The innermost sanctuary of Zaynar’s temple was surprisingly stark, given the grandeur of the spires crowning the house of worship. Carved, it seemed, out of solid stone, the chamber was tiny and cramped. There was no furniture apart from a small circular dais in the center of the room. The only decoration to be seen was the circle of gilded etchings carved into the stone, at the very top of the walls. These scenes depicted the life of Zaynar, according to Alastrian mythology. They went from the birth of Zaynar out of the river Soleah to her epic battle with Din to her creation of the Alastrian people. All the scenes were beautiful, intricately created centuries before now, before the hard times that always accompanied war.

It was in this room, and none other, that Queen Evanthea bowed to her head to anyone. Even as she knelt before the dais, she felt a pang of shame at having to assume such an uncomfortable and awkward position. Then again, it was rare that queens had to tolerate such supplication, and she was coming to seek help from the goddess, so she elected to forebear. Folding her perfectly manicured fingers together, she ducked her head, the crown feeling a little bit too heavy.

Of course, it was quite late, so fatigue had some power over the old woman. The sun would be rising in a few hours, she was sure of it. She had spent the entire night sleepless, plagued with doubts and dreads concerning her frail kingdom. In recent times, the war had taken a turn for the worse and she could not ignore the harried whispers of her courtiers, wondering to one another if the kingdom was as weak as propaganda made it out to be. Finally, she had abandoned all attempts at sleep. Calling her poor, heavy eyed servants, she had been dressed in her most glorious of royal robes and had stolen away to the temple of Zaynar in the middle of her sleeping kingdom by a horse drawn carriage. At this hour of the night, or morning perhaps, she was the only worshipper and so the innermost sanctuary was at her disposal.

Looking down on her from the dais was the chief diviner of Zaynar. He stood in deep crimson robes, half covered by the fox skin over his shoulders. The stuffed head of the fox rested on top of his bald scalp, angled down so the fox’s nose was just in between his hard eyes. Floating before him, at his hands, though they didn’t touch it, was the Shard. The deep scarlet light emanating from the Shard was the only real light in the room. To Evanthea, though she wouldn’t dare say it aloud, the diviner looked oddly like one of those peasant fortune tellers with their crystal balls which they used when pretending to see the future.

“Why have you come here?” the diviner asked his queen in a booming voice.

“I come to ask help of the goddess,” Evanthea replied.

“Are you prepared to offer libation?”

“I am.”

“Then hold out your hands.”

Evanthea always hated this part. Sighing inwardly, she turned her hands palm up and held them to the diviner. From the folds of his robes, he removed a kris blade knife, bespangled with rubies. He stepped around the floating Shard to the edge of the dais and reached over, taking Evanthea’s left hand. Skillfully, with the practiced ease of a surgeon, he sliced the heel of her palm with the blade. Evanthea winced, but didn’t dare cry out. The diviner repeated this on her other hand, the tucked the knife back into his belt once more.

“Zaynar,” Evanthea recited as she closed her eyes, “I am yours.”

The diviner dipped his fingers into his queen’s blood. He brushed his thumb over her eyelids, as though applying the paint that silly village women wore over their eyes nowadays. When he was done, he stepped back, resuming his former position with the Shard in between them. There was a moment of silence and while it was brief, to Evanthea, it seemed like an eternity before a pulse of light emitted from the Shard. “The goddess is with you,” the diviner declared at last. Frankly, Evanthea had yet to live to see a time when Zaynar didn’t respond to a libation.

“Zaynar, my people have always been loyal followers,” Evanthea whispered. “We have made sacrifice even when there was none to give. But now your people are in a desperate situation, and we turn to you. Help us. There must be a way to end this war with the Duracs. Help restore your people to their former glory, I beg of you.”

Almost instantly, red swirls of ether shot out from the Shard. They flew in circles across the room, leaving behind the faintest traces of red fog. Though the display was beautiful, it was only momentary before the swirls converged about the diviner, entering into his eyes which lit up bright red. “You have found favor,” the diviner said, his voice wavering under the influence of Zaynar’s power.

“The goddess will help us?”

“She will.”

“How? Tell me what must be done.”

“Tomorrow morning, you must send your eldest daughter, Princess Idina, for a walk on the beach. There she will find a Hylian boy…”

“A Hylian?” Evanthea asked incredulously. “But the Hylians are firmly set in their resolve not to become involved in our war against the Duracs.”

“This Hylian will not know home soil from foreign.”

“How?”

“The goddess will provide.”

Evanthea nodded. “Very well. What is Idina to do?”

“She must claim this boy as her own husband and return him to the palace with pomp and celebration as a hero who has been away for many seasons, thought to be a casualty of war.”

“But the people know full well that Idina is unwedded.”

“The people will cooperate under threat of death. Your entire court must participate if this is to be carried out.”

“How will this boy help us against the Duracs?”

“The child born of your daughter by this boy will be the father to a line of warrior kings, capable of defeating even the greatest of Din’s monsters. In his own right, he too, is a great Hero.”

“As powerful as all that?”

“He shall perform wonders,” the diviner promised. “You must send an escort with Princess Idina. With the boy will be a marvelous sword and shield. They must be hidden from his sight for they are sacrilege, icons of Din and her wicked sisters. The sight of them will restore him to their service.”

“It will be done.”

“Zaynar demands a sacrifice in exchange for this gift.”

“Whatever it is, it shall be done too.”

“On the night of the next new moon, the boy must perform a blood sacrifice of an enemy at the altar of Zaynar in the center of the palace. If he spills no blood on the altar, his true memory will return to him.”

“I submit to the will of the goddess, of course.”

“Be wary, Evanthea, this boy is a great gift. He will turn the tide of battle, but you must turn him from Din and her wicked sisters. He must be dedicated to no god other than Zaynar, no woman other than Idina.”

“I thank the great goddess,” Evanthea said, bowing her head deeply.

“Give me your hands.”

“They are yours,” she answered proudly, holding her bleeding palms out to the diviner.

He took them and slowly, the red glow faded from his eyes. Evanthea’s eyes lit up with the same crimson hue as the ether passed from the diviner into her bloody cuts. She felt the ether surging through her veins, through her arms and up into her torso and head. It was a dizzying, but wonderful sensation, as the power of the goddess infused her frail, mortal body. In that glorious moment, she could see the whole drama unfold before her. She saw the Hylian boy, still in Hyrule. He was certainly handsome, though still quite young in her mind. Zaynar’s ethereal hand swooped down through the mortal plain, sweeping up the lad and carrying him away from home and hearth to set him down on the beach of faraway Alastria.

“Your prize is waiting for you,” the diviner whispered.

The power of the goddess was so great now that a silly smile spread across the old woman’s face. She started to laugh, though she wasn’t sure there was anything funny about it. Louder and louder, her laughter grew, filling the cramped sanctuary. As she cackled, the light in her eyes grew brighter, flaring like two great flames that threatened to consume everything and everyone in her path, the power felt so intoxicating.

 

Sunrise was not long in coming. The rich and velvety black sky soon turned navy, streaked with brilliant stripes of lavender and rose. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, the beach of Alastria reflected the light, giving off an eerie glow. Unlike most shores, the sand of Alastria wasn’t sand at all, but rather an infinite number of tiny black marbles, pebbles really, but they were perfectly round. When wet, the stones never stuck, so while this was disaster for sandcastle builders, it was excellent for swimmers and sun bathers.

