by N M Zoltack
He glanced over and halted his mad dash to the castle to allow Tatum to ride up to him. Had he seen her on horseback previously? He thought not, but she looked like a beautiful brown-haired goddess riding out to greet her champion on the eve of battle, one she thought he might not return from.
She halted beside him. Without a word, without even looking up at him, she handed him a potion. It amazed him that she looked so comfortable sitting atop a horse even while pregnant.
He accepted the round-bottomed potion in his gauntlet. “Thank you, Tatum,” he said warmly, but still, she ignored him.
A pang struck his chest. It was as if she hated him, as if he were dead to her as well as her husband. Did she blame him for not reacting faster, for not trying to stop the fight? Did she blame Dudley’s death on him?
Perhaps she should.
“You do not have to worry,” he said, his words coming out thick. “I will help you. I will be there for you. Dudley’s dying… It… I…”
Words failed him, but even worse, she lifted her head and met his gaze finally. In her steel blue eyes was contempt.
That was more than enough for Edmund. He spurred his horse onward once more, riding for the castle, willing his spirit to settle, for his mind to quiet. A distracted knight soon became a fallen knight, and worst of all was the worry that his inattention could lead to the death of another brave knight.
Tatum hated him and so be it. Honestly, Edmund hated himself. Perhaps dying at the castle would be the only thing he had yet to offer to her, to the queen, to all of Tenoch.
Death. Edmund hadn’t thought much about it, not truly, and he didn’t wish to now, but clearly, the scales had tipped over in favor of both Death and Chaos. The Fates were pulling invisible strings, snipping the lifespan threads of so many lives. It hardly seemed fair or just, and a fire of hatred welled within Edmund.
He hated the dragons for attacking.
He hated the Vincanans for being greedy for wishing to take over all of Dragoona.
He hated that the queens hadn’t sought to give Vincana its freedom so that unnecessary deaths had not been lost.
He hated that Dudley had died.
He hated that he had never told Tatum how he felt for her.
He hated having feelings for her in the first place.
Most of all, he hated himself for not being noble, honest, brave, and true.
To be honest, yes, Edmund was racing toward the castle, but he was terrified. He knew that it would come down to him and a dragon, and he hadn’t anything on him that could help him to take down a dragon.
Nothing at all.
Except perhaps this potion he held in his hand, the likes of which he hadn’t ever seen inside Mermaid’s Tears, Tatum’s shop…
7
Olympia Li
The faint smell of something burning had Olympia racing out of the cave. The Vincanans had been lurking nearby lately, and she had been doing her best to avoid detection. The arrival of the Vincanan ship had caused quite a stir, and she had a feeling she knew who had been on board.
The so-called King of Vincana who sought to reunite the continents and the island under the new heading of Vincana Proper.
Honestly, how vain had that pretender Jankin and now this man been? They should have merely proclaimed themselves the kings of Dragoona and been done with it, but, no, their loyalties to their lands proved that they were unfit to rule over all of the lands equally and judicially.
The Vincanans were all talking, discussing matters amongst themselves, so she raced toward a nearby grove of trees and climbed up as quickly as she could. Her hair became caught in branches at first, but she managed to ascend quite high.
From there, she could see fire and the location, the hill, the walls…
The castle. The dragons were attacking the castle.
The sight… Honestly, Olympia didn’t know how to feel. As much as she wanted the castle to fall, she did not want innocents to die. It shouldn’t be like this. The dragons… What were they thinking? Were they unhappy that a Li was not on the throne?
Was this her fault? If she had found a way to remain in the castle, to take back the throne, to wear a crown on her head… would this have not happened had she succeeded in her mission?
Was the blood of all of those innocents on her hands?
For several long moments, she watched the terrible sight looking in the distance until she heard a twig snap beneath her. Startled, she looked down, but it was merely Bjorn Ivano, her guide from Maloyan down to Atlan. Shock raced through her. She had sent the man away, so why had he returned?
To be truthful, she did not know what to think of the man even before he had unleashed a terrible, dark secret.
He had given Sabine Grantham poison to give to her husband, Jankin Rivera. He had not directly had a role in killing the king, but he had aided and abetted, and that had not been the only time he had killed. The man was not allowed to be anywhere near the castle.
Why was he still with her then? What had brought him back? Did he think she would willingly suffer his company now that she knew he was a king killer? What could possibly make her trust him again?
Did he still think about turning her over to Rosalynne, Jankin’s daughter? Or to Sabine, the murderous queen?
“Come down,” Bjorn hissed.
After one long last look at the blaze, she descended the tree. He held out his arms to catch her. As if she would fall into his arms. As if she wanted to feel his arms around her.
She descended without aid and rushed back to the cave.
“What did you see?” he asked.
Olympia eyed the man. She had taken a great risk by entrusting him with her secret, and he had brought her this far. Could he wish to see things through? But if he did, he would merely do so because of how it would help him in the end. Mayhap he even thought she would take him on as her king. Strangely, that thought saddened her.
“At least one dragon is attacking Atlan Castle,” she finally said.
Bjorn blinked his piercing eyes, but otherwise, he did not outwardly respond to the news.
