“Homeless fools who are good for nothing. I will send them your way the day after tomorrow. My city will finally be rid of those vermin then. Perhaps the prisoners in the dungeon as well.”
The raven flapped its wings and hopped off the railing of the balcony. She changed nearly instantly into a tall woman, her hair stretched tight in a bun. She swooped down upon Gregorich, breathing down into his face; she must have been nearly a foot taller than the King, and the man was definitely intimidated by her. “Your city? Ha! You have done nothing yourself to get this throne—you had others do it for you. I still say your father should have sent one of my sons to rule this throne instead of a coward like you. It took forever just to get the crown on your hopeless head and the throne under the seat of your britches because you wished to beat around the bush instead of doing away with the previous throne bearers. I had to come and cause strife and fighting in the city to make them appear incapable of ruling while you hid away. All these years, and you have not done a thing with this city—just sat here, biding time, waiting for something interesting to come your way. Not once have you visited your father at the Mountain and paid respect to his name. Now that you are at last sending men to help him is good; Natosha is becoming tired of waiting to raise the dead to fight…But homeless heathens infested with louse and who do not know how to fight? That will not be to his pleasure. The prisoners will be little better, even if they are used to stealing away in the night or murdering people and fighting. We have no time for training imbeciles. What else have you to tell me?” She leaned away from him and peered around into the night, her bony arms getting goose bumps. “Are you alone here?” She whirled upon Gregorich again. “Who else is here?”
Quentin held his breath from where he stood just outside the windows. Thank the Parent Gods it was not winter, or she would have seen his breath. He watched Hapshamin squirm under the woman’s fiery gaze and almost felt sorry for him. Whoever this woman was, she was not one to be haggled with or angered in any way. There was an air of brutal severity that surrounded her every move.
She seemed to be sniffing the air around Gregorich. “Is that the scent of a woman on you?” She appeared more than a little surprised.
Hapshamin somehow found the courage to stand a little straighter and beam up at her. “Yes. I have invited an exotic woman of great beauty to stay in my palace. I met her in the garden after dinner, and she could not stay her hands.”
“Ha! You must have been half-asleep and dreaming, for I smell her only on your hands, and they smell of her dry palms. Do not lie to me, boy.”
He turned red, but chose to ignore her comments. “She is the one who suggested me sending you the homeless to fight.”
Anger flared up within Quentin—why was the dolt lying about Silvia? She had suggested (and certainly insinuated) no such thing! She would be very angry when he reported this conversation to her.
Zela’s black eyes lit up from within. Something in her demeanor seemed to change, if only slightly. “Really? And she is a beauty you say? Or was that a fib too?” The hard edge returned to her voice.
The King’s eyes became distant. “She is radiant and conserved, yet brave and forward. Her face would rival a goddess, and her voice is as soft as liquid velvet. I plan to ask her to marry me in just a few days, and I am sure she will accept.”
“Well! If this isn’t a surprise! Unfortunately, I think your father will be most pleased with this.”
“And what of father this past week?”
Zela’s face drew tight, her voice bitter. “Decent. He is eager to win this bloody war and take over all these god-forsaken lands. Be glad you are sending men—Rohedon is the only thing stopping Natosha from raising the dead. You know they can only be raised so many times before they are useless. The dead travel fast, they say, and we would like to save them for the end to do a final sweep of our enemies.”
“Well, send him greetings from me,” said Gregorich, shuffling his feet a little. Though the king appeared a bit inferior to her, Quentin had seen his eyes narrow at the thought of his father enfolding the lands under his rule.
“Tell him yourself when you see him in five days.”
“He’s coming? Here?” Gregorich could not hide his astonishment.
“Yes, so work hard and please him when he comes. I do hate it when one of the children angers him; he takes it out on us poor mothers.”
He grimaced. “You almost make yourself sound pitiful, but I know that it is not so.”
“You hush and do not mock me, or by the Dark Moon I’ll tell tales on you boy,” Zela hissed, pointing a skinny, crooked finger in Gregorich’s face.
Beads of sweat trickled down the King’s face, but his voice remained steady. “Are we finished?”
Zela dropped her hand and walked to the other end of the balcony, looking at the surrounding countryside and the city about the palace. “I suppose.” She turned around, leaning back on the stone railing. “Go get in your big empty bed and be lonely while you have nightmares of your childish dragons.”
Gregorich looked away, a deep flush coming onto his cheeks.
“Oh, did you think we do not know?” Zela laughed. “All the wives know of your pitiful weakness. Everyone knows that there are only rumors of dragons in the far southwest, where the Lake of Tears was formed by the fall of the Great Dragon, Balsmorg. All other dragons fled across the great sea to look for Saphrite and Aklamon, which is futile. Everyone knows the Parent Gods will never be found, and the dragons will search for them anyway, never to return. Foolish that you should fear such childish things! You are such a weakling, and I get bored talking to you. Expect your father in five days, and let no one know he is coming. Some things are better kept a secret.” With that, she turned and transformed into a raven, flying off the balcony and into the night.
