by N M Zoltack
Or laugh.
Or be happy.
As she walked, Tatum could swear that her heart felt heavier and heavier. Her entire being felt heavier and heavier, as if the child growing within her—her child and Dudley’s—had turned somehow into a boulder. She felt that dull ache in her chest again, but now she recognized it as hatred. Tatum hated herself for having given Edmund a potion that might hurt him, kill him, and she had done nothing to help the other knights. Maybe if she had studied and learn how to make some potions that were offensive rather than protective or self-enhancing measures…
But, no. In her attempt to avoid the curse as much as possible, Tatum had endeavored to use her knowledge and skills to help only, to never kill.
Yet her endurance potions had helped the knights to fight and kill their enemies. It seemed she could never get away from the darker nature of alchemy, and surely, the curse was upon her. She should turn around and not head for the castle. She should leave, abandon all potions and everything it entailed, and pray to the Fates that they forgive her for her hubris for thinking she alone could be spared from the curse.
Beyond the ruined marketplace, Tatum began to pick up pace even though she wished to stop walking, to crawl, or better yet to turn around. What sight would she see once she reached the castle?
Tears prickled her eyes, and then she heard faint whispers, the tone anxious and urgent.
At once, she crossed over, and she discovered a small cottage. By the door was a man lay prone. Blood pooled beneath his head, and a young girl and a boy were both whispering to one another as tears ran down their face.
A woman burst out of the cottage. “Jemmie, ye must go and git—”
“Ma, there’s no—” the boy started.
“Go and git—”
“He’s dead!” the girl cried.
Tatum reached her hand in her pockets. In all of her dresses she had sown the deepest pockets she could so she could carry vials of potions and containers for herbs or other ingredients should she come across some wherever she went.
But before her eyes, the woman shook her head, kneeled down, and lifted her husband’s head. “Killian, no, ye aren’t allowed to leave me.”
She lifted her head and fixed her gaze on the girl. “Go and fetch a knife.”
“But—”
“Now, Corinna, do as I say!”
The girl stumbled away, and Tatum continued her approach, but the others paid her no heed. The man had not died yet. Ever so slightly, his chest rose and fell, but that would not last for much longer.
She should stop dawdling, but something was happening. Her hair stood on end, and she felt an unnatural chill race down her spine.
The daughter returned, and the woman cut away the hair by the wound. The cut was jagged, nasty, deep. How had he been injured? Tatum looked about, but it wasn’t until she turned her gaze upward that she spied the likely culprit. The roof had a small hole in it, and she wondered if he had been trying to fix it and had fallen on his head.
“Ye are not leavin’ me, ya big oaf,” the woman said. “Ye are not!”
Her hands shone a bright, iridescent white that shifted toward the wound. Before their eyes, the wound began to heal. Even more so, the hair she had just cut began to regrow again to match the mop of hair upon his head. Once she pulled her hands away, the shine disappeared as if it had never been.
Tatum gaped at the quartet. The man sucked in a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Wha… Agatha, my dear, is dinner done?”
“It’s probably burnt and disgustin’, but ye won’t complain none, ye hear?” She grinned and hugged him tight. “Ye are not leavin’ me.”
“’Course not,” the man said, clearly baffled. “But, ah, the roof—”
“We can save up and have someone else tend to it.”
“But I can save—”
“But nothin’,” she said, and she helped him to his feet. She ushered the children inside and then her husband, and that was when she spied Tatum.
The woman glanced at the open door to her cottage and then hurriedly crossed over to Tatum.
“I don’t know what ye think ye saw, but…”
“You used magic,” Tatum breathed.
“There’s no such thing as magic,” the woman scoffed.
“How long—”
“Nothing.”
“How long?” Tatum insisted.
“I don’t know anythin’—”
“Do you know who I am?” Tatum asked.
“Nay,” the woman said flatly.
“I’m the alchemist.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed and then widened. “Ye are the…”
“I don’t know magic, but I know potions. I was…” Tatum went to hand over a healing potion.
“He’s fine, unless… Do you think…” The woman glanced back at the house. “My family is all I have. I cannot… I can’t lose ‘im.”
“Here.” Tatum handed her the potion.
“But hopefully, he won’t need this,” the woman protested.
“Then you can pass it on to someone else.”
“But maybe… I might…”
“How did you do it?” Tatum pressed. For the first time since Dudley had been killed, she felt a spark of wonder, of awe. That quest and thirst for knowledge she had always suffered from, a cruel infliction, had returned with a vengeance.
“I don’t know. I… I…” The woman stared at her normal-looking hands. “I just did not want him to leave. I willed him to not leave. I could not… He could not die. He couldn’t leave me. I wouldn’t let him.”
“And he won’t,” Tatum said, stunned.
The woman nodded then lifted the potion and nodded again, this time in thanks, and she entered her cottage and shut the door behind her.
To heal a family member without a potion… If only Tatum had that most special gift! That woman must be special indeed for the Fates to have blessed her with such a great and wondrous gift.
