by N M Zoltack
But she was merely a princess. Could she convince her sister, the queen, to do as they needed her to? And what of the other queen, Sabine? Would she serve as a thorn in their side?
Would the queens feel as Marcellus had and spurn him? The Fates would find that a jest, he figured, a cruel one at that.
By now, the spy, Paulus Falto, must have reached the castle. Perhaps he was even on his way back. Even if he returned with the glad tidings Marcellus wished to hear—or better yet, brought Princess Vivian with him so that they could discuss matters away from everyone, but no. Actually, considering his father was here, the princess should remain in the castle where she might be safe.
No, he should go to the castle. A meeting with Vivian first would be preferred, and then together they could approach the queens.
But his father was a massive impediment to this endeavor.
The prince forced himself to listen to his father.
“More ships will be coming with even more men than the ones I have brought along with me. They should arrive within three days’ time. Our first move should be to appropriate a village large enough to sustain us all. Then, we can march on Atlan Castle.”
“Do we have to commandeer a village?” Marcellus asked.
“The men and women fighters will be famished. A solid meal, some rest in a bed after being on the ship for so long, another meal… We might want to bring along as many food supplies as we can. I wonder if a—”
“You want to lay siege to the castle,” Marcellus said, appalled.
“Yes. If they cannot have any food come in or out… I would assume the queens… It is sheer stupidity that both queens remain alive. How has one not killed or done away with the other? But they have allowed villagers within the castle walls, yes? Their own food stores will be depleted quickly if that is the case.”
Marcellus shook his head.
“No? What say you, then, boy? What is your grand plan for us to ascend to the throne?” His father grandly spread out his arms, but his smirk was purely sardonic.
“The dragons have returned,” Marcellus said through gritted teeth. Endeavoring to remain respectful was not an easy feat. “We must tend—”
“The queens can handle the dragons, or the dragons can handle the queens.” His father appeared utterly unconcerned about the winged beasts.
On one hand, this relieved Marcellus as surely that meant his father had not witnessed the dragons up close. Vincana must not have felt the wrath and the fire from the dragons.
“But if the dragons survive, then we will have to deal with them,” Marcellus reminded his father.
“And we will handle them.”
“How precisely do you plan to do that? That is what we should be concerning ourselves with—planning a war against the dragons instead of the queens and their innocent people!”
His father flared his nostrils. His face were all harsh angles and strong lines, and he looked like he wanted to make a hard line with his fist to Marcellus’ face.
“You’re a failure,” his father hissed. “A coward. Worthless. Good for absolutely nothing. Honestly, it does not even pain me to admit that I wish Rufus had been my son instead of you.”
Marcellus just stood there, without blinking, without responding.
Verbally.
Without responding verbally.
But mentally? Mentally he was thinking all sorts of things.
13
Rase Ainsley
The street rat had left the tavern far behind. To ensure no one else would get the drop on him, Rase had decided to climb up onto the rooftops. He had to make certain that no one was following him before he returned to Leanne. He would not bring danger to their home.
Of course, the thought that others might have gone to his house already, that she might be in danger this very second, that she could be dead had all occurred to him.
But if she was being attacked now, he wouldn’t be able to arrive in time to stop that. If she was dead, nothing could change that either.
The only thing he could attempt to do would be to do what he was doing now—ensuring that no one followed him to her.
Why, though? Why had they turned against Rase? He had hired them to go after Olivier Barbeau, for what the goon had done by attacking Leanne. And the three he had hired—Tielo Waldron, Nuno Balfager, and Mac Beatha Baron—had done the job, but when they came to tell Rase of this, they had been furious that he hadn’t disclosed who Olivier had worked for.
Baron Dolaidh McInness.
A noble Rase had crossed because Rase had spent a good deal of time learning and exploiting secrets, including one involving the baron.
When the trio came for Rase, they had beaten him near to death. Why had Nuno come after Rase again? Why the assassination attempt?
Not that Rase was an important enough person to be considered assassinated. No, the goons had wanted to murder him.
For the baron.
It had to be that.
Which meant they would not stop.
All three of them would come after him.
The only saving grace he could cling to was the faith that he had that the trio did not know about his sister or where she lived.
Or did they? He could not for the life of him recall if he had told the men he had hired that they would be taking revenge against a goon who had attacked a woman. He might have said sister.
If they did know about Leanne, surely they would go after her.
Which meant that Rase would have to do as he had before.
He had had revenge before, and he would do so again.
He had killed before, and he would do so again.
He had no choice in the matter. If he wished for Leanne and himself to leave Atlan and for them to attempt to forge new lives for themselves, then he have no choice but to do what must be done.
With this in mind, Rase climbed down from the roof and headed back toward the now-useless marketplace area. The place had been badly burned, but it was a quick route back to the shops, and he had a feeling that if anyone were to be looking for him, they would start there, especially toward the taverns or even the hotel he had left earlier. Rase and taverns… He used to frequent them fairly often despite his young age. That was where he had stolen coins and also where he had gained information.