Silvia had Hans send for some hot water so that she could bathe. None of the servants grumbled about having to fill her tub every day, though most people only took a full bath every few days. When it arrived she waited patiently for her tub to be filled and fresh towels to be brought in. One of the King’s servants handed her a new bar of soap that was scented of roses, and told her it was a gift from His Highness. She was grateful when everyone left and she locked the door with a sigh. She asked that Keelan undress her, which he did very slowly, letting everything fall to her feet in a puddle of soft cloth. He hung up her dress and placed her shoes in the bottom of her wardrobe. Then he removed her hair cover and draped it across the back of one of the chairs while Silvia slid into the comfortable heat of the water, and they began to talk.
“It’s very interesting that he is so scared of blood,” she said.
“Yes it is and I have to say it is rather amusing,” Keelan said as he sat on the floor beside the tub.
Silvia wet a cloth and patted her face. “I feel a little sorry for him too.”
Keelan looked at her in awe. “Why? How could you feel sorry for such a monster?”
Silvia giggled. “Well, it’s just that he makes himself out to be so lonely, and you can tell he wants someone to be miserable with him. But when, or if, he ever marries he’ll be like a cur with its tail between its legs while it’s running from a bear when she gets her monthly cycle!”
Both of them laughed at this. Then Keelan washed Silvia’s long hair and her skin with the scented soap and relished when she moaned with pleasure beneath his fingers. She rinsed off and stepped out of the tub into the towel he held for her. But instead of drying her off as he did the night before, he began to undress. As he began to unbutton his shirt he looked up. “Do you mind if I bathe?”
She smiled mischievously. “Of course not. After all, I haven’t had the opportunity to wash you yet.”
“I am afraid you won’t enjoy it that much; my body is not the perfect temple that yours is.”
“Oh, I quite disagree,” murmured Silvia as she helped to unbutton the rest of his shirt and slide it off. She finished undressing him in the soft candlelight and
he entered the tub. She washed him with the unscented soap (at his request) and let her fingers trail lightly over his muscular body. He shuddered under her hands and grew aroused quickly. When he at last exited his bath, Silvia took off her towel, revealing her still-pink nakedness, and wrapped him up in the cloth. She dried him off minutes later and watched with more than a touch of disappointment as he put his pants back on. She retrieved her nightgown from the wardrobe and slid it over her head, knowing her backside was being watched with hungry eyes.
Silvia reached for the leather-bound diary as they sat down on the couch. “That’s funny,” she said, propping her feet on Keelan’s lap when he insisted upon rubbing them. “I would swear that I left this book open, not shut.”
Keelan’s senses went crazy, and he couldn’t hide his alarm. “Do you think someone’s been in here?”
She frowned, a wrinkle creasing her forehead. “I don’t know. I probably closed it without realizing it. I shall have to put the ink-vanishing spell upon it again so that no one may read anything important if I should leave it out and about again. I’ll have to remember to be more careful.” She found her place in the diary, marked by a slight bend at the top of the page, and began to disappear in her mother’s words.
Chapter Eleven—Betrayal of Trust
Madeline had been devastated when she realized the child had been conceived at almost the exact time of Fyon’s death. In fact she was so depressed that Zacharias feared she would lose the baby from her nerves and lack of appetite. For her safety, as well as the baby’s, he sent her to Wexford—the same place they had sent Fyon the year before. King Philip and Queen Nora welcomed her with open arms and kind words. After a while, Madeline recovered, mostly by playing with the Royal Family’s sons: Dalton was four, Leu was eighteen months old, and Shania was a newborn. She stayed there for several months before returning to Darkania at the distress of Philip and Nora; they suggested that she stay to have the baby there in Wexford, where it would be safe.
But Madeline insisted on going back. She claimed her husband could not leave the city while it was in such turmoil, and that she wanted to be with him for the birth of their child. Upon returning, however, she found that Gregorich Hapshamin had spread more viscous gossip. She decided to hide her pregnancy from the city, and being a small woman who had not gained much weight at all, this was not a difficult task…until the servants let the information slip into the wrong ears. Then everyone began talking about it: Would this child be born a demon too?
Zacharias had had a large estate built by now for the child in a servant lady’s name and had told no one but a chosen few of it, intending the place to be a sort of retreat for when the child grew older. But as Madeline neared her term, both of them became certain that it would be far too dangerous for the child to remain at the palace for any length of time, for the city was getting worse. Fights would break out in the most decent of places over petty things, neighbor pitched against neighbor, and everyone spread rumors to get reactions from others. More Guards were placed within the city streets to try and quell small squabbles or an uprising, should one occur. After much grief and many tears, Zacharias and Madeline decided to go to the second house and give up the throne when the child was born. But Zacharias pointed out that if Gregorich should find them there, he would know the child was theirs, instantly dooming the innocent life. They planned to tell everyone that the child was stillborn when the time came and they arranged to live under the house of a decent, kind, and fiercely loyal family whose young son had vanished earlier in the year. The house had a room that had been dug out under the boys’ room long before their time, and they would provide the family with money in exchange (although the family tried to insist that the money was not necessary).