Unnerved, Olympia began to pace.
“What is troubling you?” he asked, his tone wary and without judgement.
“What has brought you back here?” she asked coldly, staring him down.
He rubbed his sharp nose and then licked his thick lips. “I thought that I would…”
“You would what? I am not meek nor am I mild, and I do not require your help in any fashion.”
“The castle,” he said smoothly, ignoring her point entirely, which only served to further add fuel to the fire of rage boiling within her. “You should want it to burn.”
“And I do, but I do not want innocents to die, and maybe… I might have been able to prevent this!”
“You?” Bjorn had the gall to laugh. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but you think too highly of yourself. There is no way that you can possibly have prevented this. The dragons will do as they wish, no more and certainly no less.”
“I hailed the people of Tenoch and Vincana. All of the towns that have been attacked…”
“You don’t know for certain—”
“The dragons have not been doing nothing. They have done far more than merely flapped their wings. I… I am selfish. I am proud and vengeful. I… I am not a good person.”
“I think otherwise.”
“Because the opinion of a murderer twice over, one, for good measure, was a king, mind you, matters. You can say nothing that will get me to believe a word that comes out of your mouth, and I would rather you leave and be gone this time. For real. Do not return, Bjorn. I do not want you.”
“Olympia, I—”
“Leave me,” she spit out.
Bjorn bowed to her, a full sweeping bow, as one would to the highest of nobles. He even got down on one knee, and she thought he might argue with her from that position, but instead, he stood, nodded, and walked away.
She waited until she could hear his
footsteps no longer. Then, she darted to the mouth of the cave and looked about.
The man had disappeared from view.
Olympia glanced toward the Vincanans. There remained preoccupied so she crossed over to the beach, to the waters, and she splashed some onto her face. The waves rolled in and out, and she stared at her watery reflection. Dark eyes, black hair, high cheekbones… She looked fiercer than she felt, but even her reflection could not conceal the fact that she was utterly alone.
Without an ally, she could not possibly reclaim the throne.
Somewhere in Atlan she believed was her twin. If she could find him, perhaps the two of them could ascend to power and rule over Tenoch.
The Lis had not ruled over Tenoch and Vincana and the islands. The islands could govern themselves. If they needed to barter for food, she would. Vincana could, likewise, be free, the silly war ended.
And peace could return to the land, to all of Dragoona.
It all seemed so very simple and easy in her head, but how? How could she make her dreams a reality?
And did she even deserve to have her dreams come true in the first place?
8
Prince Marcellus Gallus
The approaching Vincanan vessel carrying Antonius Gallus to Tenoch shore left the Prince of Vincana, Marcellus Gallus feeling very much ill. His father was the reason behind the war in the first place. Marcellus had been born and bred a warrior, but even he had the urge to lay down his blade and strike a chord with the Riveras, especially because of the return of the dragons three.
Could that have been the reason why his father, the king, had come here? Because he had learned that the dragons had resurrected? Had the dragons set Vincana ablaze?
Once more, his hand felt to the hilt at his side, and Marcellus curled his upper lip. Vincana was his home, and he would fight for that land until he died, but he had no desire to fight a war with Tenoch while also fighting against the winged terrors that rained fire.
Flavius Calvus moved to stand beside the prince. The commander of the Vincanan army had been pacing for a bit after Junius Tatius had announced the ship’s approach. If Marcellus had to guess, Flavius was anxious about many things, not just the arrival of the king. He had just confessed his love to Horatia Ramagi, one of the fiercest fighters either of them knew. But she was a Valkyrie, and Valkyries were the warriors of the dragons of old, and she had taken with her the other Valkyries to seek out the dragons.
Marcellus inhaled deeply. He thought he might smell a bit of smoke, but he could not be certain as the scent of salt hung too heavy in the air given he stood nearly close enough to the shoreline that water came within a foot of his boots.
Finally, the ship docked, and his father waited for the large plank to be placed in position for him to stalk his way off the ship and onto the beach. He halted a few feet from Marcellus and dipped his head.
“Father,” Marcellus said. He glanced at Flavius before continuing, “We are surprised to see you here. May we—”
“You may do nothing at all,” the king boomed. “I am assuming command. I thought I could trust the two of you to handle matters here, but I see now that was mere folly and foolishness on my part. For the sake of Vincana Proper, I apologize, but as Vincana Proper has not even been formally formed as of yet… Really, you call yourself a prince?”
Marcellus almost laughed outright. He never wished for the title. His father had been the one to bestow it upon him!
“I will endeavor to help you in any way that I can,” Marcellus said stiffly.
“Come.” The king inclined his head to the west, and Marcellus hurried forward to fall into step beside his father. Dressed in red velvet, the king very much looked the part.
“The dragons,” Marcellus started. “Did they—”
“I will speak, and you will listen.” His father paused to stare Marcellus down. His eyes were as black as ever, cold and impersonal, and Marcellus’ stomach twisted. His father was so very displeased with him. It had been a long time since his father had been this upset with him.
“As you say.”
