by N M Zoltack
“I will send in Colette, but I do not know if Aldus is busy or if he will see you.”
“Thank you for trying,” she murmured.
Thorley nodded and left the room. Sabine was smirking as Colette entered. Her maid had helped her get dressed every morning and before bed at night, but Colette had no tongue on her, saying not a word ever.
Colette was still fussing with Sabine’s hair when the door opened. To her delight, Aldus and only Aldus entered, and Sabine practically shoved the maid out the door.
Aldus’ gaze wandered over her body. “You wished to…” He licked his lips. “…see me?”
“Yes,” she murmured, and she seized his hands. “The queen has imprisoned me here in this room, and I do not mind, truly. You know why I am here?”
“Between yourself and myself, the king died.”
Sabine went to withdraw her hands, but Aldus tightened his hold on her. “What do you mean?’ she murmured.
“You gave him poison, but I encouraged his grief and his handling of said grief by prompting him to eat and eat and eat some more. He choked, but had he not been so obese, might he have lived? Had the choking nothing at all to do with the poison? Had his girth made it so that the poison was not nearly potent enough to have an effect on his body? Who can say? Not you. Not me.”
“Not Rosalynne,” Sabine murmured.
“That is not the only reason why you are here, though,” Aldus said. “You wish to be an alchemist. I trust you know the inherent risks of such an undertaking?”
“I am not a fool,” she said.
“I meant no disrespect.”
“I am certain you did not,” she murmured dryly.
My, had she missed their witting remarks, their cutting tones. The rest of it… that she could have or not, but the companionship, that she had longed for during her isolation and solitude. When she was swept up in her research and studies, the loneliness was kept at bay, but there were times, like now, when she needed to speak with another, a true person instead of that guard who served as Rosalynne’s eyes and ears.
At least her remarks concerning Aldus had not gone unnoticed by the guard, and perhaps that might even suggest that Thorley was not right up against the door listening.
“I assume you need something that only I can provide?” he asked.
“I do not have any need for a stick,” she whispered in his ear, “but I do need a… If we had a prisoner, I would be willing to test my potion on him… or her…”
“You need a volunteer for your potion.”
“Yes.”
“And what will your potion do if the purpose is true to that which you seek?”
“The person will be dead.”
“Ah.” Aldus stroked his clean-shaven chin and nodded several times. “I can see to this.”
“You can?”
He placed his hand upon her cheek. “I can, and I will. I will do anything for you.”
Sabine smiled at him then even as she knew she could not trust this man. She never had. He was simply a pawn, a man to be used, yet she knew the inherent risk in asking this man for help.
He would help but only as much as he thought she could help him. He used others as much as she did.
In another lifetime, perhaps the two of them could have been quite happy together, but Sabine knew that could not be the case, not now, not ever.
Sabine did not know how Aldus did it, but within the hour, one of the almost dead wounded knights had been brought to her room. Even better, Thorley was still not inside.
The knight had black trousers on but no shirt. His muscles were tight, and he did his best not to grimace. Bandages covered his chest, red staining the white, and his pallor was a bit gray, his breathing raspy and shallow.
“My… My Queen,” he breathed, and Sabine smiled at him. Perhaps those in the healing wing had not yet heard the news of her fall from power.
“You do not need to talk,” she said to him.
Aldus had helped the man into her room by himself and had placed the knight on the floor. Sabine had wanted to argue that he should be on her bed, but if the potion worked, there would then be a dead body in her bed, and she did not think she could handle sleeping in that bed ever again. Aldus hadn’t given her time to lay down a blanket to make it more comfortable for the knight, and she tugged the top blanket from her bed.
“Here, rest on this,” she urged, laying it out next to where he was.
The knight, bless him, tried to comply. Even more red stained the bandage, the scent of fresh blood filling the room.
He gave up his efforts, too weak to accommodate her request.
“How did you become injured?” she asked, seeking to keep his mind at ease as she eyed the various vials. Each was a different version of Frozen Kiss as she was not certain which would do as she wished. The one with the vemon acrithe? The ground ossulet or the entire stick of the ossulet? The golden mace shavings were a potent ingredient and one hard to come by, so she rather hoped that one wasn’t necessary…
“Castle Conquest. A dragon went to grab one of my brothers, but I stabbed the dragon right in the eye. He slashed my back terribly, and I… I can barely feel my legs. I don’t understand it. My back was injured….”
“Your chest, though,” she murmured, turning away from her table, none of the vials in her hands.
“One of the other dragons plucked me up, and his claws dug deep. I could feel it strike bone. I… The healers can’t do much for me. The bleeding won’t stop…”
Sabine hung her head and closed her eyes. This man had fought so very hard. Did he mean a true brother, one of his blood? Or had he meant a fellow knight? She had a feeling he referred to all knights as his brothers.
“You are… You make a beautiful queen,” the knight breathed. “Your hair… It reminds me of my wife’s… Hers isn’t so long, but it’s the same… color…”
Sabine opened her eyes and smiled warmly at him. “Why, thank you. Your wife is very lucky indeed to have married such a strong and noble knight.”