Oddly, as Madeline neared full term, she began to have strange dreams of giving birth to a girl whom could change into a dragon at will. She dreamed the dragon-girl sat on a throne and enfolded a great city within her wings. Madeline believed the dreams to be prophecies and became fixated on them, even ranting about them at times. She wanted to leave something behind to capture her visions that she didn’t think Gregorich would destroy when he inevitably took up the throne in their absence. There were already three dancing stone statues in the courtyard of the palace and seeing as how they did not really resemble herself and her husband, she did not imagine that Gregorich would do away with them. Her plan was simple: she had special stone jars made and then had an artist chisel her dreams into them. These were placed around the dancing statues and partially hidden by strands of purple ivy so they would not be easily spotted and destroyed.
That was the end of the journal. Silvia asked Keelan if he wished to read it.
“No, milady. They are your mother’s thoughts and are for your eyes only. She was not my mother, so I could not read her written thoughts without having felt that I invaded her privacy.”
Silvia’s mind was whirling in a thousand directions, with a hundred questions every way she looked: Was the city Madeline had dreamed of Darkania? Was she the dragon-girl? Why had Gregorich not destroyed them since he hated the beasts? Were they the reason he feared dragons so much?
Oh, but how she was weary of so many questions and so few of them answered! She shook her head and looked up the spell to make ink vanish. She performed it on the diary and hid the book on a shelf in the top of her wardrobe. Keelan turned into a fox as she unlocked her door for Quentin and they went to bed.
They were both sound asleep when Quentin opened the door quietly, slipped in and locked the door behind him. Seeing no one awake and that the tub still had water in it, he silently stripped and took a quick bath in the lukewarm water. His thigh was now completely healed where Keelan had thrown the dagger at him, and his shoulder was healing very well, though at times a little tender. When he had bathed and dressed, he went to wake the true queen and her future husband. He went through every detail of what had happened, leaving nothing out.
Silvia was horrified. “The prisoners I am not very worried about, for they are criminals. But as for the others…he’s sending away the homeless children as well?” she exclaimed. “And to be fed to some creature? How low and cowardly and…and disgusting! We must find some way to help them!”
Quentin threw up his hands. “My Queen, we would help them if we could, but I don’t know how. We don’t have a place to hide them.”
Keelan put an arm around her shoulder and said, “We’ll find a way to help them, love. Do not worry too much on it. What we need to be concerned with is that from everything the raven-lady said to Gregorich, we can all guess who his father is, and he’s coming here.”
Silvia turned about, slamming a fist into her palm. “We have to overthrow Gregorich before Rohedon comes. We have to, or Darkania will fall under a murkier reign. The whole city will fall to darkness.” She thought of the evil man who had helped to start a war (with what could only be described as pleasure), and she shuddered.
“Well, since we don’t have a plan, let’s sleep now. Maybe we’ll have thought of a good idea or two by the morning,” said Quentin.
Silvia’s mind worked faster and faster. How to keep Gregorich occupied while she helped the homeless…How to get her throne in five days…
“Quentin?” she said, careful not to look at him, for her question was a delicate one. “Can you still make yourself look like the people you have killed?”
His face drew downward, and he was obviously dismayed. He had honestly tried not to think about it. “I don’t know, milady. I have not even wished to try.”
Now Silvia turned to face him in the candlelight. “I was wondering if you could perhaps turn into my father.”
Open shock took over Quentin’s face. “You cannot surely mean what you say!”
“I do, and I have an idea. Can you still do it?”
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I will try, Your Highness.”
Silvia held her breath and watched him close his eyes. His long white cloak disa
ppeared and was replaced by long, Royal Robes. His fingers were adorned with a couple of stones and he wore a simple silver chain about his neck to compliment his silver crown. His black hair was thick and grew a little past his shoulders, but neatly tied back in a leather thong. His features were warm and kind, yet firm and strong. She felt her knees go weak and tried to steady herself. She closed her eyes momentarily. When she reopened them, Quentin was himself again and looking at her with worry.
“I apologize for giving you a fright.”
“No, no. You needn’t worry about me,” she stuttered. “I was just a little startled.” Seeing the image of her father for the first time in so long was painful. If only she could see her parents again, she would be happy for the rest of her life. She put on the best smile that she could. “But not as startled as Hapshamin will be if you were to appear before him like that. You’ll scare him to pieces.”
“By the gods, you’re right!” Keelan exclaimed. “It may shake him up a little. Will you do it, brother?”
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