The smooth stones made little sound as they ground against each other, so it was no surprise that the approach of two regal figures was completely silent that morning. Princess Idina led the minute procession, head held high. As the earliest rays of sunlight struck the land, they glinted off of her sharp, high cheekbones, creating shadows around her eyes which blackened them out completely. She was dressed in her absolute finest, an imperial gown of peacock blue gossamer with a long train that seemed absolutely absurd for where she was going as it caught on the gravel. Her long, black hair was piled up on top of her head, save for a few curly wisps, arranged artfully around her pointed and angular face.

Walking a respectful pace behind her was a taller and much more imposing figure, Captain Aeson, her mother’s captain of the guard. He trudged through the rocks, his knee high black boots sinking deep with every step. Under his arm he carried a metal helmet, but he was not wearing his armor this morning. Instead, he elected to wear a red tunic with gold accents and a blue sash, indicating his high ranking position with the royal family.

Behind them walked several of Idina’s serving ladies, the maids all respectfully silent. Every once in awhile, Aeson would look back over his shoulder at them. When his gaze drifted away, the ladies would all press their hands to their cherry lips, smothering soft giggles at the look from such a handsome gentleman. And Aeson was, in fact, quite handsome. He was of a lean and muscular build, a tow head with gentle hazel eyes.

Idina looked angrily over her shoulder after yet another one of these episodes. “Silence,” she barked. Immediately, all her maids fell into an obedient quiet.

“My lady,” Aeson whispered.

Idina turned to scold him, but she saw that he was pointing down the beach. Following his gaze, she spotted what had taken his attention. “That must be him,” she muttered. “Ladies,” she clapped her hands twice and all the ladies clustered about her, picking up the cumbersome train of her dress.

The group started down the shore at a faster clip, all of them equally curious to see what it was Queen Evanthea had sent them for. These days, the beach was a dangerous place, what with all the Durac aggression. It was rare that anyone from the castle was allowed to venture so far from its protective walls. Idina and her ladies had all been very excited at the opportunity to leave, even if only for a short while. Of course, Idina was most anxious of them all. There was more awaiting her on this shore than the opportunity for fresh air.

Princess Idina was the first to arrive, naturally. As her mother had promised her, there was a boy unconscious on the pebbles. He was face down, a green cap covering the back of his head. “Turn him over,” she ordered. The flock of ladies in waiting descended on him, easily rolling him onto his back. Strangely enough, though he was sprawled on the beach, he wasn’t even remotely wet. And that’s when Idina got her first good look at him.

Handsome was an understatement. This boy was divinely beautiful, in Idina’s opinion. His skin was glistening and pale, stretched tight over his face and perfectly round jaw. Hair as yellow as corn fell on his forehead. As her mother had warned her, Idina spotted two delicately pointed Hylian ears, but that didn’t concern her. Her eyes drank in his visage. Though dressed in a peasant’s tunic, bright green with a big brown belt, his body carried an element of nobility, befitting of royalty.

“Oh, Aeson,” Idina whispered. “He’s perfect.”

Aeson, however, was busy examining the boy’s weapons. Cradled in the crook of his arm, where a child would cuddle a stuffed toy, was a metal sheath, out of which came the hilt of a broadsword. Attached to the sheath was a shield of some sort of alien blue metal. The front of the shield displayed a large red bird, crowned with that symbol of the wicked goddesses, the enemies of Zaynar, the Triforce.

“A warrior,” Aeson observed.

Scowling, Idina noticed the weapons. “Take them, Captain,” she instructed him. “Hide them away somewhere.”

“Aye, my lady,” he nodded, prying them away from the boy’s tight grasp. Much to his surprise, though the boy was unconscious, he seemed reluctant to part with the weapons and retrieving them proved difficult.

“Go to court and announce that our long lost prince has been found,” Idina continued. “As my mother instructed you earlier, anyone who resists or refuses to go along with our ruse is subject to capital punishment.”

“Yes, Princess. I’ve already sent my men out to insure complicity with the villagers.”

“Very well done, Captain.”

“Thank you,” Aeson said, bowing.

“Now go. Leave us.”

“Aye.” With that, Aeson turned properly on heel and marched away from the flock of ladies, back in the direction of the castle, the spires of which could just be seen in the distance, through the morning haze.

Idina turned her attention to the ladies in attendance. “What goes for the villagers goes for the rest of you as well. Is that clear?”

“Yes, madam,” the women chorused.

“Very good.” Idina gracefully knelt down on the beach, tucking her legs underneath her body. She gathered the sleeping boy in her arms. “Fetch some water,” she muttered absently. One of her girls nodded and ran down to the waterside. Idina absently stroked the boy’s cheek. His skin was smooth and warm. “Tell me,” she sighed, “is he not perfect?”

“Oh, very perfect,” one lady said.

“Divine,” another added.

The girl with the water returned, handing it to Idina in a small cup. She fished a blue, silk handkerchief from her sleeve and dipped it into the water. “Wake up,” she cooed softly, pressing the damp cloth to the boy’s cheek. He stirred, groaning softly. “It’s all right,” Idina whispered, wiping his forehead. “Open your eyes.”

And he did. Two brilliant blue eyes opened, staring up at Idina in bewilderment. “Wh-Where am I?” he asked.

“You’re on the beach.”

He lifted his hand, noticing the strange pebbles beneath it. “The beach?”

“You’re home,” she told him gently, “back in Alastria.”

“Alastria?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, he sat up, looking around dizzily. “I’m home,” he said carefully.

“Yes, my darling, you’re home.”

“In Alastria?”

“Yes, a thousand times yes,” she said with a laugh.

He frowned uneasily, licking his lips. “This is my home…who am I?”

Idina’s face went slack. “What?”

“Who am I?”

“You don’t remember?”

Mournfully, he shook his head, looking around as he noticed all the serving maids, staring intently at him. “I…don’t…”

Idina gathered his face in her delicate hands. “You are Prince Oren, once a resident alien, now future regent of Alastria.”

“I’m a prince?” He scowled, pressing the heel of his palm to his temple. “Who are you?”

Doing her best to sound wounded, Idina replied, “I’m your wife.”

Those blue eyes went wide. “Wife?”

“Idina,” she told him urgently. “Don’t you remember?”

“No…I don’t remember anything.”

“You are Oren and I’m Idina. Nothing could be simpler. We’ve been married two years. How can you not remember me, beloved?”

“I’m sorry,” he told her earnestly. “Really.”

“It must be shock,” one of the girls ventured.

“Yes,” a second replied. “That must be it. He’s in shock.”

“Shock?” he repeated incredulously. “From what?”

“From the war,” a third lady supplied.

“War?” He looked back at Idina. “What war?”

“Our people have been at war for nearly a hundred years, my love,” she explained.

“Against who?”

“The Duracs.”

“Who are the Duracs?”

“A race of warriors from the island of Gonzalo.”

“Was I fighting in this war?” he asked.

“Yes, you are one of our greatest generals. We thought you had been lost in a sea battle, but now I see Zaynar has been merciful and has returned you to us.”

“Zaynar…”

“Our goddess, darling, the great and glorious Zaynar. You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

He looked at her with a very sincere, apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” he told her gently.

She touched his cheek. “It will come back to you in time.”

“I hope it does.”

“Come, we must return.”

“Where?”

“To Rives,” Idina replied, standing up.

The boy stood beside her. “Rives?”