In a rush, Sabine consulted her notes. As quickly as she could, she ground ingredients and mixed together the ones necessary for a healing potion, but when it was nearly ready, she realized he had not said anything for a bit of time.
Even worse, she could not hear his labored breathing.
Sabine’s blood turned cold as she rushed over to his side. She placed a hand on his chest, not caring that her palm touched against the wet, bloody portion of the bandage, only that her hand did not move. His chest did not rise and expand and lower. The knight no longer breathed.
He had died.
And while she had wished for someone, anyone to test her potion on, Sabine was not bloodthirsty enough in her quest for vengeance against those who sought to turn Tenoch Proper into Vincana Proper to test a potion on one of her own.
If the war continued on for long enough, however, would she become that ruthless? Was this the curse of the female alchemists trying to corrupt her already? Would the curse be worthwhile if she could only perfect this potion so that her enemies could be killed and herself protected?
48
Olympia Li
The closer Olympia neared the castle, the more her heart began to pound. With fear? With anticipation? With hope? She could not say, but she kept her hood over her face, and she ignored the guards as much as possible, walking with purpose so that they would hopefully think her a maid on her way to serve her master.
And a maid was what she hoped to be. Being employed within the castle would give her the opportunity to see many of the persons inside, including, if the Fates were kind, her brother. He had to look like her, yes? Dark hair and eyes, her age almost exactly… Although the wonder that he had been raised as a Vincana would not leave her alone.
As had been her recourse for days and nights now, she prayed to the Fate of Peace. Please, guide my feet to bring me closer to him. Guide my eyes that I might see him. Awaken my soul to him, and control my tongue so that I
might say what I need to so he could learn who he truly is if he does not already know. Allow him to accept his heritage.
She did not pray for them to reclaim their parents’ thrones. For now, she would be happy merely to see her brother, to know that her twin lived. Would she know if he did not? Not all babies survived past infancy…
Thankfully, the guards were not looking over those entering the castle very closely as some still sought refuge within the castle walls despite the attack by the dragons. What if her brother had fought in that battle and had fallen? What if that battle had caused him to decide to flee as those women had?
Olympia followed the crowds of people toward the keep and noticed a smaller door that those dressed rather plainly used. She slipped away to that door and was greeted by a thin hallway and also a narrow stairwell that went both up and down. Servant stairs perhaps?
The kitchen would be beneath the Great Hall, Olympia supposed, so she hurried down the stairs. Although she had left behind her clothes when she had swiped the plain gray dress from one of the serving girls at the tavern, Olympia still felt a bit guilty about the theft. Her cloak was black, and she wrapped it around her tight as she descended the stairs, trying to almost hide herself away.
The hallway gave away into a huge room with many fires going, several pots about, young girls rushing about to cook up vegetables. The scene was organized chaos, and Olympia watched in wonder until someone moved to step in front of her.
“And who might you be?”
Olympia tilted her head up just enough to see the man’s gruff face. Clean-shave, red cheeks, pale, thin lips curled ever so slightly into a scowl.
His fingers, firm and gripping, shoved her chin up enough that her hood fell back. Immediately, she felt vulnerable, and she had to suppress the urge to grab the hood and conceal herself as much as possible again.
“I… I’m here to inquire about a… I want to be a scullery maid.”
“You? You look like the mice running about will eat you alive. You haven’t the stomach to work in a kitchen of this size for people as important as the queen.”
“I can do it,” Olympia challenged, her eyes flashing. How dare he accuse her of incompetence!
He grunted. “Out.”
Olympia gaped at him.
“Out!” he roared, pointing to the hall, banishing her from what she assumed was his kitchen.
She lowered her head and started to leave but hesitated when he turned his back to her and began to bark orders to Aalis that she was chopping the vegetables too small.
A scullery maid slipped over to Olympia. “I’m Isabeau,” she murmured. “If you want to work here, you’ll need a reference. Eudes Pascal won’t allow just anyone to work here.”
“A reference,” Olympia said under her breath. “I see.”
“Come back with one,” another maid whispered. “He’ll hire you, I’m sure.”
“Come on, Melisende,” Isabeau urged, and the two carried over a vast pot of what looked like a crème sauce or perhaps melted cheese.
The scents from the kitchen were heavenly, but Olympia did not dare to grab anything on her way out. She would procure herself a reference even if she had to write it herself.
If her brother was in the castle, she would risk everything to find him. Family came first. It was even more important than the crown, than the throne, than anything at all.
Olympia was tired of being alone.
49
Prince Marcellus Gallus
The Prince of Vincana had to give the Princess of Tenoch a lot of credit. That she had come herself to see him had been a huge risk, even though she had not realized the king had been there.
“Did my man come and see you?” he asked urgently. “Paulus Falto. Despite being pigeon-toed, he’s a swift runner, but when I heard about the dragons attacking the castle right about when he should have arrived, I feared the worst.”
“No, no one came to see me. I do not know what happened to your man. If you give me his description, height, eye and hair color, and I can see if it matches any who died. I hope he merely was detained somehow on his way to the castle, saw the attack, and opted to turn aside.”
