[This story is part of the Soothfinder Series.]
Queen Julia of Riverwood took a long, regal breath and closed her eyes. She was thinking of Emma, a woman who forced her way into Julia’s mind with unexpected regularity. Emma had truly been a lovely human being, one of the best people Julia had ever known. The kingdom lost a precious treasure when Emma’s life was taken.
Letting out a long sigh, she rolled out of bed. Almost immediately her bedchamber door creaked open a crack before a blur of blue, white, and gold puffed into the room and streaked toward her.
“Aunty Julia!” Adelaide cried excitedly.
The queen blinked and glanced at a dark window nearby. “My goodness child,” she sighed. “The sun isn’t even up.”
“But today is Tuesday!” she cheered. “Today we deliver food to the children in the woods, remember?”
Julia raised her eyebrows and thought a moment. “So it is,” she said, pulling the young princess into her arms. “So it is.” She smiled and squeezed while Adelaide squirmed, her chubby fingers clawing gently at Julia’s face. The queen rolled back into bed, tackling the helpless child and tickling her until the sounds of laughter filled the room.
A handmaiden entered respectfully. “My queen,” she interjected between squeals of glee. “Shall I have the horses loaded with supplies?”
Julia sat up, with a 5-year-old giggling princess tangled in her long golden locks. “Please,” she said. “Thank you.”
The young handmaiden bowed and retreated, her bashful smile barely visible in the torchlight.
“Let’s get ready to go,” the queen said, rounding her hair up carefully.
The queen and Matilda had chatted for a while, letting Adelaide play with the other children. It had been a delightful way to begin a long, but exciting day.
Back at the castle Julia roamed through the kitchen areas, watching expert cooks prepare a variety of wonderful meals. Cakes and pies, meats and stews. The powerful aromas of saffron and salt and a variety of herbs filled her nostrils as she took long, deep breaths. Various workers nodded and smiled at her as she passed through, occasionally offering her morsels and sips of various dishes.
Accompanying her, uninvited but always welcome, was the memory of Emma. Was Thomas’s late wife on her mind more than usual today? She furrowed her brow, accepting a large wooden spoon and sipping at its contents.
“You don’t like it, my queen?” the nervous cook was wringing his hands.
Julia smiled. “It’s delicious,” she said warmly. “I apologize, my mind was elsewhere. But this soup is perfect.”
He let out a weak chuckle. “It is a spiced wine, my lady.”
“Oh,” she smiled sheepishly, handing the spoon back. “My apologies.”
He gave a small bow as she quickly made her way into the great hall where tables and chairs were being arranged along the many rugs and tapestries lining the stone walls. She let her eyes wander the length of the great arching timbers supporting a vast network of beams in the vaulted ceiling.
The deep sound of a man clearing his throat startled her. She turned to see Sir Bartholomew, her head guard. He stood tall and as proud as ever, wearing a deep blue ceremonial cape with gold fringe in addition to his usual armor. She took a moment to appreciate the elaborate designs that had been painstakingly worked into the hilt of his beautiful sword, truly a one-of-a-kind weapon for her chief of security.
“My queen,” he said, bowing slightly with his head. “I wish to discuss with you the matter of…”
“Oh not again, Bartholomew,” she groaned, smiling. “Do you still insist on opposing tonight’s knighting ceremony?”
Shaken, he quickly collected himself. “I do, my queen. He is not noble, he is not a squire, he has not…”
“Yes yes yes,” she interjected. She had heard it all several times. “He will serve as a different kind of knight. I assure you, he will not be the ‘blight’ on your order that you claim he will be. If you will but give him a chance, I think you will see that he has much to offer you as an equal.”
He flinched at the word equal and his ego deflated. “Lady Julia,” he began.
“Queen Julia,” she reprimanded.
He bowed respectfully. “Queen Julia. As much as he may have to offer, I do not see wisdom in bestowing the honored title of ‘knight’ on this man. He is no warrior. He cannot uphold the oath.”
“Your concerns and objections are noted Sir Bartholomew. Will that be all?”
His gaze had drifted impertinently to her breast. Quickly he met her eyes and his countenance fell shamefully to his boots. “Yes, my queen,” he said. He turned quickly, the gorgeous cape flowing impressively as he strode away.
“Bartholomew,” she called.
He stopped and faced her, a flash of hope fading back to the look of wounded pride.
“I do not expect you to forget your objections, but do you expect you to put them aside. You will respect my decision and you will respect the titles I bestow upon those I deem worthy.”
He nodded, then sped stiffly away, his armor clanking softly in the cavernous hall.
The late evening sun threw magnificent beams of light down through the high windows of the great hall. Queen Julia sat on her throne and gazed out at the vast crowd that had gathered for this momentous bestowal of knighthood. Her stomach growled in anticipation of the celebratory feast, but first she had to conclude the official proceedings of the ceremony.
She took a deep breath and stood, accepting her ceremonial queen’s sword from the eager squire. On the steps leading up to the throne she looked down upon Thomas, her royal soothfinder and… dare she think of him as a friend? Certainly it was what Emma wanted. Julia could still hear the tremor in Emma’s voice as she had spoken to her that day. It was the eerie, haunted sound of a woman who knew she was going to die.
Thomas knelt stoic and firm on the steps, his head down in submission and servitude.
Her herald called out with his powerful, steady voice, “and now, good people of Riverwood, behold your queen! She will perform the final rites of the ceremony!” He bowed out to a polite applause and Julia stepped to the front of the platform.
“I want my people to know,” she began, “that the knighthood I bestow on Thomas is not like that of my royal guards. Thomas will not be honor-bound to accept should you challenge him to a duel. Thomas will not be expected to take up arms in defense of his homeland. Instead of a sword, Thomas wields the truth. His enemies are your enemies and mine, but he battles with injustice and darkness. He will not spill blood, but he will bring to light all the wicked doings of those who would do evil and hide behind lies.”
