene appear to glow.

Link stood up, crossing the room until he was standing in front of her. Ismene pressed her palms to his chest, running them down to his waist. She leaned forward, kissing his shoulder, almost absently. He could smell her freshly washed hair. It smelled like violets.

Stepping back, Ismene told hold of the sash tying her dressing gown around her waist. She pulled the silk free of its knot, pushing her robe off of her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. Although Link still had no memory, every fiber of his being screamed to him that he had never before seen a naked woman. If he had been attracted to Ismene before, though, looking at her now nearly made him weak in the knees. Her body was extraordinary, more like one of the paintings of the goddesses Link had seen in the royal art collection than like a real person.

At last, after all of his inquiring, Link finally understood the difference between Humans and Alastrians. On Ismene’s chest, just below her collarbone, two delicate flaps of blue skin pulsated with her breathing. Alastrians had gills. What was more, on her back, just barely visible in the glowing light, a delicate set of fins, looking more like gossamer wings, hung from just beneath the shoulder blade, to the waist.

Gently, Link trailed his fingers down the side of her face, going down her neck and shoulder. He stepped closer, wrapping his other arm around her waist. Ismene gathered his face in her hands and kissed him, closing her eyes and leaning close, as close as she could, to his chest. As the kiss ended, Link stooped slightly, hooking his arm around underneath her knees. He picked her up and she draped her arms around his shoulders and neck. With a final, lingering kiss, he carried her away, through the parted curtains and into the heart of her bedroom.

 

In every hallway, at every corner and junction, through long stretches of stone and jagged hairpin turns, knights stomped along. It was as though martial law had been declared, absurd a notion as that was for a monarchy. The knights were absolutely everywhere, swarming like bees, and the courtiers, for fear, had taken shelter in their apartments or had fled to their summer homes to escape the madness.

Astrid was certain that all of this extra security wasn’t for a Hylian portraitist barricaded in her quarters. Something was stirring. They must have discovered that Xax as missing, she reasoned. Bad news for her, since she had been in the dungeon without permission, spotted by three knights. Four counting the one she had knocked out. Was she a suspect? The thought of being thrown in the dungeon herself didn’t please Astrid at all. She had once spent a week there for a jest that was taken just a little too seriously and it wasn’t a fond memory. Evanthea already had it in for her as it was.

Slipping behind a standing suit of armor, Astrid watched as two more knights patrolled past her. Slowly, she peeked out from underneath the massive arm of the suit. As those two guards turned the corner, three more approached from the opposite direction. Again, Astrid ducked behind the frozen statue until the coast was clear. Quickly, she slipped away, scurrying down the hallway as silently as she could. Ismene’s chambers seemed miles away, and given the circumstances, Astrid didn’t want to be seen returning there. She would have to find a more roundabout way.

She began to slink down the hall toward the apartment wing. A new thought had been occurring to her. Why not leave the castle with Link? He could take her back to Hyrule where she’d be certain to encounter Tibbet again. Dourly, she supposed that there was the possibility the knights would kill him. Certainly, Evanthea wouldn’t mind his loss. She’d merely turn a blind eye. Rotten woman! Astrid could taste bile in her mouth just thinking about all the cruel things Evanthea might permit them to do to hapless Tibbet.

The sound of armor alerted Astrid to more knights. She looked about for a place to hide, but much to her dismay, the hall was relatively empty. Not so much as a tapestry hung on the wall. Carefully, she moved to one side, trying to determine which direction the footsteps were coming from. Suddenly, a door on the other side of the corridor opened. Peeking out was Lady Olivia, wearing a stunning pastel pink gown with window sleeves and a lacy hat, shaped like a heart, and lined with a row of glossy pearls.

Olivia glanced around the hall. She spotted Astrid and ran over to her, grabbing the jester’s arm. “In here,” she hissed, pulling Astrid back into the doorway she had come from.

They were soon inside of Princess Idina’s storage closet. The room was dimly lit by several oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. Low light kept the fabrics from fading. Rows upon rows of clothing racks lined the room. Against the walls were crates of beauty supplies; rogue, lipstick, face powder, false eye lashes, and perfumes. On top of each of the clothing racks was a menagerie of hats, different shapes and sizes, most of them only worn once before being discarded.

“Lady Olivia,” Astrid stuttered as Olivia closed the door behind them.

“Are you all right?” Olivia asked.

“Well enough, my lady, thanks to you. But what are you doing in here? You could be put in the stocks for this.”

“They could do worse to me than that,” Olivia mumbled. “Is Tibbet all right?” she added thoughtfully.

“He’s been taken away,” Astrid admitted.

“I imagined that’s why you were skulking through the halls,” Olivia explained distractedly.

“What are you doing in here?”

Olivia glanced nervously to the side. She turned to look back at the jester with an expression of deep concern. “Can you keep a secret, Astrid?”

“Aye, my lady. I’m quite the expert at it,” she answered, yanking off the oversized collar of her costume and casting it on the floor.

Cautiously, Olivia made a beckoning motion with her hand. Out of the shadows stepped a robbed figure, the hood pulled down so far that Astrid couldn’t see the person’s face. The figure put an arm around Olivia’s waist as she lifted her hand to pull back the hood. Revealed before Astrid was the most handsome Durac she had ever seen. His golden hair caught the firelight, casting a bright reflection that seemed to light up the room. Involuntarily, Astrid found herself gasp, taking a step back.

“It’s all right, Astrid!” Olivia hissed, holding a hand out to her. “He won’t hurt you.”

“My apologies,” Astrid sputtered, completely baffled.

“Astrid, this is Xax. Xax, this is Astrid. She’s the one I told you about.”

Xax bowed before the jester. “Hello, Astrid,” he greeted her in his rich, exotic voice.

“What did you tell him about me, exactly?” Astrid asked Olivia skeptically.