“The castle,” she explained, pointing in the direction of the spires. “Mother will be so pleased when she sees you!” She leaned forward, intent upon placing a kiss on his lips. Abruptly, he turned his head away. “Darling?”

“I’m sorry, I just…”

She sighed. “You’re still confused. Oh, my love, you’re shaking.” Idina reached out, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders.

“I’m sure it’ll come back to me in time,” he mumbled.

“All will be well now that Zaynar has returned you to my arms,” she gushed. “Come, let’s return home.”

“Home…”

“Queen Evanthea will be pleased to see you,” a serving girl said, curtsying deeply to him.

“All of us are grateful for your return,” a second added as the entire flock stooped down into a curtsy.

“Hail, Prince Oren,” several of them chorused.

“Long live Prince Oren,” Idina corrected them sternly.

“Long live Prince Oren,” they echoed.

 

There was no question to all that met her that Lady Olivia was different from the other attendants to the queen. To be certain, she was no more beautiful than anyone else in the court, though she was far from ugly. Clearly, she didn’t rank terribly high among the nobility, being of a tender age. Her dress was no finer than everybody else’s attire. The way she moved was no more graceful. Nevertheless, Olivia always managed to stand out. Today, more than usual.

As she walked down the corridor of the castle, she was practically skipping. Several of the elder attendants gave her stern looks of disapproval, but to Olivia, they weren’t even close to existing in her world. She continued her elated romp through the hallways, lifting the cumbersome hem of her sea foam green gown in an undignified manner. A few servants gave her confused gazes, but she merely laughed, dipping her head to them. The conical hat on her head fell off with this motion and her cornsilk blond hair, which previously had been hidden away, fell in long corkscrew curls about her shoulders.

Breezily, Oliva laughed at her own follies and the servants standing about her had no choice but to join in. Her cheerfulness was infectious, even in the direst of eras in Alastria’s history. Scooping up the absurd hat, Oliva continued along her way, headed for the throne room.

It was strange that Queen Evanthea was holding court so early this morning, but Olivia dutifully obeyed her monarch, waking and dressing at dawn to make her way. In truth, she had no real fondness for court, except for the times when a foreign traveler would pay a visit to the Queen. Usually, it would be a dignitary from one of the other kingdoms of the realm. The most exciting part of that was speaking with the dignitary’s attendants, who would tell great tales. Olivia’s fondness for foreign news was often peeving to her older brother, Captain Aeson, but Olivia sought after stories with such vigor that Aeson could not deny her curiosity.

The throne room was in sight. There were no scarlet carpets rolled out. Involuntarily, a small sigh escaped from Olivia’s lips. No visiting dignitaries. No attendants. No stories. Well, she supposed, at least she had the excitement of the night to look forward to.

“Lady Olivia?” a puzzled, half bemused voice asked. Olivia spun around. Standing in a doorway, armed folded across his chest, shoulder resting on the stones, was a squat, dark haired Hylian. He wore an earthy brown tunic of burlap with gray, baggy leggings. Most prominent was the handle of a lute, just peeking over his right shoulder.

“Tibbet!” Oliva cried in excitement, running at him.

“My, Lady Olivia, is that you?”

“Oh, Tibbet! You came back!”

Tibbet chuckled, removing the floppy brown hat from his head and bowing courteously to her. “I told you I would. But I think the last time I saw you, you were a mite shorter.

“Oh, get up, get up!” As Tibbet straightened out, Olivia threw her arms around his scratchy shoulders, giving him the biggest hug she could muster.

“You’re excited to see me,” Tibbet observed, patting the back of her shoulder lightly.

“I thought you had forgotten your promise,” she scolded the minstrel, taking a step back.

“Forget my promise to you? Never. I told you, I’d be back after I attended the royal court of Calatia. Now, here I am.”

“It’s been two years. I didn’t think you were coming.”

Tibbet dropped his hat back on his head. “Well, that was a bit unavoidable. In between Calatia and Alastria, I had to return home for a short while.”

Olivia nodded. “I heard there was great strife in Hyrule. Is that true?”

“I’m afraid it is,” he replied. “But, it is passed now.”

“What happened?”

“A wizard by the name of Agahnim caused a great raucous in Hyrule. He endeared himself to the king as a royal advisor then tried to, well, let’s just say that he went around kidnapping maidens descended from the Sages of the Imprisoning War to do some very naughty magik.”

“Descended from the Sages? But Tibbet, didn’t you tell me that your family was descended from Rau…Rar…Rur…one of the Sages?”

Tibbet nodded. “Yes. I’m surprised you remember that.”

“Oh, did he terrorize your sister? Is she all right?”

“Lyna is fine,” Tibbet assured her. “She had a bit of a fright, but she’s well now, perfectly fine.”

“Thank Zaynar!” Olivia breathed.

“Well, I think Zaynar had little to do with it. But what tales I have to tell you!” he crowed.

“Really? Tales?”

“Of a great hero that rose out of the village to save the defenseless Crystal Maidens.”

“Crystal Maidens?”

Tibbet shrugged. “That is what I shall call those unfortunate girls who were imprisoned by Agahnim. The Crystal Maidens. Do you like it?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Well, they were rescued by a boy, no older than you. A hero that, until that day, no one had ever known the name of.” Dramatically, Tibbet grabbed a corner of his cape and spun around in a circle, letting it flare out. Olivia grinned in delight. Tibbet’s cape was perhaps what she liked best about him. It was a patchwork of fabric he had collected from each of the kingdoms he had visited in his time as a wandering minstrel. They were so numerous she could scarcely pick a favorite. Among them, of course, was a slip of fabric he had collected from Alastria, the discarded hem of a dress Olivia had worn.

“Tell me about the hero!” she begged.

“He saved my sister, he saved all the maidens, he saved Hyrule.”

“What was his name?”

Tibbet dropped down to one knee, spreading his arms out. “Link,” he declared in a strong voice.

“Link? What an unusual name.”

“An unusual name for a boy with an unusual destiny,” he answered.

“How unusual of a destiny?”

Tibbet jumped to his feet. With a pantomimed sword and shield, he began to battle thin air. “Blessed with the sacred blade, the Master Sword, Link braved the terrors of Agahnim, facing off against monsters that defy your wildest imagination.”

“Monsters?”

“Moldorms with thousands of spindly legs,” he cackled.

Olivia screamed with delight. “That’s disgusting.”

“The Helmasaur King!”

“Tibbet, stop!”

“The great swollen jellyfish, Arrghus.”

Olivia dissolved into a pile of giggles. “You must stop!” she gasped. “You know how my brother hates it when you tell me stories about monsters.”

“Not even Kholdstare the ice demon?”

She put a hand on his shoulder, glancing from side to side in a most conspirator-like manner. “It’ll have to wait,” she whispered.

“Of course, of course, as you wish. Tonight perhaps?”

Olivia frowned a bit. “Some other time.” She looked over her shoulder at the double doors leading to the throne room. “But I have to go now, or I’ll be late.”

“Go where?”

“Court.”

“Why is the Queen holding court so early in the morning?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think she wishes to make a declaration to the entire castle. And there’s another strange thing.”

“What?”

“Aeson left the apartments very, very early this morning, evening before the sun rose. He was summoned by the Queen’s valet.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“No, and he hasn’t returned either.”

“He might miss the declaration.”

“Something strange is happening, Tibbet.”

“Well, I’m sure everything will become apparent when the Queen addresses you in court.”

“Are you coming?”