Bartholomew, a couple yards away, shifted his weight uncomfortably.
Queen Julia raised the sword then gently swung it down, resting the blade flat on Thomas’s right shoulder. “Thomas, I hereby charge you with the most holy and righteous duty to pursue facts and truth in the service of your countrymen, your queen, your kingdom, and your god.” She lifted the glistening blade and rested it on his left shoulder. “I dub thee Sir Thomas of Riverwood.”
As she withdrew the blade the whole hall erupted with cheering and applause. The queen scanned the room, noting an abundance of smiling faces, many of which belonged to people Thomas had already helped immensely. His apprentice, Isabel, was clapping vigorously, her uncontrolled enthusiasm bursting out through her brilliant face.
The queen looked back down at Thomas. “Arise, Sir Thomas.” She held out a hand.
He looked up at her, took her hand, and rose to his feet. The clapping swelled, echoing off the ceiling and floor and causing the torches to sputter and dance. Sunbeams cut into the room more dramatically now, casting many of the attendees in shadow. But Thomas and the queen stood bathed in warm light, staring into each other’s eyes.
“One more thing,” the queen added, smiling deviously. “It strikes my fancy to bestow upon you land to make you a lord in my court.”
Thomas gently shook his head, his eyes wide in objection. “My queen,” he mouthed breathlessly.
“It is my will,” she said, smiling.
“Well I think,” a man yelled over the masses and music as he tore a chunk of chicken off the bone with his teeth, “it’s a good idea.” His round cheeks barely contained the meat and spittle as he spoke, glowing with approval.
Julia ate delicately, enjoying the music and watching as the men and women at her table discussed Thomas’s knighthood.
A hearty woman nodded enthusiastically. “Aye,” she submitted. “As a knight and a lord he will be better able to perform his duties to the kingdom.” The woman glanced at queen Julia out the corner of her eye and grinning.
The queen smiled and searched the hall for Thomas. He had been seated by her side when they were waiting for the food to be served, but he had disappeared so stealthily she had hardly noticed. Isabel’s chair, to his other side, was also empty.
She furrowed her brow, then resumed eating. Not a moment later Isabel leaned across her plate.
“Pardon, my queen,” she said, smiling. She was piling a trencher with several helpings of the available dishes. “He really loves pork,” she said apologetically.
“Thomas?” the queen inquired. “Where has he gone off to?”
Isabel lowered herself briefly into Tomas’s seat and leaned in close to Julia. “It’s the crowd,” Isabel whispered. “He doesn’t do so well when there are too many people.”
“Ah,” Julia sighed. She remembered how closely he had clung to Emma whenever they attended busy events at the castle. “Where is he now?”
Isabel smiled and handed over the pile of food. “I dare you to call him ‘sir’ Thomas,” she grinned.
Julia found him atop one of the castle turrets, just as Isabel had said. As she rounded the final flight of steep steps she heard him moan.
“Would you mind getting my knife as well? I must have left it at the…” He cut off suddenly upon seeing her. “My queen!” he gasped.
“Your food, sir Thomas,” she teased.
He grumbled. “I don’t really have to make people call me that, do I?”
She smiled. “I have a knife you can use,” she said, handing him the trencher loaded with meat and scoops of pie. She pulled her personal knife from its scabbard on her belt.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” he protested.
“I insist,” she said, handing it to him.
He stared at her a moment, but hunger won in the end and he accepted the queen’s knife. He set the food down in one of the crenels of the battlement and stabbed a cut of meat, then hesitated. “I don’t want to be rude,” he offered. “Have you had your fill already?”
She smiled, moving to stand by his side. “I’ve had some, and I’ll go back soon. I just wanted to get some fresh air.” She took a long swig of the evening breeze and gazed out over the town. A few torches twinkled in the twilight, but most of the town was feasting in her great hall so the streets and homes were largely empty.
Thomas ate gratefully. “Thank you for bringing my food,” he said. “Did Isabel put you up to it?”
The queen laughed. “No, no,” she said. “I insisted.” She paused, taking another deep breath. “Though she did think it would be funny.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Did she?”
Julia smiled and bumped him playfully with her hip.
He continued to eat while they both looked out over Riverwood together, a neat little town packed carefully into a strong, fortified wall. From their perch she could see the mill bridge beyond the town wall, and to the left she could just make out flickering specks of light coming from Rosewood. To her right the final beautiful colors of the late sunset could be seen reflecting off the river as it flowed past fields and tents, curving along the town wall and heading toward the sea to the east.
“Beautiful,” he breathed after gulping down a bite. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Riverwood from up here.”
“Yes,” Julia agreed. “It’s been too long.” She turned to face him. “I do wish you would come and stay in the castle.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I am happy living with Joan,” he said. “I prefer the simple life in town.”
She let out a long sigh. “I know,” she said. “But a lord living among the common-folk?” she giggled mockingly.
He laughed. “A queen who treats her subjects as equals?” He shook his head. “Respectfully, I must say your kingdom is being run in a most quirky and unusual fashion.”
Julia smiled. She diligently held back the tears that fought to be free and run down her cheeks. Echoing in her heart, Emma’s last words moved like the breeze through shivering leaves. He is and always will be my king, Emma had said. Please take good care of him when I am gone.
Thomas took another bite.
“Is it good?” Julia asked softly, her voice distant.
He nodded his head and smiled, struggling to keep the food in his mouth.
“I am glad. I will send Isabel with some wine for you.”
He bowed and she excused herself, a single tear trickling down her cheek as she disappeared down the spiral stairs into the bowels of her castle.
Mermaid Pirate Dispatch 
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