“You know the ins and outs of the castle better than most people. I told him that you could help us.”

“Help you what?”

Olivia looked at Xax, putting a hand on his shoulder. She had that distant smile on her face which answered Astrid’s question before she even spoke. “We’re going away, together.”

Astrid blinked. “You mean you two are in…?”

“Yes,” Olivia answered passionately.

“Then you’re the one that left the straw doll in the basement!”

This seemed to take Olivia by surprise. “How did you know about that?”

“I was down there with Tibbet.”

“What were you two doing in the basement?”

“Looking for him,” Astrid proclaimed, pointing to Xax.

“Him? Why?”

Astrid turned her attention to Xax. “How did you get in the castle?”

“Why do you want to know?” Olivia cut Xax off before he could answer.

For a moment, Astrid was silent, considering her options. It seemed that Olivia and Xax were in earnest. She supposed, then, that there was no harm in placing all her cards on the table. “Prince Oren. We were trying to help him escape. We wanted to figure out how he got in the castle so we could take Oren out the same way.”

Xax wrinkled his nose. “Why would the Prince want to escape?”

“His real name is Link and Evanthea had him mystically kidnapped,” Astrid explained.

“Then your task is one of great honor,” Xax said approvingly.

“I suppose you might say that,” Astrid sighed. “Anyway, Tibbet and I went down to the dungeon to find out how you got in. That’s where Tibbet was caught by one of Aeson’s men.”

“Then we must rescue him,” Xax declared.

“No, there’s no time,” Astrid told him reluctantly. “We have to get Link out of the castle before it’s too late.”

A heavy pause filled the air. Finally, the Durac spoke. “There’s a secret passage,” Xax said. “It runs beneath the castle and all the way out to the shore.”

“Can you show it to us?”

Xax nodded. “But the way is difficult.”

“Where does the passage begin?”

“In the throne room.”

“The throne room!” Astrid exclaimed.

Olivia surged forward, planting a hand over Astrid’s mouth. “Help us to escape,” she whispered, “and we’ll show you the way.”

Gingerly, Astrid peeled Olivia’s hand off of her face. “It’s an accord,” Astrid agreed.

“Where is Link?”

“Hiding in Princess Ismene’s apartments.”

“She’s in on this too?”

“Aye. She knows what Evanthea’s doing is wrong,” Astrid replied.

“Then let’s go.”

“No,” Astrid snapped, “we can’t just waltz out there. The castle is swarming with guards. Your trick must have been discovered by now.”

“What do we do?”

Astrid examined Xax critically. “You’ll have to be disguised.”

“That’s what the robe is for,” Olivia answered.

“The knights will certainly question someone hiding their face.”

“Then I will slay them,” Xax declared. From the depths of his robe, he drew a magnificent sword, swinging it in the air.

Astrid jumped up, grabbing his arm and pulling the sword closer to inspect it. Engraved on the hilt was a Hylian symbol, a Triforce, if memory served. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

“I found it in Aeson’s room,” Olivia volunteered. “There was a shield too.”

“We can disguise him as a knight. My lady, go back to your apartments and fetch the shield, along with any armor you can get your hands on.”

“What are you going to do?”

Astrid looked around the room before her eyes fell on a crate of face cream. She briskly walked over to the crate, wedging it open with the end of her jester stick. As she had hoped, inside were bottles of base make up of a wide assortment of hues. She selected one, going back to the group. “We can use this,” she said to Xax, “to over your tattoo.”

“For a Durac to hide his clan symbol is a great dishonor,” Xax objected indignantly.

“What’s more important to you?” Astrid asked. “Your honor or your Lady Olivia?”

Without a moment of hesitation, Xax replied, “Olivia.” Olivia looked up at Xax, positively beaming.

“Then you’ll endure this for a short while,” Astrid said. “There will be no other Duracs about to know your dishonor anyway.”

“I’ll go get the armor,” Olivia said. She turned to Xax and the two of them kissed a deep, passionate kiss, Olivia’s foot popping from underneath her skirts. When they at last had to break away, Olivia flounced out of the room hurriedly, leaving Astrid alone with the stranger.

“Don’t worry,” Astrid said screwing open the bottle. “I’m an expert at this. I do it every day.”

“Are you a Durac too?” Xax asked.

Astrid laughed. “No, no, I’m as Alastrian as Olivia. The Queen just requires me to hide other aspects of my face,” she sighed as she began dabbing the face paint over Xax’s tattoo.

 

Aeson was pacing the expanse of the arena when he heard footsteps approaching. He hoped against hope that his knights were bringing him good news. As the afternoon wore on, he was growing wearier and wearier by the minute. Against every effort he had made, the courtiers had been thrown into a state of catatonic panic and despite his wishes castle life was not going on as routine. Then again, Evanthea was being less than helpful in the matter. She had completely withdrawn from public view, taking away the little comfort her presence would provide to the frightened nobles.

Frustrated and headachy, Aeson had abandoned his armor, left in dark red leggings and a loose white poet’s shirt. He imagined his appearance was nothing short of scandalous, but frankly, he was too aggravated to care. Of course, Olivia’s scolding words were still haunting him, searing into his subconscious. She was more and more like their mother every day. No one else could look at him and be so annoyed.

Three knights marched into the arena. In the lead was Aeson’s lieutenant. Carrying up the rear of the small parade was a sergeant carrying a writhing bundle of brown fabric over his shoulder. “Captain!” the lieutenant called.

Aeson turned to address the group. “What is that?”

The sergeant dropped the wriggling mass which made a sound of indignation as it rolled over to reveal Tibbet’s elaborate cape, flopped over to completely over his head. Angrily, Tibbet grabbed a handful of the fabric, pulling it away from his angry and bright pink face. “We caught him skulking through the dungeon,” the lieutenant explained. “With the jester. Just as you predicted.”