Tibbet shook his head. “I still have to sign in with the castle steward. I only arrived a matter of minutes ago.”

“Them I’m the first to see you?”

“Yes.”

Olivia grinned at this. “Good.”

“As it should be, my lady,” Tibbet answered, bowing deeply. He straightened up, an aloof expression on his face. “Tell me, though, is Astrid still in court?”

“That is a wonderful attempt at casual,” Olivia teased him.

“Well, I do my best.”

“Yes,” Oliva told him, “Astrid is still here. Although, considering some of the stunts she’s pulled, I find it amazing.” She glanced at the doors to the throne room again. “She’s probably right inside, if you want to say hi.”

Tibbet frowned. “No, no. I probably shouldn’t show my face in court until I go declare myself. Your brother’s knights tend to run a very tight shift about this place. I wouldn’t want to be thrown into the dungeon as a spy.”

“A wise precaution,” she agreed. “I have to go now.”

“I’ll see you later?”

“Of course you will. I want to hear all your stories about this hero called Link. And about the monsters.”

“The monsters, of course,” Tibbet chuckled. He took her hand, stooping low to kiss her knuckles. “You’ll hear your fill of tales, I promise you.”

“Good.” She turned around and started walking away. Right before the throne room doors, which two knights opened for her, she turned back over her shoulder. “And I’ll tell Astrid you’re here!”

“Olivia!” Tibbet shouted, but too late, for the great doors slammed shut behind her. He smiled wryly, tucking his hands into his pockets and turning around to amble his way to the castle steward.

 

It was a bright and glorious morning by the time Princess Idina, the Hylian boy, and the entourage reached the moat of Queen Evanthea’s castle. On Idina’s orders, the knights lowered the drawbridge, allowing them to cross over to castle grounds. As they walked, on either side of them, all the knights, courtiers, and servants they passed dropped down to one knee. All this baffled the Hylian. He heard murmurs of “Your majesty,” and “Your highness” surrounding him. How could it be that everyone knew who he was except for him?

“Captain!” Idina called, holding her hand up as she spotted Aeson. “Captain come here. Come see who’s returned to us!”

At once, the tall tow head raced to the Princess and her newly claimed husband, kneeling. “Prince Oren, thank the great goddess, you’ve returned to us.”

The Hylian stared blankly at him. “The shock of battle has robbed him of his memory,” Idina said quickly. “My love, this is Sir Aeson, the captain of the guard.”

“Please…please stand up,” the boy said. As Aeson rose, he held his arm out. They clasped each other by the wrist, the friendly gesture feeling completely alien to the so called Prince Oren.

“Hurry to the throne room at once,” Idina ordered, “and tell my mother. She’ll be so pleased.”

Aeson nodded. “Aye, my lady.”

“We shall follow.” As Aeson sprinted off, Idina turned to her husband. “Does any of this look at all familiar?” she asked.

He took a moment to examine the castle grounds. To be certain, it was a beautiful mastery of architecture, with high rib vaulted ceilings and arched doorways, peaking in a sharp point. All the narrow windows were flanked with gold and blue banners, the royal colors perhaps. “No,” he sighed.

“My poor Oren,” Idina cooed, hugging his arm with both of hers. “This is our home.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

“But foreign,” Idina finished for him.

He looked down at her. “I’m so sorry,” he told her gently.

“Give it time, give it time,” she answered, patting his bicep. “Come on, mother will be so pleased to see you!”

They paraded down the corridors. Everywhere they went, the courtiers would curtsy and bow, muttering phrases of reverence. Perhaps he was just imagining it, but to the boy, it seemed as if some of them were uncertain or hesitant, even reluctant, to defer to him. He wondered if he was just imagining it.

Idina and her prize passed through a high set of double doors, finding themselves in a dark anteroom. On the opposite end of the room was a plush purple curtain made of velvet, with gold cords. Two knights flanked the curtain. They both knelt down at the sight of the royal couple. “You don’t have to do that,” Oren said.

“Oh, let them,” Idina laughed. “It’s been so long since you were last seen here. I’m sure it is a pleasure. Guards, open the curtains.” The guards rose to their feet and one of them yanked on a golden rope, drawing open the curtains and revealing the throne room.

The stark contrast to the rest of the castle was the first thing that struck the boy about the throne room. While the rest of the castle was built of gray stone with matching floors, the walls of the throne room were light mauve plaster with hints of lavender. The floor was covered with pink and white tiles, arranged in a checkerboard pattern. On the far end of the room, directly opposite of the curtains, was a raised dais, circular, with a matching floor pattern. There were two large, plush purple thrones on the dais, with a small stool in between them of the same fabric. To one side of the dais, and possibly the only thing higher than it, was a winding staircase leading up to a second floor landing. The landing was encircled, like a balcony, with high wooden posts, matching the color of the walls.

This was just the architecture of course. The true contrast was in the people standing around, gaping at the curtains. Flanking either side of the dais were richly dressed courtiers, almost all of them in a shade of blue or green; ladies in ridiculous hats and gentlemen with silver spurs on their boots. Sitting on the dais, in the left hand throne, was a regal, though elderly, woman. Her silvery white hair was pulled back into a tight bun, surrounded by a braid. She wore a gold tiara, studded with purple stones and in her left hand was a scepter.

Sitting at the woman’s feet was a jester, dressed in a costume of purple, gold, and blue. Her face was coated in a thick white paint, with blue diamonds painted around each of her eyes, making her look a bit like a raccoon. When the curtains opened, the jester lifted a stick with a grotesque plaster head on top of it, shaking it so that the bells rang, drawing the matron’s attention to the doorway.

“Idina, where have you been?” she asked good-naturedly, standing up.

“Momma, look,” Idina cried, pulling Oren into the room. “Look who’s come home!”

“Oren?” Evanthea asked wide eyed. “Is that you?”

Befuddled, all the boy could do was nod, grunting out a simple, “Yes?”

The courtiers began to whisper excitedly to one another, “Prince Oren’s come back. Look how haggard he seems.”

Evanthea stepped down off of the dais and made her way to her daughter and son in law. She threw her arms out, pulling both of them into a delighted hug. “I knew that Zaynar would return you to us.”

“The battle’s done him great harm, Momma,” Idina recited, “He’s lost his memory.”

The Queen pulled back, running her hands along the boy’s collar before resting them on his shoulders. She looked him up and down, half biting her lower lip as she gave him the once over. “Well, it will all come back to you.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying, your majesty,” the boy answered.

“We are so truly blessed. Ismene! Ismene?” Evanthea turned around to look behind her. She let out an irritated sigh. “Astrid,” she barked to the jester, “go fetch Ismene at once.”

Silently, the jester stood up and skipped up the stairs. The Hylian looked at Idina. “Ismene?” he asked.

“My younger sister,” Idina explained.

“Your younger sister,” Evanthea added. “I can’t think to where she’s wandered off. Oh well, soon we’ll all be reunited again. A happy family, just like before.”

“I don’t understand,” the boy said. “I’m not like you, I’m…”

“Hylian? Yes, yes you are. You came to Alastria five years ago. You had been driven out of your homeland by that dreadful king. When you came to Alastria, you met Idina and you two were married.”

“We had just been talking about starting our own family,” Idina purred, “but duty called you across the sea to the war with the Duracs.”

“The Duracs…the warrior race,” he recalled from the beach.

“A vile and filthy breed,” Evanthea scoffed.

“What do they look like?” he asked.

