by N M Zoltack
“Do not ‘My Queen’ me,” she snapped. “I asked you a question. I demand that you answer it.”
He nodded. “Forgive me,” he murmured.
“If you would answer,” she said through gritted teeth, “perhaps I would.”
“Under my suggestion, there is to be a week-long ball and other parties starting in three weeks’ time.”
“A week’s worth of celebration and so soon after the prince has died,” she repeated in soft yet cold voice. “I can clearly see Sabine wanting such a thing, but why would you suggest such a thing?”
“I fear that I made an err in judgment by having you not invite the Vincanans to the tournament.”
“We are to have another tournament with all of Tenoch Proper within a year,” she protested. “Again, at your counsel.”
“Yes, but no. In two and a half months.”
“Two and a half…” Rosalynne ground her teeth. “And you felt the need to construe such plans with Sabine and not me. When would I have learned about this?”
“Now. I planned on telling you, only you—”
“I never once prevented you from speaking to me,” she said firmly.
The advisor dared to lift his eyebrows at her.
She flushed with embarrassment. Her interrupting him just now did seem to suggest that she did not allow him to speak as he willed himself to.
“I am trying to do my best by you both,” the advisor said.
“When did you determine to do this? You most likely had to have started the initial preparations before now. Have you already sent a falcon to Vincana?” Rosalynne felt far too dismayed to think clearly. This was far too overwhelming.
“If My Queen wishes for the plans to be halted—”
“And have Tenoch look like a fool?” she snapped. “You have gone and done yourself a great favor for the ruling queen. You have waited until after everything has been arranged for me to learn about this. The question now begs why. If this celebration and the tournament being moved up is for the betterment of the kingdom, why on earth would you think I would not be on board?”
“You have had no time as of yet to mourn,” Aldus said softly. “Forgive me, but I thought that maybe you could lean on Queen Sabine for support. She is the ruling queen after all. You can deal with your grief and when you are ready, you can return to the throne, return to your crown.”
Rosalynne made a show of touching the ruby jewel that was center on her crown. “I have never felt my crown.”
Aldus hung his head. “My brother died when I was about your age. I was so busy with my duties to the crown that I hadn’t the chance to mourn him, no truly, not ever. I did not wish that for you. Between your brother, your father, the baby, even Queen Aldith, you have faced much loss, and that is not even to mention…”
“My missing sister,” she said softly. “Yes, I have lost much and more, but I will not lose the crown too.”
“My Queen, I never meant to imply that you would. Believe me. Your father was king. You deserve the crown far more than Sabine does. She married into the royal family. You have royal blood within your veins.”
Aldus stepped forward and gripped her shoulders.
Rosalynne stared into his eyes. The advisor was young, rather young. His father had fought along hers, when the time came for overtaking the Lis. His father had advised hers until his recent death. Aldus had suffered as much as she had and in recent order and close proximity as well.
“Do not doubt where my loyalties lie,” he said softly. “I may be advising you both, but my goal is not to have one supplant the other.”
“I will one day when I become the queen in every right,” Rosalynne said dryly. She slid back a step, and the advisor’s hands fell from her shoulders.
“You will not be supplanting her. You will merely be claiming your birthright. There is a difference,” he said smoothly.
Rosalynne supposed there was a slight differential there.
“You have a way with words,” she murmured.
“I do have a gifted tongue.” He beamed.
The young queen sighed and nearly shut her eyes to prevent herself from rolling them. “You truly think that the kingdom will embrace a week’s worth of festivities so close to so many deaths? Won’t it appear odd?”
“It will show that we are strong, that we have life within us. We will show Death and all who oppose us that our will to live is strong and unbreakable.”
“It sounds rather like we are courting Chaos,” she muttered.
“Some would say that Chaos is Life,” he challenged.
“You have been spending time with the vicar?” she asked, surprised.
“Some,” he hedged. “The man is knowledgeable indeed.”
“That he is,” Rosalynne murmured.
Could she dare to trust that the vicar would keep his lips unmoving about the Li family? Could she dare to trust the advisor who counseled two queens instead of merely one? Could she dare to trust anyone at all? At moments like this, Rosalynne was not even certain she could trust herself.