Had anyone else this power? What had caused it? What else could the magic users accomplish? Could they all do the same? Tatum’s mind raced, and soon, so did her legs. She must head to the castle, and as much as she wished that magical healer would come with her to help the knights, Tatum would not dare. She wished the thought hadn’t even occurred to her because that woman needed to be with her family right now. She had saved her husband, and so she deserved to be with him, to enjoy him and their time.
But Tatum had not save Dudley. There hadn’t been time, but even so, she hadn’t even brought a potion to his lips. On the slim chance it would have helped… but no. She had merely stood there, too shocked by everything.
So many had been saved because of her potions and yet she hadn’t been willing to potentially waste one on the possibility, however unlikely, that she might be able to save Dudley.
Death had come for Dudley in the blink of a blade in the wink of an eue, and she must live the rest of her days disheartened by the knowledge that she had not reacted fast enough to save him.
If she had only not fought that man…
If she had tried to use the potion…
If she had loved her husband enough to do whatever he asked of her…
But she had failed as a wife, failed as an alchemist.
She would not fail Tenoch, too, and she ran as she had never run before to the castle.
21
The One True Queen Rosalynne Rivera
No matter how many times Rosalynne blinked her eyes, she could not stop seeing the light before her. The dragon had somehow exploded into light before the creature just vanished from sight. There had been no remains, just the light that then shattered and flew every which way.
Had the light hit any people? Any animals? The land? What happened there? Had the light been hot enough to cause any ground areas to be scorched? Had fires started? What about any harm to animals and persons?
The sight of the dead knights outside the courtyard plagued her greatly. Among them was Eldric Synder.
She had assigned the guard to spy on Greta once upon a time, but he had asked of her to be allowed to join the others in battle shortly after the woman’s execution. Rosalynne had granted his request, but now, how she hated her past self for doing so.
She stood in a little used room that as of late she had taken to come to when she wished to be alone. Precious few knew she used this room, so when the door opened, she knew that the person coming was one of the limited persons she trusted.
The queen did not turn to see who it was. Once he stood beside her, then she saw that the visitor was none other than Wilfrid Frye. Without a word or any ceremony, he handed her a list.
Rosalynne scanned it over, although the light in her vision prevented her from seeing the letters and lines clearly. “Is this the names of all of the deceased?”
“As much as we can identify,” he murmured.
She glanced at him, her eyebrows raised.
“There are some whose bodies…” He shook his head, tremendous sadness in his blue eyes.
The bodies had been charred beyond recognition.
Rosalynne handed him the list back. “Please reach out to the family members of the deceased. Invite them to see me tomorrow morning at sunrise so that they may reclaim the bodies at that time. If they have not arrived by noon, we will tend to the burials ourselves.”
“Very well, My Queen.” Wilfrid bowed, but the guard did not leave to do her bidding.
“What else is there?” she asked, grateful her tone did not sound as weary as she felt.
“A scout has returned.”
“And he brings ill tidings, does he not?”
“That he does,” the guard admitted.
“Do you know of the report then?”
Wilfrid hesitated, but his expression gave it away. “I… I thought that it might be best if… the news come from me.”
“It is that terrible then?” Alarm seized her, and she gripped her hands so she did not grab the guard’s surcoat and shake the man. “Vivian? Is she—”
“I do believe she has returned. Unharmed,” Wilfrid added in a rush.
“Thank the Fates. What is this ill news then?”
“There have been entire villages destroyed.”
“By the dragons?”
“Yes.”
“How many? Before or after—”
“Before and after. Grelles, Borcourt, Poillon, and Crowdale.”
Rosalynne consulted a mental image of the map of Tenoch. Those cities were spread out in every corner of Tenoch. The dragons seemed eager to prove their might, to destroy wherever and whenever they wished.
“You said the entire villages were destroyed… Did any of the people escape?” she asked, not daring to hope that to be the case.
The guard shook his head. “The scout himself witnessed the attack on Crowdale. Some of the villagers attempted to flee, but the dragons…”
“Hunted them down?”
This time, the guard nodded.
“Very well.” Rosalynne’s mind raced. “Wilfrid, if I might ask a favor of you—”
“Order me to do anything you like.”
Rosalynne allowed herself a small smile. “I wish to ask you to locate the knight responsible for slaying the dragon. Will you bring him here?”
“Of course, My Queen, but if I may… would you rather speak to your sister first?”
“She should eat and recover from her trek first,” Rosalynne murmured.
“It is my understanding that she has been looking for you.”
Rosalynne closed her eyes. Vivian. What had happened to the young lady who would pout and stomp her foot if her gown did not fit her perfectly? If her hair was not done just right? Vivian had been a princess through and through, spoiled, yes, but there were times when Rosalynne did not know who her sister had become. Her sister had survived so very much, and honestly, Rosalynne did not think she would have been alive if she had to face all Vivian had.
Vivian was a lady still, deep inside, but she had turned into a warrior, and Rosalynne needed to accept that.
“If you find her first,” Rosalynne said, “you can direct her here, but do find out if she has eaten. If not, would you please bring her food and drink here?”
“I will send enough for you both, My Queen.”