“And why did you bring him here?” Aeson asked, as though addressing a small child.

“He resisted arrest, sir. And he was in the dungeon without authorization. We thought you might want to handle this case personally.”

“Go help out with the portraitist,” Aeson sighed irritably.

“She’s still barricaded in her room?”

“She’s started lighting things on fire. This is a woman who refuses to do what she’s told.”

“Aye, sir,” the lieutenant said with a stiff salute.

“Dismissed,” Aeson muttered. The lieutenant marched out of the room, but his honor guard remained by the door, at attention. “That goes for all of you,” Aeson called loudly.

“Aye, sir,” said the sergeant.

“Aye, sir,” said his companion.

Both of them marched out of the room leaving Aeson and Tibbet with the ringing echoes of their armor. For a long while, Aeson was silent, the throbbing noise in his head sufficing to fill the room with sound, as far as he was concerned. He walked in a circle around Tibbet, still huddled on the floor, Astrid’s hat firmly clutched in his fingers. To say he was disgruntled in his appearance was something of an understatement. Tibbet looked downright cross.

“Answer me this, storyteller,” Aeson barked. “What were you doing in the dungeon?”

“Hiding from your men,” Tibbet lied. “You have no right to remove me from the castle against my will. I’ve done no wrong.”

“You’re guilty of two crimes now,” Aeson replied. “Breaking into the dungeon and resisting arrest.”

“All as a result of an illegal removal attempt.”

“It’s perfectly legal. Queen Evanthea herself authorized it.”

“On what grounds?”

“She has no need for grounds. She’s the Queen. She can do as she pleases, you know that.”

“An irresponsible monarchy is worse than anarchy,” Tibbet said angrily.

“Well, you would certainly know a lot about that,” Aeson snapped.

Tibbet was taken aback. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You minstrels,” he said the word with disgust, “just love causing trouble in otherwise peaceful societies.”

“I resent that accusation.”

“I know your reputation well. Seducing young and impressionable women and then abandoning them on the side of the road.”

“I would never do something like that!” Tibbet shouted.

“I’ve heard the stories,” Aeson continued, “I know how your game works, how you travel from place to place, a different lover in each kingdom: None of them knowing about the others until it’s too late.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve tried to work your will over Lady Olivia, my own sister.”

Tibbet pursed his lips. “So that’s what this is about. Me telling Olivia stories that you didn’t like.”

“You tried to seduce her!”

“I did no such thing,” Tibbet answered calmly.

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I am not lying to you. True, I told Olivia stories. That’s what I do, I tell stories. But as Farore’s my witness, I would never, ever do anything to harm Olivia or her honor as a lady.”

“Liar!”

“To say that one minstrel is no different from another minstrel is just as wrong as saying that one knight is no different from another knight,” Tibbet sighed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You cannot classify someone by their vocation. A jester,” he said, holding up Astrid’s cap, “can be twice as noble as a duchess.”

“You’re not proving your nobility to me.”

“Then let me prove your nobility to you,” Tibbet answered.

This caught Aeson off guard. He narrowed his eyes, staring at Tibbet. “What was that?”

“Let me prove your nobility to you.”

“I know who and what I am,” Aeson snapped.

“And what are you?”

“Captain of the Guard.”

“Is that an honorable position?”

“Aye.”

“Then are you an honorable person?”

“Of course I am.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“Why are you doing this? You know these actions you’re taking on behalf of Evanthea are dishonorable. And I’m not just talking about the forced relocation of the Hylians.”

Aeson stood there, staring at Tibbet, but in reality, he couldn’t see the minstrel. He couldn’t see anything; he was so withdrawn in on himself. ‘You’re a knight; you stand for justice, not blind obedience,’ Olivia had said to him. How strange it was that a peasant minstrel’s words should echo such noble sentiment. “You know,” Aeson said softly.

“About Oren? Of course I do.” Tibbet stood up. “And you know that robbing a stranger of his life is wrong. It’s more than wrong, it’s –”

“Dishonorable,” Aeson finished for him.

“Yes.”

“Evanthea is playing the villain,” Tibbet said cautiously. “And you are a fool if you think that your duty to her outweighs universal goodness.”

“Your speech is eloquent, storyteller.”

“Silencing a few Hylians won’t change the fact that this is wrong, everything about it.”

“If Evanthea sees you…”

“She won’t. When I leave this castle, it will be for good,” Tibbet promised solemnly.

Aeson glanced down at the jester hat, still firmly clutched in Tibbet’s hand. “But your work here isn’t finished yet.”

“No. There’s something I have to do.”

The knight nodded absently, his eyes withdrawn and almost lifeless. He licked his lips. “All right,” he said softly.

“Sir Aeson?”

“Go. Just go.”

“I –”

“Don’t let me see you here,” Aeson added with a sharp edge. “After this moment, I never want to see your face again.”

“You won’t,” Tibbet promised.

Aeson pointed at the door. “Go.”

Taking a few steps backward, Tibbet continued to watch Aeson. Finally, excitedly, he turned around with a flourish of his cape, racing out of the room. Aeson watched him go, suddenly feeling a thousand years old. All the strength was drained from his limbs, all the energy from his mind. He was suddenly too tired to oversee his knights, and not just today. Shoulders slumping, he slipped out of the room, going back home to his apartments. His walk was not a lonely one, however. All the way, he was accompanied by his own doubts, thoughts swirling around his mind like a whirlpool that might never find rest. To the highest powers, he hoped against hope that what he had just done had been the right thing, honorable in the eyes of the universe if not in the eyes of his monarch.