“Very well. The ball and the tournament will go as planned,” she said.
Mostly because she had no means to turn back the sands of time on this matter. If she and the advisor and the ruling queen had all discussed this together, most likely, Rosalynne would have opposed the notion out of hand.
“And tomorrow, I will help my people with any issues or address any complaints that they have. See to it,” she said sharply.
Pivoting about, Rosalynne glided out of the room without waiting for a response.
20
Servant Ulric Cooper
It was a long, long trek back home. Thankfully, Ulric had been able to trade his sandals for a worn horse that looked ready to collapse. Otherwise, it would have taken him another fortnight to return.
But, now, he had finally brought himself to Atlan and even to Tenoch castle. The horse, surprisingly, had lasted the entire trek, most likely because Ulric had paid careful attention to the horse. Whenever he had shown signs of weariness, Ulric had stood and walked beside the animal.
Sandals for a horse were hardly a fair trade, especially given that the sandals were a little bloodied from the long hours of walking. Before he found himself in ownership of a horse, he had walked for eighteen hours of the day and only would take two three-hour respites.
The horse’s previous owner had been ready to kill the beast because of lack of need for such an old, worn animal. Ulric had offered to take the horse off his hands, but the farmer had saw his eagerness and demanded something. Despite the blood, his sandals remained his best possession on his person, and thankfully, the farmer accepted them.
Ulric brought the horse to the stable. One of the stable hands spied him and just shook his head. Ulric gulped. It seemed that his going missing hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Dragging his weary legs, Ulric entered the castle. He should try to see if he could speak to Queen Rosalynne immediately, but he couldn’t. Not in this sorry state. He lumbered up the servants’ stairs and collapsed on the blanket that was his.
When Ulric next woke, he did not know how much time had passed. He was rather disoriented. After some time, he had the wherewithal to change his clothes. He even washed up some too. After a quick bite to eat, he would find the queen. He was staggering on his feet, hardly capable of thought, let alone talking.
Down in the kitchen, Ulric was given more suspicious stares, and he thought nothing of it. The chef was furious at him for disappearing and almost did not allow him to have any food. He pushed Ulric in his anger at having been left without wood and nearly having supper ruined for the royals. Ulric promptly fell over, too weak to remain upright. The chef in his haste had only grazed him with the jab, which made Ulric falling that much more pathetic.
Only then had the chef allowed Ulric to eat, and he ate as if his life depended on it. He guzzled down watered-down ale and ate more until the chef tossed him out.
Ulric knew he should seek ou
t the queen, but his full belly demanded that he sleep more, and he caved.
He woke and set out to find the queen. Everywhere he turned, all of the servants and maids glowered at him, looking at him suspiciously. Where was the queen? He must tell her that her sister lived!
A hand clamped firmly down on Ulric’s shoulder. He couldn’t even whirl around to face the person as their grip was that secure and tight.
“What is your name?” a low voice growled in his ear.
“Ulric Cooper,” he said. He glanced over.
The man stood before him. “Ulric Cooper, I, Aldus Perez, arrest you.”
“For what?” Ulric demanded, but already the advisor was tying Ulric’s wrists together.
“You know what you did.” Aldus whipped Ulric around and shoved him in the back, forcing him to march.
Down the stairs, past so many doors, down more stairs, past a hallway and into the throne room.
Gratitude washed over Ulric. Now, he could tell Queen Rosalynne about the sister. Ulric almost wilted with relief.
Only the queen in the room was none other than Ruling Queen Sabine and not Queen Rosalynne. By the Fates, this wasn’t good. Why was he arrested? On what grounds?
Aldus forcefully shoved Ulric forward. The abruptness of the blow resulted in Ulric staggering forward.
“I bring to you, My Queen, Ulric Cooper.”
“And this is?” the queen asked, eyeing Ulric indifferently.
“The one who killed the prince.”
At once, both Ulric and the queen straightened, albeit most certainly for different reasons.
“I did not,” Ulric protested.
“Just as the man who killed the prince would claim.”
“Just as an innocent man would say,” Ulric countered. He was anything but calm, and he struggled to maintain his worry and his fright.