Like the tidbit about the time a certain baron had been spending with a certain peasant woman.
It did not take long at all for Rase to see a man step out on the street across from him. Although people were wandering about him, this man did not move. He merely stared Rase down.
Even from the distance, Rase could spy the man’s face enough to see his scar.
Tielo Waldron.
Rase smiled, fixed his thin blond hair, and winked one of his gray eyes before waving to the man as if he were a good friend.
The scar on Tielo’s face became even more prominent as he scowled and started toward Rase.
A fight in front of everyone wouldn’t be ideal… or would it? The onlookers might get in the way, but Rase had to be quick about this. As much as he thought he had left Nuno behind, he could still be looking for Rase, and the street rat did not like his odds if he had the chance to fight them both at the same time.
Honestly, he was not altogether certain how he would fare against Tielo. He had that grotesque scar, yes, which meant he had been in some serious fights, but he remained alive. The same might be true about the man who had given him that terrible cut, but it might also not be true.
Tielo picked up his pace, and Rase just stood there, a hand on his belt, concealing the dagger he always carried on his person, a weapon he had tricked a blacksmith into making for him.
With a great deal of wonder and awe, Rase found himself completely content, happy even. He felt as light as a feather. Faith somehow flooded his person, and he had faith that he would be the one to emerge victorious.
A man with a terrible belly and a runny nose left the store between Rase and Tielo.
Ras
e called out, “Pa!”
The man glanced at Rase, confused, and Rase grabbed the man’s pouch right in front of him.
The man’s face turned purple, but Rase just threw the pouch at Tielo.
“He made me do it!” Rase screamed.
The man’s ire, that he had been ready to unleash on Rase, shifted to Tielo. With a grunt, he reached out to grab Tielo.
While Tielo dealt with the man, Rase raced around him, going to the left as Tielo always held his blades in his right hand. Rase stabbed Tielo as deep as he could not once or twice but three times, and on the third, he twisted the blade.
Not only did Tielo gurgle. So did the man. They slumped down together to the cobbled stones. Rase hesitated a moment. No one else had noticed the commotion, and since neither man had let out a scream, just grunts, that had helped with the lack of attention.
A puddle of blood was forming beneath them, the red liquid oozing toward one of the man’s coins. It seemed a waste to leave the coins here, and Rase scooped them up, all of them, even the pouch. His hand felt a bit wet, and he realized the pouch had been bloodied, but that was all right. He had other pouches to transfer the coins into, but he might opt to keep more pouches on hand, just in case he ran into issues with more goons in the future.
Nuno Balfager and Mac Beatha. He’ll have to deal with them before he and Leanne could leave. Maybe he should handle the baron as well. Rase wanted to live his future without having to constantly worry about someone wanting to knife him or shove a dagger into his back or slice his throat.
All he had to do was find his sister a husband. Then, he could maybe be happy again because that strange bit of happiness, that surge of faith he had felt had long since disappeared. For whatever reason, it reminded him of Leanne and her fascination with the dragons, but why he could not say or understand.
Still, he had a plan. He had targets. Rase would not be caught unawares, not again, and he would locate the two goons first. As for the baron, well… he would just have to figure something special out for him.
14
Princess Vivian Rivera
The castle. That was Vivian’s only concern. Her sister had to be all right. She just had to be. The Fates would not be so cruel as to limit the number of living Riveras to only one, would they? To think that the youngest might outlive them all… Although she supposed that did make sense, but she was practically beyond reason at this point. She had caused her own mother’s death merely by being born. That could hardly be counted against her, but she had enjoyed her life as a princess very much what seemed like a lifetime ago.
But that had not been her life, not for some time, and to think she had only become a princess in the first place because her father had saw fit to kill the king and the queen.
But not their child. A daughter lived and breathed and was heading to Atlan, might already be there.
Without an army, yes, but the world had descended into chaos such that Vivian hardly understood the world about her. She hardly recognized anything about Dragoona.
When had she stopped enjoying the gowns, the dancing? When had she stopped being envious that she would never sit upon the throne nor wear a queen’s crown upon her head?
After her brother had been murdered.
After the servant Ulric Cooper convinced her to flee the castle.
After she had spent long voyages on ships hidden away to escape capture and when brought to enemy lands, she had blended in and learned their ways of fighting such that she could use it against them.
If anyone would have told thirteen-year-old Vivian that one day, she would prefer to wear trousers and a tunic and wear a sword on her hip rather than a crown, she would have laughed until she had cried and then ordered the person to be banished from her sight.
But it was the truth. Somehow, the Fates had deemed her worthy of the echelon of warrior on top of that of being a princess.
A village came into view. Vivian scowled. Would the castle never come any closer?