“All Duracs have a tattoo around their eye,” Idina explained. “They’re bulky oafs with long, primate tails.”

“Indeed, they lack the natural grace and beauty of the Alastrians,” Evanthea boasted haughtily.

“And you’re all Alastrians?” he questioned.

“Yes,” both mother and daughter replied.

“Well…forgive me for asking this, but what’s the difference between Alastrians and Humans?”

Evanthea opened her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by the jingle of jester bells. Looking up at the landing of the staircase, the three of them saw Astrid standing beside a fresh face. Princess Ismene peered down from the balcony with clear, beautiful blue eyes. It was immediately obvious that she was Idina’s sister, though her features were somewhat softer, a bit less severe. Her long, dark hair, hung loose, draping over her pale white shoulders. As compared to her mother and sister, Ismene’s clothing was fairly simple, a blue satin dress with cap sleeves, no baubles, no trinkets. She caught the boy’s gaze and they held a long look, although the meaning behind it was confusing to both.

“Ah, Ismene, there you are. Come down here, come see who’s returned to us from the dead,” Evanthea breezed.

Ismene remained frozen to the landing, her slender fingers gripping the balcony. After a long moment, Astrid, using her stick with the plaster head, prodded Ismene’s back, driving her down the stairs. Of her own volition, at the bottom of the staircase, Ismene crossed the floor to join her family. “Oren,” she said softly, forcing a smile. “You’ve come home.”

He blinked. “Yes…”

She put her hands on his shoulders, giving him a light hug which barely passed for a hug at all. “We were so worried.”

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Idina told her sister.

“How surprising,” Ismene muttered dryly.

“Ismene…” Evanthea hissed.

She spared her mother a quick, apologetic glance then turned back to her sister and her trophy. “We’re glad to have you back, Oren.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he replied.

“Would you prefer it if I said we were unhappy to have you back then? I should hate to seem a parrot.”

He stared at her for a moment, blinking as her words rolled around inside of his head. Suddenly, half involuntarily, he found himself chuckling. “A parrot only answers back.”

“If I should answer back, I think I should be put in the stocks. To answer back to royalty is generally frowned upon.” She paused to consider this. “I have no stock in the stocks. I find them to be a most horrid and crude means of punishment.”

Again, the boy laughed. As his laughter died down however, he found himself locking eyes with Ismene. “What means would you prefer?”

“I would prefer that no one needed punishment at all. That we should all behave in a civil, fraternal manner.”

“Oh, look at this,” Evanthea gushed. “My children all reunited again. Isn’t this perfect?”

“Completely perfect,” Idina echoed.

“We must celebrate this.” Clearing her throat, Evanthea parted from the group, climbing back up onto the dais to address the entire court. “Tonight,” she declared firmly, “we will hold a ball to honor and celebrate the return of my son in law, Princess Idina’s husband.”

All around the room, the courtiers clapped politely. Idina clung to her husband’s arm. “Oh Oren! Isn’t this just wonderful?” she asked.

Still staring at Princess Ismene, the boy muttered, “Wonderful…”

 

Despite Queen Evanthea’s prejudices, Durcas could, in fact, be very beautiful. As Xax liked to boast, his handsome shape was praised throughout the Known Worlds. With bright flaxen hair, pulled back at the base of his neck by a leather ribbon and smooth, cocoa brown skin stretched tight over his pronounced muscles, it could be argued that he was, indeed, very fine. Of course, contrary to Alastrian tastes however, he had a ring of blue ink tattooed around his right eye in the shape of an asterisk. Like most Duracs, he wore precious little, nothing more than a pair of brown leather trousers and a cotton vest over an otherwise bare, and very muscular, chest. There was a special hole cut into the seat of his pants for his long, whip-like tail to curl out.

Unfortunately, for all of his good looks, Xax was a failure when it came to stealth. At least today he was. Flanked by four heavily armed guards, he was marched down the halls of the castle. They had fitted him with special made manacles that not only bound his wrists and legs together, but also his dexterous tail to his neck, thoroughly hobbling him.

They five of them made the slow walk down to Captain Aeson’s office. It wasn’t an office so much as a small arena and, when entering, they could immediately hear the sounds of battle. Aeson was engaged in a spar with his young squire. Not wanting to interrupt, the guards fell completely silent until Aeson had at last disarmed his student. “Captain,” the leader of the group called.

Aeson offered his squire a hand, pulling the girl to her feet. With a kindly smile, he dismissed her to continue her training then made his way over to his men. “What is it?” he asked.

The two soldiers in front stepped apart, revealing Xax in his disgruntled state. “We caught him sneaking through the castle,” the leader explained.

Little took Aeson by surprise, but he was certainly taken aback by the comely appearance of this particular Durac. Then again, he generally only saw them when they had been starved in the dungeon for weeks, tortured on the rack and completely stretched out of shape. “Was he armed?” Aeson questioned the leader.

“Only with this,” the leader replied. He snapped his fingers and another guard stepped forward, holding Xax’s knife. It was a work of art, like most Durac weapons. The handle was molded in the shape of a coiled snake and plated with gold leaf; the craftsmanship was amazing! Aeson could see the very texture of the snake’s skin. As for the blade, it was platinum, etched with Durac runes, the translation of which Aeson could only guess at.

“That’s all?” he asked, taking the blade.

“Aye, that’s all.”

For the first time, Aeson looked the prisoner in the eyes. He had milky blue eyes that cast no reflection of the light back at Aeson. “Awfully bold of you to sneak into an enemy’s castle armed with only this,” he said. He did not mean to taunt, although it of course came out that way. To be perfectly honest, Aeson couldn’t help but admire such boldness.

“We found him slinking around your own apartments,” the leader of the guards added.

Eyebrows raised, Aeson continued to examine his prisoner. “My apartments? Really?”

“Aye, sir.”

“You are a brave soul,” Aeson muttered. “What’s your name?”

The prisoner stood stoically silent. “He doesn’t understand Common,” the leader of the group reasoned. “Stupid Durac.”

“Oh, I think he understands,” Aeson answered. “What’s your name?”

Squaring his shoulders as much as his bonds would allow him, the handsome Durac faced Aeson. “I am Xax,” he barked, his voice dripping with the rich Durac accent, “son of Thisbe.”

“I knew he understood,” Aeson muttered.”

“Daughter of Hana, daughter of Keiko, daughter of Rosalind,” Xax continued proudly.

“I stand corrected, sir,” the leader mumbled.

Xax was still going. “Daughter of Lursa, daughter of Jade, dau –”

“I don’t require your entire lineage,” Aeson cut him off. “Just your name will suffice.”

“Stupid Duracs with their crazy matrilineal customs,” the leader hissed to one of his companions.

“That will be enough, corporal,” Aeson told him sternly before turning back to Xax. “Now, Xax, was it?”

“Xax, son of Thisbe,” Xax insisted.

“I will call you by your own name and nothing more,” Aeson snapped. “Now, Xax, what were you doing in my apartments?”

Xax lifted his chin, glaring defiantly at the Captain. “I am Xax,” he repeated, “son of Thisbe.”

The leader slapped him across the face. “Answer the Captain when he speaks to you, Durac!”

“What were you doing in my apartments?” Aeson asked again. “Were you sent as an assassin?”

“A pretty horrible assassin, if that’s so,” the leader chimed in. “Armed with only one small knife.”

“I am Xax, son of Thisbe,” Xax said again.

“That must be the only Common he knows,” the leader muttered.