“He should have returned to me, then, though,” Marcellus murmured.
“Not if he hunkered down somewhere to wait until the aftermath of the battle calmed down some. He might not wish to return to you until he delivered your message.” She eyed him. “And just what would your message have been?”
Marcellus grinned broadly. “I do not think I will tell you.”
“No? Why not?”
“It isn’t important anymore.”
“Can I be the judge of that?”
“No,” he murmured.
She shook her head, rolling her eyes, her dark blue eyes shining. “You are infuriating, you do know that, don’t you?”
“And you are bewildering.”
Vivian tilted her head to the side. “Why do you say that?”
“I never would have thought…”
“What? That someone from…” She lowered her voice. “Tenoch… could fight on par with you and yours?”
“We’ve taught you everything you know, but we have been training for far many more years than you have.”
“Maybe you haven’t taught me everything,” she said coolly.
“The knights of Tenoch have been willing to give you some lessons?”
“Mayhap,” she said cagily. “Why would that surprise you?”
“They do not train women.”
“Mayhap they would if she had fought alongside them in battle, and again, mayhap if their princess demanded it…” She shrugged one shoulder and held up a hand. “But that is all supposition.”
“I see.” He smiled at his… What was she to him? If he were engaged to her sister… But he did not think of her that way. He could not help feeling a bit of wonder about her. She was naïve, yes, but also brave and loyal, fierce too, all traits he admired.
The flap to his tent fluttered, a sign someone was approaching, and Marcellus moved away from Vivian just before Flavius burst inside.
The commander glanced between the two of them, clearly surprised to see them alone in the prince’s tent.
“We have food prepared,” Flavius murmured. He eyed Vivian, and Marcellus did not like that look, so he stepped between them.
“Let us go eat then,” Marcellus said firmly. He gestured for the commander to lead the way and then murmured in Vivian’s ears, so close his lips nearly touched her, “You might wish to go sooner rather than later. A meal and then you’re off.”
“You do not give me orders,” she murmured back. “I did not like the way he eyed me.”
“He loves another,” Marcellus assured her.
“Oh, no. I…” Flustered, Vivian shook her head and exited the tent next.
Marcellus shrugged and trailed behind them both. Most of the Vincanans were eating. Meatless stew. Marcellus grimaced. If they were to battle in a few days’ time, then they needed heartier sustenance.
Vivian did not complain, and some of the others recognized her as Cateline Locke. She spoke with them, fitting in seamlessly, and Marcellus found himself watching her. She had the grace of a princess, yes, but he could see even in her movements her quiet strength.
“I know I’ve seen her,” Flavius murmured.
“Probably when she was training,” Marcellus said.
“No. No, I saw her recently,” Flavius said, his voice growing louder.
Those nearby turned to look at him. Vivian and those surrounding her were too far away to notice.
“Perhaps you did,” Marcellus said. “Did you hear if the Valkyries attacked the castle with the dragons?”
But Flavius would not be so easily distracted. “I know where I saw her. She was on the battlefield when the dragons returned, only she wore Tenoch colors then!”
Vivian looked over then, and she calmly laughed. Laughed! She really was a marvel.
A marvel who was going to
get herself killed.
“Of course I was wearing Tenoch colors,” Vivian said. “I was a spy—”
“A spy would not fight against her own people,” the king boomed, moving to stand on Flavius’ left.
“Ask your man if he witnessed me fell a Valkyrie,” Vivian said smugly, lifting her chin.
Marcellus nearly grinned. She had not fought against the Valkyries. He had made note of that during the battle when the two of them had fought. She was relying on the truth to save her, but would it be enough?
“What exactly are you accusing me of?” Vivian asked, taking a few steps toward Flavius. “If you mean to claim that I’m not who I say I am, then who exactly am I? I have never been trained on Tenoch soil. We all know Tenoch does not have female warriors because they are rather backward and ignorant in their thinking. They—”
The king had evidently heard enough because he threw a dagger directly at her heart.
The blade hardly spiraled through the air, and Vivian just stood there, watching it, only reacting at the last second to use her own dagger to knock his to the ground.
Antonius Gallus stepped forward and uttered, “There will be a battle to the death between you and my son after we bring down Atlan Castle, spy.”
Vivian Rivera grinned at the king, her blue eyes so dark they almost appeared black. “I don’t understand why you would want your son to die. Afraid he’s going to rise up against you?”
A gasp rose among the people, and most likely none were shocked that the king went to smack Vivian, but she moved too quickly, falling down to the ground as if he had slapped her even though he never touched her.
“Get this vermin out of my sight!” the king roared, and he stomped away.
Beside Marcellus, Flavius shook his head. “Who is she that she had been trained… She’s right. Tenoch does not… Cateline Locke… She came to our land… How long was she a spy within our lands? How could she have done this?”
Marcellus said nothing at all, his nostrils flaring at those who had just laughed and talked excitedly with Vivian turned against her and dragged her away even though Vivian went willingly enough.