 

Link and Ismene sat side by side on the foot of Ismene’s bed. Link was back in his green tunic, which Ismene apparently, had rescued from the incinerator. Ismene, resting her head on Link’s shoulder, wore a simple green shift with gold piping around the sleeves and waist. He stroked her knee absently with his thumb, his head half clouded with her violet scent. Both of them seemed to be in a dreamlike state, truthfully. Not a word had been exchanged, only kisses. Link was certain that the events of today would be on his mind for the rest of his life and for this reason he tried to memorize every sight, sound, and smell. Unfortunately, the sound he was least expecting was the loud jingling of jester bells.

Both Link and Ismene nearly jumped out of their skin when they heard it. “Princess Ismene,” Astrid hissed from the anteroom.

“They’re back,” Ismene whispered as they both rose to their feet. “We need to go to them.” She started to walk out of the room, but Link reached his hand out, grabbing her arm and pulling her back into another lingering kiss. She returned the kiss, her hand brushing gently down the side of his face, but soon pulled back reluctantly. “We have to go,” she told him. Nodding slightly, Link let go of her and followed out into the anteroom.

There, they were greeted by an unexpected sight. Astrid was standing there, looking a bit less clownish than normal without her hat or collar. Beside her was a lady in waiting that Link didn’t recognize and a burly man in full armor with a long blue cape on his back. “Where’s Tibbet?” he asked.

“He got caught by a few guards,” Astrid explained hurriedly.

“Lady Olivia?” Ismene addressed the girl with a nervous coloring to her speech, “what are you doing here?”

“We’re here to help, your majesty,” Olivia said.

“We?”

“Your highness,” Astrid motioned to the knight, “may I present Xax, son of Thisbe.” She reached up, lifting the visor off of Xax’s helmet so that part of his face could just barely be seen.

“The Durac?” Ismene questioned, peering closely to examine Xax’s face. Astrid reached behind Xax and lifted a corner of the cape. Then, his tail could plainly be seen, swinging back and forth. “You’re willing to help us?”

“Yes, Princess,” Xax answered. “If you let me and Olivia escape too.”

Ismene looked to Astrid for an explanation. The jester merely tapped two fingers to her heart and at once Ismene understood. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

Astrid looked at her incredulously. “Is there any other kind?”

Ignoring the jibe, Ismene addressed the Durac. “Well, Xax son of Thisbe, you have yourself a deal.”

Link stepped forward to address him. “How did you get into the…” he trailed off abruptly.

“Link?” Ismene looked over at him. The boy seemed frozen, staring at something, though she couldn’t be sure what it was. With concern, she took a small step in his direction. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

Slowly, Link reached out to touch the shield strapped to Xax’s arm. “I recognize this,” he whispered.

“We found it in Aeson’s room,” Olivia said.

“Aeson went with Idina to find Link,” Ismene muttered. “It could very well belong to you, Link.”

Immediately, Xax detached the shield from his arm and handed it over to Link. Link accepted it graciously, turning it about in his hands to examine. “How did you get in the castle?” he asked absently.

“There’s a secret tunnel beneath the castle grounds. It lets out right on the beach.” Xax put an arm around Olivia’s waist. “We’ll take a boat to Calatia. They’re more tolerant there.”

“Where does it start in the castle?” Ismene inquired.

“The throne room.”

“Getting there unseen is going to be tough,” Astrid sighed.

“If we’re going to do it, we have to do it now,” Ismene said firmly. “Soon, Idina will be calling on Link for supper.”

Astrid marched to the door. “Then we’d better get going.”

The others followed and soon they were out in the hallway. Clanking armor had become a constant, chronic sound, making it absolutely impossible to figure out from where the guards were approaching. It didn’t help that Xax’s armor was every bit as loud. They skulked their way down the corridor, Xax and Olivia clasping hands the entire way. Before long, they were back in the servants’ hallways with the spiral iron staircases. There were few servants to be seen.

“Where is everyone?” Ismene wondered.

“Scared out of their wits,” Olivia supposed.

“There’s a back entrance to the throne room,” Astrid whispered, pointing down the hall.

“We can’t go into the room if it’s crawling with guards and courtiers,” Olivia replied.

“Knights!” Ismene hissed.

The group withdrew behind one of the staircases, watching as a regimen of corporals marched past. “We can’t stay out here either,” Link muttered to Olivia, watching them pass.

Xax lifted the visor on his helmet a bit to peek out. “How far is the back entrance?”

“About fifty paces from here,” Astrid replied. She glanced from side to side. “Now or never.” With that, she shot out from behind the spiral staircase, breaking into a full sprint down the hall. The others chased after her, Olivia and Ismene holding their skirts up as high as possible. Twenty paces from the door, they heard another gaggle of knights approaching and so pulled back into an alcove. It was a tight fit, the huddled escapees cramped up tight against one another.

“This is ridiculous,” Ismene mumbled, brushing Olivia’s hair away from her face. “They’re everywhere.”

“Bully for the Queen’s security force,” Astrid deadpanned, glancing out. “Come on, the coast is clear.”

They raced forward again, crowding around the servants’ entrance to the throne room. Astrid pulled the door open a crack and they all peeked inside. Much to everyone’s surprise, the throne room was practically empty. Indeed, all of the courtiers were gone. It seemed that Evanthea decided not to hold court today and so the only souls left in the throne room were three low ranking knights, swarming about the front entrance.

“Where’s the passage?” Link asked Xax.

“There,” Xax whispered, pointing at the floor.

“I don’t see anything,” Ismene murmured.

Xax pointed again, with great intensity. “There.”

“Where?”

“The pink tile near the front.”

“There’s a secret passage beneath the pink tile?” Link asked incredulously.

“The tile is a trap door,” Xax told him. “When it’s lifted, it leads to the tunnel system.”

“I wonder who put that there,” Ismene mused. “And how is it possible that none of us could know about hit?”

“I don’t know,” Xax replied with a shrug.