“Were you sent as a spy?” Aeson pressed on, ignoring his knight. “Did you come to learn our army’s numbers?”

“I am Xax, son of Thisbe.”

“Did you come to kidnap a member of the royal family?” Aeson continued his interrogation.

“I am Xax, son of Thisbe.”

“Your refusal to cooperate will only make things more difficult for you, Xax, son of Thisbe.”

“You will kill me fast or kill me slow,” Xax said. Everyone was momentarily stunned into silence.

“So, you do know Common,” the leader grunted.

“If you confess to your crimes,” Aeson said directly to Xax, “the Queen may have mercy on you.”

“Alastrians know no mercy. You will kill me,” Xax answered.

“We show every bit as much mercy as the Duracs do,” Aeson shot back.

For a moment, Xax stood there in silence. When he spoke again, his voice was mournful, almost introspective. “Then I will die,” he whispered.

“Stubborn lout, isn’t he?” the leader added.

“Confess to your crimes,” Aeson pressed.

“I have done no wrong,” Xax told him.

“You’re an enemy soldier snuck into our castle. I’d call that a serious offence,” Aeson insisted.

“I am no soldier,” Xax responded simply.

The leader sighed. “Shall we just kill him now and be done with it, Captain?”

“No,” Aeson said quickly.

“But, Captain, you’re obviously not going to get anything out of this brute.”

“His fate rests in the hands of the Queen,” Aeson reasoned. “Take him to the dungeon.” The leader clapped his hands and the three soldiers still flanking Xax began to hustle him out of the room. He turned to follow, but was stopped by Aeson. “Corporal,” he called sharply, “a moment.”

The leader trotted back to his Captain’s side. “Yes, sir?”

“Corporal, how did that Durac get into the castle in the first place?”

“Well, sir, I…”

“We have guards at every single entrance.”

“I know that sir.”

“It is absolutely impossible that he could have gotten in through a doorway.”

“Yes, sir, very impossible.”

“And he couldn’t have very well swum the moat. We have toxins filling that water, completely lethal to Duracs.”

“He was bone dry when we found him, Captain.”

“So how did he get into the castle?”

“Well, I don’t rightly know, sir.”

Aeson put a threatening hand on his knight’s shoulder. “Find out,” he snapped angrily.

“Of course, I’ll take every measure. Still, I don’t think he’ll tell us anything more than ‘I am Xax, son of Thisbe,’ sir.”

“I want to know how he got in and I want to know why he came.”

“Seems to me that the liar was obviously here to kill someone.”

“I’m not so sure,” Aeson muttered.

“Sir? You’re not saying you really believe the lout’s story, are you?”

“You have your orders,” Aeson barked, turning on the leader.

“Aye, sir. And I’ll carry them out at once.” The knight turned on heel and marched out of the arena, going in the same direction as his fellows had hustled Xax away. Aeson remained, sighing softly as he watched. A hand rose to his temple and he massaged it gently. The thought of a Durac being able to get all the way to his apartments was more than unsettling. At least his younger brothers and sisters were safely attended by escorts. He could only thank Zaynar that Olivia had been away at the time. What horrible things could happen to the poor girl, being the sister of the captain of the guard!

 

Tibbet was generally confident of his own sense of direction, but even he had to admit that after a two year absence, the halls of the castle seemed more like a twisting labyrinth than the familiar byways he had been expecting. Finding the castle steward had been simple enough. There were more than enough knights willing to escort him, some employing more duress than others, but after assuring everyone that he was merely a minstrel and not a government spy, Tibbet had been left on his own and found himself horribly and painfully lost.

It felt strange to be surrounded by Alastrians. After all, he had come from Hyrule, where everyone looked like him. Now, Tibbet found that he stood out in a crowd once more and he wasn’t entirely sure he felt comfortable. True, he loved getting all the attention he could muster when he was playing his lute for a crowd, but it wasn’t nearly as much fun to draw such stares when all he was doing was walking down a corridor.

“Oh the battling bard was a delicate soul and a beautiful lass was she,” he sang quietly to himself, “with her fairy band she roamed about the land until one day she chanced on me.”

Suddenly, Tibbet could hear the clanking of armor coming his way down the hall. Thank the goddesses! Someone to give him directions! Quickly, Tibbet followed the noise, scurrying down the hall as fast as his short legs would carry him. Soon, he happened on the landing of a staircase, overlooking a hallway beneath him. He rested his hands on the balcony, peering down where he saw a full escort of knights marching through the hall. Everyone who saw them immediately scrambled to the walls, curtsying or bowing respectively. Tibbet strained his eyes, trying to make out which member of the royal family was being escorted.

Much to his surprise, the only civilian he saw among the company was a blond Hylian boy in a green tunic. “Link?” he whispered uncertainly to himself. Carefully, he stepped down two or three stairs, hoping to get a better look. Yes! It was him! “Link!” he shouted joyfully, sprinting down the stairs to find himself directly in the path of the knights. “Link, I would never have expected to see you here!” The knights skidded to a stop, looking at each other in confusion.

“What game are you playing, minstrel?” one of the guards growled.

By this point, Link had come to the front of the line. Tibbet ran to him, throwing his arms around the boy and drawing him into a huge bear hug. “Link, it’s so good to see you!”

Link stared blankly at Tibbet. “Who are you?”

Tibbet stepped back abruptly. “Link, it’s me, Tibbet. Lyna’s brother.”

“Lyna?”

“The Cyrstal Maiden, the second one you rescued, Link.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Calling you what?”

“Link.”

Tibbet blinked in surprise. “That’s your name. Are you feeling quite –”

One of the guards stepped forward abruptly, latching onto Tibbet’s throat with an iron fist. “Don’t mind him, your majesty,” the guard grunted to Link.

“Your majesty?” Tibbet choked.

“He’s just a loon. Guards, escort Prince Oren to his quarters.” At once, the knights hustled Link away, who continued to stare at Tibbet in confusion until he was pulled out of sight. A few of them remained however, circling around the hapless minstrel.

The guard holding into Tibbet released him roughly, throwing him to the floor. He looked up at the knights with a confused expression. “Prince Oren?”

“You need a lesson in respect, boy,” the guard said, pulling his hand back to strike Tibbet’s face.

“Gentlemen,” a voice called from above. His arm suspended, the knight and his fellows looked up. Standing on the second floor landing, looking over the railing, Astrid’s raccoon-like face peered down. “Is that the minstrel Tibbet? Princess Ismene’s been expecting him.”

“Astrid!” Tibbet yelped.

“I hope your beating won’t take too long,” Astrid sang to the guards. “I would hate to bring him to the Princess all bruised.”

The head guard looked up at Astrid, then down at Tibbet. With a disgusted growl, he dropped his hand and gestured for the knights to depart. “You watch yourself,” he warned Tibbet as he left.

Tibbet scrambled to his feet, climbing back up the stairs. His gait was somewhat off kilter, but he clung to the railing, looking up at Astrid’s glowing white face. “Astrid, you saved my hide.”

The jester met him halfway down the stairs. “That’s three beatings I’ve saved you from now,” she replied merrily.

“The first one didn’t count,” Tibbet insisted, giving her a tight hug. He pulled back, clapping her shoulder lightly. “How are you?”

“Medium rare,” she replied.

“Astrid, what’s going on?”

“Oh, many complex things. Even as we speak now, for example, your stomach is engaged in the breakdown of several complex fibers that go into the structure of the bread you ate for breakfast.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Well, even as we speak now, a series of winds are shifting the clouds above us to move storm fronts.”