His father glanced behind them. Perhaps he thought them not far enough removed from the others as he began to walk again but maintained his silence. When he finally did speak, Marcellus soon wished his father had never opened his mouth.
“I did everything I could to instigate the war between Vincana and Tenoch, and I sent you more than enough soldiers. You brought Valkyries with you! You spent time dancing with the two queens when you should have slipped a dagger into their bellies. So many lives could have been spared, and now, the dragons have returned! But of course they have. They do not want such filth to rule over the lands.”
“You instigated the war…” Marcellus repeated. “What do you mean by that?”
“I sent you to Tenoch. I was sending up the warships as quickly as they were built. You recall this.”
“I did, but I was not to strike before they arrived!”
“You could have. You should have. They invited you into the castle, and you should have dismantled that castle. Every last stone removed. That castle will fall. Atlan will fall. Tenoch Proper is already crumbling, but I thought I would not have to set foot on this wretched soil.”
Marcellus eyed the pink sand they walked upon. It was not soil, but he thought it best to neglect pointing out that detail.
“You failed me even when I ensured that the war would happen, that the queens could not stop it. I engineered the first death.”
Marcellus’ blood ran cold, and once again, his hand fell to his hilt.
His father did not mean that.
His father couldn’t have meant that.
The first death Rufus Vitus, the son of Ricardus Vitus and Marcellus’s best friend. He had danced with Queen Rosalynne at that horrible ball the queens hosted, and in her arms, he had been stabbed to death.
“Wh… What do you mean?” Marcellus stammered.
“Come now, Marcellus. You needed the push. I knew you hadn’t the heart to do what was necessary.”
Marcellus swallowed hard, and he could hardly think let alone breathe.
“You…”
“I had one of the guards kill Rufus, yes.”
“How did you tell the guard… Before we even left. All along, that guard knew he would have to… I… You…”
Marcellus tightened his grip on his hilt. He could not and would not strike his father down.
But perhaps he should. How could his father act as if he had acted justly when he had killed one of his own people? How could he think that one death had been justified? That one death had started the war, and Marcellus wanted nothing more than for that war to end.
Without his father wearing a crown upon his light-brown-haired head.
9
Advisor Aldus Perez
The advisor patiently waited for the queen to depart the throne room. He stood in the hallway just outside the throne room when a man carrying weapons but minimal armor raced up to Aldus. The young man’s dark hair was slick with sweat, and he was breathing heavily.
“The queen… Do you know where she is?”
“I am told she is kept safe,” Aldus said slowly, being subtle about his scrutiny of the man who looked vaguely familiar. “You do not need to concern yourself with her.”
The man appeared as if he wished to lift Aldus up by his surcoat.
“What are you?” Aldus continued. “You aren’t a knight, not a guard. Why are you armed?”
“Why aren’t you?” the man argued. “Are you mad? There are dragons flying about, attacking the castle, and you stand there—Move aside.”
“I do not think so,” Aldus remarked mildly. “I do not take orders from peasants.”
“I’m not a peasant,” the man huffed.
“Only a peasant would protest that so strongly,” Aldus goaded.
“And you wouldn’t? You’re the peasant. You walk about as if you are a peacock with your tail fanned out, but no one sees beautiful c
olors. They only see you for the cold, twisted man that you are. You want power, but both Rosalynne—”
“Queen Rosalynne,” Aldus remarked, his tone mild once more.
“Both Queen Rosalynne and Queen Sabine—”
Aldus coughed into his hand. “Queen Sabine,” he mused. “I think she might be in her room yet. If you are so concerned about the queen, mayhap you should go to her.”
The man opened and shut his mouth many a time before he scowled and turned away.
Aldus waited until he had left before he slowly nodded. That man, whoever he was, would need to be watched and carefully. He could prove meddlesome indeed. His name was… Aldus pondered a moment. Ah, yes, Ulric something or other. Cooper maybe. Yes, he had been lurking around Rosalynne quite a bit lately, and honestly, Aldus did not understand why she would bother to tolerate such riffraff in her presence. He was so far beneath her, and ah, yes. Now Aldus recalled why the man seemed familiar. Ulric had been the one who had been falsely imprisoned on the charge of murdering Prince Noll.
In fact, Aldus had meant to figure out why the two spoke from time to time—Rosalynne and Ulric. The young queen should hate the man even though he had been found to be innocent.
Rosalynne. She was a thorn in Aldus’ side and had been even before her father had choked to death. At least Jankin had allowed Aldus to rule in all but name only. Aldus had hoped that Jankin would be the one to die first, that Aldith would be made queen.
But Aldith had become pregnant.
Clearly, Jankin wasn’t the father. According to the late queen, they had never consummated the marriage, even though she had approached Jankin about that many a time.
The father of the babe, Bates, was not common knowledge, but Aldus knew the father. He knew the father quite well.
He had been the father.
Aldith had assured him that she knew how to prevent pregnancy, but clearly, her efforts had not been foolproof, but then, Aldith had been a fool in many aspects. She had been queen only because she had married the king, but she had done nothing at all with her title. She wore gowns, yes, and some jewels, but honestly, that had been the extent of it.