Olivia was craning her neck, looking apprehensively over her shoulder. “More knights are coming,” she hissed.

“Those knights are too close to the trap,” Link said nervously, looking into the throne room.

Astrid grabbed the bells of her jester stick into her fist. “They’ll be gone in moment,” she said firmly. Without another word, she slipped into the throne room, creeping silently across the floor. The knights were standing with their backs to her, so she quickly made her way behind the nearest one. Swiftly, she pulled her foot back, delivering a sharp kick to the knight’s rear. As he turned around, she held up her jester stick so that the first thing he saw was the grotesque, disproportionate head. He shrieked in surprise, stumbling back and toppling into a second knight. This caused a domino effect and the second knight hit the third, all of them landing in noisy heap on the checkerboard floor.

Laughing blithely, Astrid leapt over the pile of metal and ran from the throne room. Angrily, the knights clambered to their feet, chasing after her and leaving the throne room completely empty for the others to slip in and crawl into the trap door, just as Xax had promised.

Screaming at the top of her lungs now, Astrid tore down the corridor. The grumbling knights, hindered by their heavy armor, chased after her. As they went, however, they drew more and more attention and the number of guards making grabs for Astrid increased. Luckily, Astrid was very agile and, missing half of her costume, managed to out run most of them. She really had no idea where she was leading them. Away. That was the only solution. She had to lead them away from the throne room, at any cost.

She spun around, streaking down the hall as fast as she could. Unexpectedly, however, a door suddenly swung open on her right hand side and Evanthea, flanked by a dozen ladies in waiting, stepped out into the hallway. Astrid tried to skid to a stop, but it was too late and she ended up toppling over, falling on her face right at Evanthea’s feet.

“What’s going on here?” Evanthea demanded sharply.

The knights finally managed to catch up, all of them panting for breath. “Pride of the security force, you are,” Astrid quipped, sitting up on her knees.

“She was making a scene in the throne room,” the first knight Astrid had scared gasped, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees.

“And screaming through the hallways,” another knight added.

“I was not screaming,” Astrid said smugly, “I was shrieking.”

“Silence,” Evanthea snapped. She pulled back her arm and slapped Astrid across the face, sending the girl flying to the floor. “Get back to your posts,” she ordered the knights angrily. The guards all bowed and began to slink away. Evanthea looked down at her hand. All across her palm and fingertips was white make up, smeared off of Astrid’s face from the blow. As Astrid sat up, indeed, there was a long streak of flesh color on her left cheek where white had been. “Stupid girl,” Evanthea hissed at Astrid venomously. One of the ladies in waiting handed Evanthea a handkerchief. She wiped the white paint off of her hand and dropped the cloth on top of Astrid, kicking her sharply in the ribs as she walked down the hall.

 

Aeson was careful to be quiet as he crept back into his apartments. It was doubtlessly nap time for several of his younger siblings and the last thing he wanted was to disturb them. At least someone should be at ease in the castle, he thought dourly. Slowly, he crept over to the accordion door of Olivia’s room. It was snugly closed and Aeson paused for a good length of time, considering whether or not he would knock. Finally, half fearfully, he did. “Olivia,” he called softly. There was no response. “Olivia, please.” Again, nothing. “Olivia, I’m coming in.”

He slid the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him. Much to his surprise, the room was empty, no sign of Olivia anywhere. She must have gone riding after all. Rubbing his eyes, he turned to leave again when something caught his eye. On the floor, kicked haphazardly into a corner, he spotted Olivia’s saddle. Resting on top of the glistening leather was an envelope. Crossing the room, Aeson stooped down and picked it up. Written in very neat, flowery script was his own name.

Breaking the wax seal, Aeson opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. He sat down on the edge of Olivia’s bed and unfolded the sheet of parchment. “My dearest Aeson,” he read aloud. “By the time you read this letter, doubtlessly, I will be gone.”

His head snapped up sharply. Aeson bounded to his feet and walked swiftly to the window, peering out. The courtyard on the other side of the glass was completely abandoned. Scowling, he turned back to the letter, reading on. “Please do not go looking for me, as I do not want to be found. It well may be that we will never meet again in this life.”

Aeson found himself compelled to look away from his sister handwriting for a moment. His eye fell on the shelf on the opposite wall, holding a collection of music boxes, Olivia’s childhood treasures. Slowly, he crossed the room, running his fingers along the glossy surfaces of the boxes. He selected one in particular, the one he had given Olivia the day their parents were killed. The outside was glimmering mother of pearl, etched with scenes of sea nymphs at play. His fingers lifted the lid off of the box and the bright, cheerful tune began.

Fingers trembling, he looked down at the letter. “I don’t expect you to understand what I’ve done,” he read, his voice growing thicker with every word. “I only hope that you will never think ill of me. Please know that I love you very much, Aeson, and that I always will. I’ve gone because I’ve finally found someone who loves me above his own honor. Forgive me if my actions bring you to shame. I would never want to do anything to harm your reputation.”

When Aeson looked down at the music box, something silver caught his attention. Resting against the red velvet inside was a set of shiny keys, ones he recognized as his own. He touched his side, for the first time realizing that they had been absent. His insides aching, he read on. “Tell the others how much I love them. I leave all of my belongings to them as I will not need them where I am going. For now, I pray that when we meet again in the next life, you will forgive me for all the things you blame me for. Honorably yours, Olivia.”

Aeson sank down to his knees, clutching the letter so tightly that he could hear the paper crinkle and perhaps tear underneath his fingers. Olivia had known that he would react this way, that he would be upset, perhaps even shed a tear for her. What would always leave her wondering, for the rest of her life, was whether Aeson would cry for her or for his own slighted honor.