“I meant this Prince Oren business.”

“Oh, you mean Princess Idina’s husband?”

Tibbet blinked. “Princess Idina doesn’t have a husband. That’s Link, a friend of mine from Hyrule.”

Astrid gripped Tibbet’s shoulder. Nervously looking from side to side, she pulled him further up the steps, out of hearing range for the servants busily cleaning the corridor. “You know that and I know that,” she hissed.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure exactly. This morning, the Queen called everyone in the castle into an early session of court. She told us that today, Idina would bring home her husband, the long lost Prince Oren. And anyone who denied his previous existence would be…” Astrid made a quick, slicing gesture across her throat.

“That boy is not named Oren.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

“What do you mean?”

“When he was brought into court, Idina herself announced that he had lost his memory.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tibbet declared softly. “I saw him in Hyrule not three months ago and he knew perfectly well who he was.”

“Methinks the Queen’s diviner has played a hand in this,” Astrid mumbled. “Dark magik is afoot.”

“Why would they want Link?”

“Well, I don’t rightly know that, fool.”

“You’re the fool.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot.”

Tibbet removed his hat, running a hand through his hair. “Magical memory loss. The Queen must be getting something out of this.”

“Aye, something big.”

“And we’re going to find out what it is.”

“Aye, we are. But you must be patient. And careful. Those guards nearly scraped the flesh clean off of your face.”

“If there’s a threat of death over those who don’t play along with the Queen’s game, the stakes must be high.”

“Until we learn what they are, you’d best go along with it and pretend you don’t know Lank.”

“Link.”

“Whatever.”

“Prince Oren it is, then. But Astrid, it’s going to be hard to forget him. He’s Hyrule’s greatest Hero since the Imprisoning War.”

“Hyrule’s always had Heroes. They’re not so common in Alastria.”

“What can we do? Aside from wait around?”

“Tonight during the ball, the entire castle will be in attendance.”

“So?”

“So it’ll be the perfect opportunity to go slinking about. I want to know what this mess is about just as much as you.”

“Tonight, then.”

“Aye, and until then you’d best stay out of sight. After all, I can’t save your skin every time.”

“The first one didn’t count,” the minstrel chuckled. Tibbet looked her in the eye. Astrid has the clearest emerald green eyes he had ever seen, clashing completely with her silly costume. “It’s good to see you again, Astrid.”

“Yes,” Astrid agreed. “It is good to see me.”

Tibbet laughed. “I’ve stayed away too long. I forgot how funny you are.” With that, he passed her, going up the stairs and disappearing into the second floor.

Astrid stood still, watching him go. “Funny like a clown,” she muttered to herself. In her mind, she was replaying every moment, every instant she had witnessed in the throne room this morning. She searched as hard as she could for a clue as to what was happening, but in her vast wit and intelligence, the only moment she could replay with any clarity was when Ismene had met Oren…no…Link.

 

Olivia stood off to one side of the private salon. Only the royal family and their innermost circle of friends and servants were allowed to enter and Olivia was counted among them, more due to her brother’s connections than due to any fondness with the royals. Still, she always managed to brighten up the gloom. The chamber was dark, lit only by the weak light coming in from the glass oriel with western exposure. With plush purple carpet and deep maroon walls, there was little for the light to reflect off of. A few paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, but they were almost never lit.

Idina and Evanthea lounged on velvet ottomans, sipping from silver wine goblets which Olivia would occasionally refill from the decanter she hoisted up on a platinum platter. A parade of ladies in waiting streamed in through the door, each one carrying a gown that had been taken out of storage. One at a time, the ladies would step forward to allow Idina and Evanthea to scrutinize the dresses. Inevitably, each one was rejected and the lady holding it was sent back to the attic to fetch another gown. Olivia found each one more beautiful than the next. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why the royals found flaw in such loveliness.

There was no question about it; tonight’s ball was going to be the grandest Alastria had seen in five years. Battle had worn heavily on the morale of the kingdom at large and this festival would surely cheer things up a bit. Olivia herself wasn’t certain on her stance regarding this Hylian boy. If he was everything he promised to be, certainly Alastria would become a better place for it, yet at the same time, she pitied him. Still, it was better to remain silent. The last thing she wanted to do was draw extra attention to herself.

“What do you think of this dress, Momma?” Idina asked, gesturing to a lady in waiting who held an elaborate red dress with gold tubing and lace around the high neckline.

“A bit too stifling for an event like this,” Evanthea replied, dismissing the girl with a wave of her hand.

“I want to look my best,” Idina sighed for the tenth time. “Mother, he’s absolutely perfect.”

“Yes, dear,” Evanthea mumbled for the tenth time, “I know.”

“I didn’t expect him to be nearly so handsome. Most warriors are ugly and covered with scars.”

“You were lucky.”

“I can’t believe he’s all mine,” she moaned dreamily, throwing her head back in ecstasy.

“He’s not yours yet, Idina,” Evanthea told her sharply. “Until he is bound to our cause, he’s not yours.”

“How will he be bound?”

“He must make a blood sacrifice to Zaynar first.”

“When?”

“By the next new moon.”

“But Momma, that’s only three days, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is.”

“So it won’t be long before he’s mine,” Idina sang with a big, stupid grin on her face.

“Not long, dear,” Evanthea muttered. Another lady had entered in carrying a ball gown. This one was a straight blue dress with purple diamonds over the bodice and long window sleeves going nearly to the floor.

“This one is a distinct possibility,” Idina mused.

“You’d look very becoming in it,” Evanthea agreed. “What do you think, Olivia?” she asked abruptly.

Olivia blinked in surprise. “It’s a beautiful dress,” she said diplomatically. To be honest, in Olivia’s opinion, no dress could detract from the sharp angles of Idina’s face, but she would hardly say such a thing.

“Put that one off to the side,” Evanthea said. “It’s one of our finalists.” The lady in waiting obeyed with a curtsy.

“Where is Ismene?” Idina wondered suddenly as she waited for the next dress to be paraded out.

“Zaynar only knows,” Evanthea replied with a shake of her head. “She’s been surly all day.”

“I want her to be a part of this,” Idina said.

“Leave her be, Idina. Her sour mood will only spoil your special day.”

“This ball is something like my wedding, I suppose.”

“And tonight like your wedding night,” Evanthea added.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Idina admitted.

“According to the diviner, the child born of my daughter and this Hylian boy will give rise to a line of warrior kings.”

Idina touched her belly absently. “That’s quite the burden.”

“Think of it, rather, as immortality for yourself,” Evanthea told her.

The door to the chamber opened. Instead of being another lady with yet another dress, as expected, Aeson entered, flanked on either side by two honor guards. “Captain?” Idina asked angrily. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Hush, Idina,” Evanthea snapped, rising to her feet. Sulkily, Idina folded her arms across her chest, leaning back in her seat.

Aeson made his way to the center of the room and knelt, the guards beside him doing likewise. “I apologize for interrupting, your majesties.”

“What is it?”

“There’s been a slight disturbance in the castle.”

“Disturbance?”

“A few of my men caught a Durac spy sneaking through the third floor of the castle.”

“I would call that a bit more than a mere disturbance, Captain,” Evanthea said angrily.

Aeson ducked his head submissively. “A thousand pardons.”

“Continue,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“The spy has been caught. No additional Duracs have been found.”

“Where was he caught?”