She opened her mouth to protest and then realized she could not recall when she had last eaten, and her mouth was rather dry.
The queen nodded, and Wilfred left to do as she bid, and Rosalynne felt utterly alone.
And utterly powerless.
What precisely could she do to save her people? Tenoch was falling apart, burning down to the ground. Yes, they had killed one dragon, but two more still flew, and the Vincanans…
Without an alliance, even a temporary one, there would never be peace again on Tenoch soil nor anywhere else. Dragoona will fall to the dragons.
And perhaps it should.
22
Rase Ainsley
The street rat doubled back the way he had come. The quicker he located Nuno Balfager, the quicker he could kill him, and it would make the world slightly safer for himself and Leanne.
Rase raced through the streets, the stones kicking up before him as he ran, and he slowed only as he approached the tavern he had burst through when Nuno had chased him.
“I knew you would be back,” a deep voice said. A crackle of laughter sounded as Rase whirled around to see Nuno balance a dagger on the tip of his finger. The goon moved his hand slowly, the dagger staying balanced. The demonstration of control over a deadly weapon churned Rase’s stomach, but he had killed before, and he would not hesitate to do it again.
Still, Rase did not need to advertise that fact. He grinned at the goon, doing his best to appear unaffected by anything at all.
“Hello, Nuno. You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”
“Nah, it’s you who don’t know when to stop. You’re dead meat, boy.”
“Naw, I think you’re the one who’ll be dead. Just ask your buddy Tielo. Wait. You can’t, seeing as he’s dead.”
Between Nuno’s grimace and his flashing eyes, the goon was clearly furious, which suited Rase just fine. The more unnerved and angry and emotional the opponent, the better the chances they’ll make a mistake in their rush to kill him. Rase had to admit he was getting pretty good at killing.
But once he and Leanne moved away, no more. He wouldn’t even steal again. He was older, taller. He could find a job somewhere. Not at a tavern, though. He’d spent too much time there, and he should probably stop thinking about this and that and focus on the battle.
Because Nuno was readying to fight. He’d shifted his stance, and he flipped up the dagger and plucked it out of the air with ease, his gaze never shifting away from Rase.
“It’s just as well you killed Tielo,” Nuno remarked. “The baron can pay me the ransom for your head. He wants you dead, boy, and I intend to deliver you to him in pieces.”
Nuno chucked the dagger at Rase, and the street rat darted out of the way and started to make a wide circle around so that he could try to get nearer to the goon without endangering himself, but then something strange happened.
Nuno’s grimace deeper, but that wasn’t what alarmed Rase. He hadn’t drawn out another weapon, so maybe he didn’t have one, but his eyes were narrowed, and the goons’ hands were glowing a dark gray color. The goon’s eyes widened, as if he didn’t know what was happening either.
Just what was going on?
A whooshing sound was the only indication Rase had that something was wrong. He ducked down and rolled, and the dagger Nuno had thrown at Rase came streaking through the air straight for Nuno.
But the blade did not plunge itself into Nuno.
No. Nuno shifted his hands.
And the dagger shifted too.
Heading once more for Rase.
What devilry was this?
Rase brought up his own weapon and tried to knock the magical dagger aside, but that dagger just kept trying to
push through his weapon, trying to get to him.
Before his eyes, Rase could see what would happen. The dagger would find a way to pierce through him, to kill him. Leanne would wait for days and days for Rase to return. She would eventually leave the house to look for him. The others would find her, maybe kill her, and the Ainsleys would be no more.
That wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. No, Rase would not die here and now!
The street rat continued to struggle against the magical dagger as he glanced around. There was a large rock near his foot, and he shifted backward, slowly lowering as if the dagger was working its way toward him. Swiftly, he grabbed the rock and threw it toward Nuno.
The rock didn’t hit Nuno, but it did distract him, and the dagger wavered a bit.
It was all the time Rase needed. He raced toward Nuno, who had since recovered. His hands glowed once more, and the dagger was chasing Rase, but Rase shifted around the goon, grabbing him, and he shoved Nuno forward, into the magical dagger.
Instantly, the goon’s hands winked out, the light going away, but Nuno wasn’t dead. With trembling hands, he yanked out the dagger, but Rase stabbed the man in the back several times, until Nuno fell down.
Two down. Two to go.
23
Sir Edmund Hill
Honestly, Edmund wanted to collapse. After killing the dragon, he had done just that. He had crumbled to the ground, and he wasn’t entirely certain what happened next. People spoke to him about the dazzling light that shot up to the sky, but he had seen none of it. The light had gone every which way apparently, but what that had been all about, Edmund had no idea, and it seemed that everyone else shared his confusion.
Once he woke, Simba Pretorius, another knight, helped him to his feet and had to drag him to the mess hall. None of the scullery maids were in the kitchens, but the cooks were, and they were trying to cook for the knights as quickly as they could.
For a time, so many people came up to talk to Edmund. It seemed everyone knew what he had done, but he could barely hold up his head. When he was given soup, he could not even get his fingers to cooperate to hold the spoon.