 

The tunnels underneath the castle were surprisingly clean. Aside from the echoic drip of water, there was little indication of age. What was truly remarkable about the hidden passage way, however, was the light. Naturally, there were no torches or lanterns blazing, as there were in the castle. Instead, it was as if the rocks themselves were alive and glowing with pale blue light. “Blue quartz,” Xax had explained absently when the others first stopped to marvel at the sight.

As they made their way deeper and deeper into the tunnel, the sounds of the castle, particularly the loud clanking of armor, grew faint. “I hope Astrid’s all right,” Ismene muttered.

“Me too,” Link agreed, turning around to offer Ismene a hand as she stepped over a jagged rock in the path. “I’ll never get a chance to thank her.”

“Do you think she’ll get in a lot of trouble?” Olivia asked. “Evanthea’s always had it in for her.”

“She’ll be all right,” Ismene said firmly, trying to convince herself of that as much as the others.

“Yeah,” Link said with equal conviction.

“How much further have we to go?” Ismene asked Xax.

“About a hundred paces,” he replied.

Ismene’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? So soon?”

“The road to the beach is twisting and turning,” he explained. “This is a straight route.”

“Oh.”

“That road will be the safest for you to take back to the castle, Princess,” he added politely.

“People will ask questions,” Ismene noted.

“You can tell them you went to the temple,” Olivia supplied. “I’m sure none of them will deny you your right to solitude during prayer.”

“I’m not supposed to leave the castle unattended.”

“You can blame the lack of attendants on the ridiculous Hylian purge of the castle. Everyone’s scared witless. And poor Tibbet…”

They continued down the glowing passage. There was nothing but the dripping water now. All else was silence. No doubt they were beyond the castle at this point and for some reason, Ismene felt uplifted at the idea. She truly had never left castle grounds unattended before. Perhaps this particular trip wouldn’t count, as she wasn’t alone when she set out, but still, the joy of rebellion struck her.

Xax turned to address Link. “There’s a merchant ship that sails to Holodrum. It’ll probably be in port tonight for you.”

“But I want to go to Hyrule.”

“There aren’t any ships that sail to Hyrule from Alastria. The closest port with Hylian ties is in Labrynna.”

“The indirect route it is, then,” Link sighed.

“And off to Calatia with us,” Olivia gushed, wrapping her arms around Xax’s shoulders.

Ismene walked ahead silently. Link watched her, noticing a small, forlorn sigh that escaped her lips. Carefully, he made his way over to her, touching the back of her hand with his fingertips. He was about to say something, when abruptly Xax stopped in his tracks. Above them, they heard a seagull scream. “Here it is,” Xax announced, pointing upward. The group collectively turned to look where he was pointing. Above them was a gaping hole in the rock, through which they could see the darkening sky and the shadow of a seagull.

“So there’s just a hole in the ground that nobody’s ever thought to investigate?” Link asked.

“Not exactly,” Xax replied, stripping off the burden of his armor.

Link clipped his shield to his belt. Ever since he had laid eyes on it, his mind had been churning. Cloudy memories were starting to resurface, but as of yet, he couldn’t make out names or faces, just blank images doing things that were completely beyond his comprehension. With his thoughts racing, he jumped up, catching the lip of the hole with his hands. Grimacing with effort, he pulled himself out of the cave and onto the surface. At once, he understood what Xax had meant by ‘not exactly.’

The boy found himself standing, not on the black pebbles of the beach, as he had expected, but rather on a high sea cliff, overlooking the royal blue Alastrian Sea. Winds were fierce, blowing Link’s hair about. He stumbled for a moment in surprise, but quickly regained his footing. They must have been a hundred meters up. No wonder the passage felt like it was on an incline.

Turning, Link dropped down to his knees and reached his hands into the cave. Ismene caught them and, gripping tightly, Link pulled her up out of the tunnel. A sword and sheath flew out from the hole, landing right in front of Link’s feet. After the clattering of armor, Xax followed out, back in his leather pants and vest. He, in turn, mimicked Link, reaching down to draw Olivia out with much greater ease than the Hylian. Link knelt down on the rock and picked up the sword. He drew it half out of the sheath. Engraved on the blue blade in very simple figures, right near the hilt, he saw his own name.

Carefully, Link turned the sword over. On the other side of the blade, inscribed in flowery and fancy script, he saw a legend. “The Hero’s triumph on cataclysm’s eve,” he read softly to himself, “wins three symbols of virtue. The Master Sword he will then retrieve, keeping the knight’s line true.” The words seared into him, conjuring sensory memories of the forest.

Olivia clung to Xax’s side, looking down at the distant beach below. “That’s a long way down,” she said.

“There’s a path,” Xax told her gently, wrapping his tail around her shoulders, “it’s steep, but without jagged rocks. Don’t worry.”

“How are you going to get to Calatia?” Ismene asked, watching his tail with keen interest. “I mean no offense, but you two can’t exactly be seen parading through the harbor.”

“I have a boat,” Xax answered. He pointed down the shore. “There, behind those rocks, in a small lagoon.”

“In Calatia, they won’t care about a couple of mixed heritage,” Olivia explained. “We can settle down there.”

“There are Hylian missionaries there,” Link said standing up. “The place is crawling with half breeds and no one cares.”

Ismene stared at him. “How did you know that?”

Link blinked. “I…I don’t know. I just sort of…”

“Remembered?”

“Yeah…”

“His memory is coming back!” Olivia cried triumphantly.

“It’s too soon,” Ismene said. “How is that possible? That’s not supposed to happen until the new moon.”

“I don’t know,” Link replied.

Xax turned to Link. “I wish you much luck, Link,” he said, clapping his shoulder. “Din bless you.”

“Good luck to you too, Xax,” he replied. “And Olivia,” he added, nodding at her. Olivia giggled and threw her arms around Link, giving him a big hug. Link chuckled heartily. Quickly, she pulled back to Xax’s side. Link found himself facing Ismene. Sensing a change in the air, Xax and Olivia backed off a few paces, giving them some privacy. There, Olivia took a corner of the blue cape on Xax’s shoulders and gingerly began to wipe off the make up hiding his tattoo.