A group of persons were moving away from the village, their backs to Vivian. They had no cart with them, no horses, and their manner was slow and strange. They were backing away from the village, not glancing behind to see if they might hit into anything.
What was it that had them backing up like so? Clearly, something had alarmed them.
Or frightened them.
Vivian lifted off the horse’s back so that she could see over the person’s heads, and that was when she saw it, the wraith going after the group. A man, a woman, two children whose clothes were so muddy and threadbare she couldn’t tell if they were girls, boys, or one of each.
A family. Why would a wraith be going after a family?
Vivian altered her horse’s direction ever so slightly. She headed straight for the wraith, the family falling over themselves in their haste to get out of the way. If she could, she would ride right through the wraith, but without warning, the entity was gone, vanished. It was as if it had never been there.
Vivian slowed down her horse and had it ease back and forth in front of the family, not wanting the horse to stop entirely.
She eyed them, noticing their terror. Even the father had a tear-stained face.
“You need to return to your house at once,” Vivian said. She stared at the father in particular. “You all also need to make better choices in the future.”
Interestingly enough, it was the mother’s face who turned white hearing Vivian’s proclamation.
“We, ah, we will,” the woman said, her voice a bit rough. Perhaps she had been scream. They all might’ve been, but Vivian hadn’t been able to hear anything of the sort with the horse’s pounding hooves.
“Turn toward the light,” Vivian said, essentially doing the wraith’s job for it.
Wraiths were minions of the dragons. They had been traveling down dark and terrible roads that would have ended with them plunged off a cliff and straight into a dragon’s fiery blast or else inside his belly. A visit from a wraith meant that the recipient would face that fate themselves if they would not see the error in their ways and change accordingly.
The wraiths had been such men or women—almost evil enough to be killed but not just yet. The dragons had seen them and given them the choice—become a wraith or die now.
The wraiths had returned before the dragons had, and it was clear enough to Vivian that these wraiths were not the wraiths of old. Might the wraiths have attacked the woman? Vivian had no way to know.
“If you do not,” Vivian added, her gaze firmly fixed on the mother who was looking paler and paler with every passing second, “that wraith will return for you, and I won’t be there to stop it, and you do not wish to know what it would do to you.”
The father was crying, ushering his children ahead back into the town. The mother appeared as if she wished to say something to Vivian, but Vivian just shook her head. She didn’t have time to hold the woman’s hand and guide her back to the light. The woman would either be able to do so because of the warning and for the sake of her family or else she wouldn’t be able to. Either way, the matter was in her hands. She had the knowledge, more knowledge than Vivian had, so the woman could fix everything as best as she could.
That was precisely what Vivian sought to do—to fix everything as best as she could, only she feared she would be able to fix precisely nothing at all.
15
Sir Edmund Hill
The battle rages on all around Edmund, still sitting on the back of a dragon. If one could call it a battle considering the knights had no means to truly fight the dragons, and the dragons were toying with the knights. One dragon in particular was tormenting some of the knights, baiting them into launching arrows and then incinerating each one. Ashes fell to the ground beneath him.
Could they… Were the dragons amused? Did they thrive on this chaos, on this madness? All of the death…
The Fates of Death and Chaos must be in their glory right now, and the thought only filled Edmund with more dread.<
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There must be a way to end this! If only he knew how.
The dragon he was riding had stopped the moment he had jumped onto its back, and the dragon still hovered in place yet. Was the dragon waiting for something? Would one of the other dragons come along and pluck Edmund off the back? Toss him to the ground? Throw him into the air and gulp him down in a single swallow? Launch him into the air and use him for flame-blasting practice?
Whatever Edmund was going to do, he had to do it quickly, and he needed to do it now versus later.
He eyed the potion. Almost all of Tatum’s potions had been to aid and assist a person, to enhance them. It stood to reason that he should be the one to drink this potion as well.
Before he could unstopper the potion, however, the dragon decided to move. It flew around in a blazing burst of speed, and Edmund had no choice but to reattach the spear to his back so he could have one hand on the beast, clinging to the dragon’s backside.
The dragon let out a monstrous bellow and zoomed over to the one dragon who had been burning the arrows. Maybe the beast sought to have Edmund punctured by one of his own allies’ arrows, which suggested a level of cunningness that Edmund hoped the dragons did not possess.
But honestly, Edmund wasn’t going to hold out for hope. Hope hadn’t been what had helped him throughout his training and the bullying. It hadn’t been hope that allowed him to rise up from being the son of shoemakers to have earned his shield and become a knight for Tenoch Proper.
No. Through it all, the driving force behind everything Edmund ever did was love.
Love of the ideals all knights stood for.
Love of the recognition that the title brought.
Love that he would be able to help all those who needed it the most.
Love of his duties, his vows, his ethics.
Love of Tenoch and the desire to protect her people.