“Around and about my own apartments, your majesty.”

All the color drained from Olivia’s face. Her hands going numb, she dropped the platter in her hands, letting it, and the decanter, fall to the carpet with a thud and clatter. Idina glanced in her direction. “Clod,” she muttered.

“Forgive me, your majesties,” Olivia mumbled quickly, kneeling down to pick up the mess she had made.

“The poor thing is frightened,” Evanthea said sympathetically. “I can hardly blame her, what with a Durac in her own living quarters.”

“He’s been locked up in the dungeon,” Aeson said, more to his sister than to the Queen.

“Well, he won’t harm anyone there. Is he someone of importance?”

“No, my queen.” Aeson watched as Olivia cleaned up the mess. Her hands were trembling. “He recited a good portion of his lineage, he’s no one. Xax, son of Thisbe. No recognizable names there.”

“Too bad. We won’t be able to use him as a bargaining chip, I suppose.” Evanthea bridged her fingers, looking thoughtful. “Well, he can still be of use to us, in the long run.”

“How’s that, my queen?”

Evanthea glanced at Idina. “He will be our blood sacrifice.”

“Brilliant idea, mother,” Idina grinned.

The Queen turned back to Aeson. “Captain, I’ll leave the arrangements to you. On the next new moon there will be a festival to Zaynar.”

“Aye, my lady,” Aeson said, rising to his feet. The guards on either side of him rose as well.

“Arrange for the usual festivities and merriments. At the conclusion of the ceremony, we will sacrifice the Durac to our goddess.”

“That’ll certainly send a message to the enemy,” Aeson added.

“It will do much more than that. Let it be known that the returned Prince Oren will lead the ceremony. At the end, he will personally sacrifice the savage Durac to Zaynar.”

“And forever dedicate to himself to the Alastrian people,” Idina gushed.

“It will be done,” Aeson promised. He turned around and started to march out of the salon.

“Captain,” Evanthea called him back.

“My queen?”

“Let them handle the preliminaries,” she said with an absent gesture to the honor guards. “See to your sister.”

Aeson waved the guards to go on without him. Olivia, by this point, was still on the floor, shaking like a leaf. He made his way over to her, kneeling down and offering her a hand. Abruptly, Olivia stood of her own volition. “By your, leave, your majesties,” she mumbled, racing out of the room before anyone could answer.

“What’s the matter with her?” Idina scoffed.

“Just a fright, your majesty,” Aeson assured the princess, climbing to his feet once more. “One of the drawbacks of being sister to the captain of the guard.”

“Will she be all right?”

“I’m sure she will be,” Aeson answered.

“Well, go see to her,” Evanthea prodded.

“Aye, my lady.” Aeson stood stiff and straight at attention for a moment, then turned on heel, marching out of the chamber, right past a very befuddled lady in waiting holding a lavender ball gown.

“Things just have a wonderful way of working out, don’t they mother?” Idina sighed.

Evanthea settled herself back down on her ottoman, waving the serving maid to enter. “We have our prince. We have our sacrifice. All we need now is the new moon.” She frowned slightly. “And the cooperation of the entire court.”

 

Prince Oren’s chambers were rather plain by most standards. This was because the prince had been away so long, the guards claimed. Still, as he paced the room, Prince Oren, or rather Link for that was what his real name was, felt a certain amount of uneasiness deep down in the pit of his stomach. The encounter with the Hylian minstrel was still fresh in his mind. One of the guards had breezed over the event, explaining that Tibbet was a bit of a madman who came around occasionally to entertain the foolish ladies of the court. Yet, Link was certain he hadn’t seen much insanity in that boy’s eyes. Besides, what need had they for a madman when they already had a jester?

He paused by the window, looking out at the Alastrian panorama before him. The countryside was pretty enough, but the kingdom itself was poor and dirty, torn, he was told, by years of the strife which accompanies war. Leaning his chin in his palm, Link rested by the sill. All day, he had been struggling as hard as he could to conjure up some memory, some glimmer of recognition, that would tell him this was his homeland. Hard as he tried, he could go no further back in time than to the morning when he woke to find himself in Idina’s arms.

Everyone was certainly nice to him. And apart from Tibbet, everyone recognized him as Prince Oren. Had he sensed any awkwardness in the throne room, attending the royal court? He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something had been amiss. What was it? Every time he replayed the scenario, he came back to the moment when Ismene had entered. That was when the strangeness began to sink in, but why; he could only be left to guess.

Leaving the window behind, Link walked across the room, finding himself in front of a mirror. Several attendants had left him a fresh set of clothing to wear, a simple silk tunic with long white sleeves, purple in the middle. The clothing he’d been found in was hustled away from him by the servants. For some odd reason, he felt oddly attached to the green tunic and was sorry to have to part with it. He had tried to save it, but to no avail.

As he stared into the mirror, it was though a stranger was looking back at him. He couldn’t recognize his own reflection! There stood a tall, handsome Hylian boy with corn yellow hair and dazzling blue eyes who seemed to lack any sort of identification. Frustrated, he curled his fingers up into a fist. In the mirror, well defined bicep muscles appeared.

From the other side of the room, he heard bells ringing. Turning around he saw the grotesque jester staff with plaster head sticking through the curtains that separated his chamber from the anteroom. “Come in?”

The curtains parted as Astrid walked in, brandishing her staff much like a trumpet. She pressed her lips together, pretending to play a fanfare. “Princess Ismene requests an audience with you, your highness,” she sang.

Link couldn’t help but grin at the pageantry. “Do the royals always use their jester to announce them?”

Astrid lowered her stick. “Truly, sir, you’ll find that a fool is the most versatile of servants. The fool is sent on an errand and if it gets done, the fool is a good servant, if not, it can be chalked up to his madness.”

“His madness? Don’t you mean her madness?”

“No, indeed, sir, for in all that I have ever read, no woman has been a fool.”

Link chuckled. “You have a quick wit.”

“Quick perhaps, but not fast enough to catch your slow tongue.”

“Slow tongue?”

“Indeed. I announced Princess Ismene a minute ago and you still haven’t parleyed to her entrance.”

“What does that mean?”

“You haven’t said she may enter.”

“Oh!” Link looked sheepish. “Please, tell her she can come in.”

Astrid rose up onto the toes of her left foot, her right foot gracefully suspended in the air. She tucked her jester staff into the belt around her narrow waist and cupped her hands to her mouth, making the same trumpeting noise as before. After a moment, the curtains parted as Ismene walked into the chamber. “The Princess Ismene,” Astrid said, bowing grandly, cocking her heel out.

“Thank you, Astrid,” Ismene said gently.

“And that is my cue to exit,” Astrid sang merrily. She nodded politely to Link and scampered out the curtains, the bells of her stick ringing all the way down the corridor.

“She has a way with words,” Link mused.

“You’d be surprised how many scrapes she’s managed to get herself out of just by talking everyone to death with puns and riddles.”

“The ideal jester.”

“Yes.”

Link looked as Ismene. She seemed somewhat distracted with a small tie on her dress, loosely wrapped around her middle. “Why did you want to see me?” he asked, trying to sound polite.

She turned her eyes up to him. “I wanted to apologize for being so…callous, back in the throne room.”

“You weren’t callous.”

“No?”

“At least, I didn’t think so. If anything, I’m the one who should be very distant right now. After all, I seem to be missing a good seventeen years of history. It’s really quite terrible. First, apparently, I lose my homeland, then I lose years out o