“Well,” Ismene said quietly.

“Ismene…” Before Link could finish his sentence, Ismene had flung herself at him. They kissed passionately, Link wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close. Her arms snaked around him, fingers kneading the tense muscles of his back. Their heads turned in unison, eyes closing, deepening the kiss. He lifted her up off the ground but then Link abruptly broke away, pulling his head back to look at her. “Ismene, will you –”

“Ungrateful little sneak!” Both Link and Ismene turned suddenly. Standing right by the mouth of the cave, was Idina, her arms folded across her chest, her dark eyes blazing with fury at the two of them. Her hair whipped about, savagely in the wind, half masking her face. “I ought to gouge your eyes out with my nails,” she hissed, stepping in Ismene’s direction.

Link set Ismene down on the ground. Ismene stared at her sister pleadingly. “Idina, please!”

Idina bent down and pulled a knife from the strap of her sandal. “Treacherous tramp!”

“My knife!” Xax, watching the scene from a good distance away, cried to Olivia. He seized her hand and began running back to Link and Ismene.

Link quickly put himself in between the sisters, his arms going back protectively around Ismene. “Idina, stop it.”

“And you!” she roared, pointing the tip of the dagger at him, although she was a good distance away. “You! I could have given you the world. What does she have to offer you?”

“The truth,” Link said firmly.

“The truth is only what the majority of people believe.”

Ismene stepped out from behind Link, edging around the cliff with her hands up. “Idina, listen to me. We don’t have to be party to Mother’s wrongdoing. We can change things for the better.”

“I won’t do anything for you,” Idina growled. “I never want to lay eyes on you again, you whore!”

“Idina, please,” Ismene plead, practically in tears.

“No more!” Idina screamed. With that, she pulled back her arm, hurling the dagger with surprising skill at Ismene. Link’s eyes filled with wide terror. Suddenly, for a reason that he could not explain, a single word flashed through his mind: Agahnim. Without thought or rationale, Link found himself pulling the sword out of the sheath. Gripping it in both hands, he swung it, hitting the dagger in midair before it could reach Ismene. With a loud clash of metal, the dagger spun, flying back in the direction it had come from. The blunt hilt of the weapon hit Idina in the eye. Shrieking, she put both her hands over her face, a bright spurt of crimson oozing out from in between her fingers, stumbling around with an endless barrage of curses.

By this point, Olivia and Xax had managed to make their way back to the scene. Idina thrashed about, knocking into Xax. Being a rather sturdy figure, she bounced off of him and skittered back to the edge of the cliff. Her balance wavered and she rocked on the balls of her feet for a moment. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as Idina’s efforts gave way. Her torso fell first, carrying the rest of her body with it. As she folded up in half, just before disappearing below the precipice, a final angry look flew from her eyes to Ismene. Then she disappeared.

Olivia squealed in terror, turning around to bury her face in Xax’s shoulder. He put a hand to the back of her head, watching the edge of the rock cliff. Link was frozen for a good solid moment before his hands felt the hilt of the sword again. As though it were on fire, Link dropped it, stepping back in horror. Cautiously, Xax inched his way over to the edge, keeping his arms around Olivia. He looked down then turned back to Link and Ismene. Sadly, he shook his head.

“No…” Ismene whispered, cupping her hands over her mouth. “No!” She surged forward, making a grab for the fallen dagger.

Xax’s tail curved around his body, wrapping around the knife, the coiled handle in the guise of a serpent. He pulled it out of Ismene’s reach. “She tried to kill you,” he said.

“She was my sister…”

“The power of grief is strong,” Xax told her wisely. “But the power of jealousy is stronger. You would have been destroyed.”

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Link said fiercely.

“There’s a purpose to everything,” Xax answered. With surprising gentleness, he wiped a tear from Oliva’s cheek with his thumb.

“What’s the purpose of this?” Ismene asked.

Xax shrugged his gigantic shoulders. “Sometimes, the plans of the gods don’t reveal themselves to mortals until much later.”

 

There were no windows in Astrid’s room. Come to think of it, there was no furniture. All there was, aside from Astrid herself, was a small trunk, a straw mattress, and a mirror on the floor, leaning against the wall beside a wash basin. She sat on her knees by the basin, dipping Evanthea’s discarded handkerchief into the murky water and wringing it out. In the mirror, she saw her own dingy reflection. On her cheek, just where Evanthea had slapped away her make up, a purple bruise was forming. Gently, Astrid pressed the handkerchief to her face, feeling the cold water sooth the ache of her throbbing cheekbone.

Jester costume thrown asunder, Astrid sat in the dim candlelight of her twelve by twelve quarters in nothing but a man’s cream tunic and gray leggings. She set to work washing the make up off of her face, raccoon eyes slowly disappearing. Her thoughts drifted to the two couples in the throne room. By this time, she hoped they had made it safely to the beach. Patience required she would have to wait awhile before finding out how the story ended.

There was a soft rapping on her door. “Come in,” she muttered absently, clearing away the last traces of white paste. In the mirror’s reflection, Astrid saw the door to her room slide open. “Tibbet!” she cried in surprise.

Indeed, in the doorway’s reflection, sliding the wooden panel shut again, stood the minstrel, his lute strapped to his back. He held up Astrid’s hat in one hand. “I thought you might want this back,” he told her, half jokingly.

Astrid stood up and turned around to rush over to him. “Are you all right? I thought for sure they had…what?”

A strange look came over Tibbet’s face as he stood there, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. For a few moments that seemed eternal, he worked his mouth up and down, trying to find his breath again. “Astrid, you’re…”

“Hurt? No, I’ll be all right,” she said, touching her cheek lightly. The bruise stung a little, but she managed to keep from wincing. To be certain, she’d had far worse in the past.

Tibbet cleared his throat gingerly. “No…I was going to say…beautiful.” For the very first time in her career, Astrid was completely speechless. Tibbet took a step back. With a soft, explosive laugh he said, “Come with me.”

“What?”

He took her hand. “Come away with me. We can accomplish great things together.” Looking at their hands, he suddenly released her, taking a shy step back. “Please come with me. I…I can’t return to Alastria and…and I can’t live without having you in my life.” He cleared his throat, gradually averting his eyes to the floor. He could feel her staring at him. “Astrid, I’ve been in love with you since before I met you, I think. My whole life. And I would rather wander in exile at your side, forever, than spend eternity in the Sacred Realm without you.”

Astrid shook her head absently, as though laughing at some old and worn out joke. She gathered his face in her hands and lifted his gaze back up to meet hers. “Shut up, fool,” she told him. Then, before he could say another word, she leaned forward and kissed him.

 

The sun was setting over the beach. Black pebbles, catching the last rays of daylight, shone, looking deep purple. A numb sensation had seized Link has he followed Xax and Olivia down the steep slope of the cliff. Ismene’s hand was clutched tightly in his, but he couldn’t feel it. All he felt was a heavy coldness.

Of course, it wasn’t his fault. No one dared to insinuate such a thought. Idina’s death had been her own folly, her own rage. Nevertheless, Link felt the burden weighing down on his shoulders as if he had struck her a deadly blow. Olivia was the only one who wept for Idina. Xax didn’t know the woman enough to care one way or another. Ismene, for her part, was equally silent on the matter, probably torn between sorrow at losing her sister and relief at not dying by her hand. If there was a higher purpose in this, as Xax prophesied, no one could see it.

Other things had begun to swarm around Link’s troubled mind. Agahnim. Link remembered now: The cruel sorcerer who had imprisoned the descendents of the Hylian Sages in an effort to attain the power of the Triforce. He remembered every minute detail of the adventure, the telepathic summons, the journey to the Dark World, and each of the nasty beasts he had defeated. Hyrule had returned to his mind now. He knew with certainty that he had to return home.

With a loud sound, Link realized that he had stepped down onto the pebbles of the beach. “This is where we part ways,” Xax said, breaking the heavy silence that had set upon them.

“The harbor is just beyond that turn in the beach,” Olivia said, pointing down the shore. “You’ll have no problems getting to your ship.”

Link turned to look at Ismene. “Come with me?”

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead gently. “I can’t. Hyrule isn’t going to take kindly to Alastrians for now.”

“Then I’ll go with you, we can run away somewhere together.”

Ismene shook her head. “You have to return home. Who knows what threats may arise from Ganon’s ashes?”

“But Ismene I –”

Quickly, she put a hand over his mouth. “Anything you say now is just going to make things more difficult.”

He took her hand in both of his, lowering it from his face. “Will I ever see you again?”

“Only Zaynar can say for certain.”

“I don’t accept that!” Link cried loudly. “I don’t accept that we can leave our fates to the power of a goddess.”

“If it hadn’t been for her, we would never have met in the first place,” Ismene said gently.

“Ismene…do you love me?”

“Is that what you need to hear? Do I have to tell you that I don’t love you? Is that the only way I can get you to save yourself?”

“Yes…”

Ismene lowered her eyelids for a moment, summoning up vast reserves of courage from somewhere in the depths of her being. “I don’t,” she whispered quietly. “Now go. And whatever you do, promise me, don’t look back.”

Link squeezed her hand once. They locked eyes for one final time, an understanding drifting between them. Together, they were doomed. Apart, perhaps they stood a chance. He took a step back, then another. Finally, Link turned around and starting walking down to the beach. Keeping faith with Ismene, he never looked back. Ismene, Xax, and Olivia watched him until he turned out of sight, around the bend of the shoreline.

When he was gone, Olivia took Ismene’s arm gently. “Come with us, Princess,” she said.

Ismene nodded slightly. “I will go with you. There’s nothing left here for me now.”

And that is precisely what Ismene did. While she would arrive safely in Calatia though, such fortune did not await poor Link. Making it to Labrynna by way of Holodrum, Link boarded a Hylian sailing vessel headed for Hyrule, but his homecoming was not to be. A squall struck the ship, and though he valiantly fought the waves, a lightening bolt reduced the ship to splinters. Link was washed up on a foreign shore, farther from home than he ever dreamed. He would never again meet an Alastrian, but would spend the rest of his days with the roaring of the Alastrian Sea ringing in his ears, an endless testimony to all he had been through.

To all, it seemed that the diviner’s prophecies to Evanthea had been proven false, but that was not entirely true. The actions Evanthea and Idina had taken with Link led to the end of the war in a most indirect manner, for after Evanthea lost both her daughters in the same day, she was left without an heir and at her passing, it was Aeson who inherited the throne. Filled with longing to see his sister again, Aeson sought to make peace with the Duracs, and though he never beheld Olivia for the rest of his days, his actions brought an end to the strife.

When Xax’s boat arrived in Calatia, Ismene’s belly was swollen with new maternity. She gave birth to a son who she named Oren. Every day, for the entirety of Oren’s childhood, Ismene would tell him the story of his father, the great Hylian Hero. Oren married a Hylian missionary and they named their first son Link. Like his grandfather before him, this Link would have a princess in his life as well, for in due time, Link traveled to Hyrule and rescued a maiden named Zelda. Thus, the prophecy was fulfilled, for Ismene and Link’s line gave birth to a family of warrior kings, the monarchy of Hyrule.

And what of Astrid and Tibbet? What became of the two exiles? Well…that’s another story…