Suddenly, the suspicious glances by the servants and the maids entirely made sense. They thought it highly peculiar that he had left immediately after the prince’s murder.
“Why do you think I did it?” Ulric demanded of the advisor.
“Because your fellow servants turned you in.”
Ulric furrowed his brow and shook his head. “I did not. Whoever said differently is lying!”
“Do you mean to say that you alone are capable of telling the truth?” The queen drummed her long, thin fingers on the edge of the throne’s arms.
“In this instance, yes,” Ulric said through gritted teeth. “No one can speak about my actions save myself.”
“You have been gone from the castle for quite some time, were you not?” Aldus asked.
Ulric gaped at him, shocked. He hadn’t realized that someone so high up had noticed he was missing.
“Why did you bother to return if you killed the prince?” the queen asked. She drew her hands together and placed them under her chin.
“I didn’t return because I killed the prince!” he protested.
“Then why did you?” The queen waved her hand as if growing tired of the proceedings.
“I returned because… I must speak with the queen.”
That was precisely the wrong thing to say. Fluidly, with angry fire dancing in her eyes, the queen stood and stalked toward him.
“You are speaking to the queen,” she said through gritted teeth.
Ulric lowered his head. His mind was reeling. He did not feel comfortable speaking to these two, but how much he be able to convince them to not arrest him?
“I meant no offense,” Ulric said. “Please forgive me.”
“Why did you flee? Where did you go?” the queen demanded as she paced around him.
“I…” He hesitated. He didn’t not know what to say, and he knew that not speaking immediately would only serve their purpose and make them all the more likely to believe him lying. “I—”
“If you will not answer those questions, then answer this. Why have you returned? What would you tell… Rosalynne?” the queen asked with a faint sneer.
“I would tell her that I am terribly sorry for her lose. I had to go away for a time. I was seeking special plants and roots for the chef for a special meal he wished to serve. Unfortunately, I failed.”
Aldus snorted. “A likely story. How convenient that you failed. And what is the name of this plant?”
The queened waved her hand yet again. “Clearly, all we must need do is speak to the chef. He can tell us what has transpired, and then we can talk to this servant and see if they share the same tale. If they do, perhaps the servant is telling the truth after all. If not, then we know he lies, and he is our killer.”
“No, wait,” Ulric cried, but it was too late. The queen had dismissed him, and Aldus was already forcing him out of the throne room.
He shouldn’t have lied, but he could not tell them the truth. Both had seemed so eager and even anxious to pin the murder on him that he had to wonder if either of them were involved. Perhaps one of them had killed the prince.
Ulric knew a fair amount of the plants and roots used in the kitchen because he often overheard the chef dictate to have this one chopped or that one washed. However, had had no notion as to which the chef might say.
Then again, he could clearly see the advisor and the queen lying about speaking to him just so the guilt would rest on his shoulders.
It took all of five minutes for Aldus to march Ulric all the way down, down, down to the dark hallway that lead to the dungeon. Aldus shoved Ulric into a cell and locked the door, whistling as he retreated.
Ulric gradually sat down and rested his head against the stone walls, eyes closed. His fellow servants had turned him in. They truly thought him guilty. Why else had they looked upon him that way? How could they even dare to contemplate such a thing? Perhaps he had done to well of a job hiding his friendship with the prince.
Ever since Noll had witnessed Ulric training with a sword, the prince had asked for Ulric to train him. The two had grown rather close. To think that Ulric would ever considering harming him was just plain foolish.
The longer Ulric was there, the more he contemplated what he might have said to prevent his imprisonment, but he could not have told them about Vivian. That much was clear. No other excuse had come to mind then, and none did now.
One day, he would have to be brought before Queen Rosalynne. They would not just go forth and execute him. Then, he would have his chance to tell his side of the story but only then and only to her. Ulric hadn’t risked everything by smuggling Vivian out of the castle to keep her alive for nothing. He would keep her safe even if that required his life be stripped from him.
21
Rase Ainsley
Three months had passed, and Rase was thrilled. He couldn’t count his ribs anymore. They still weren’t eating as much as they should, but Pa was bringing home food fairly consistently. He would leave early in the morning and brought home the food shortly before the sunset.
In those same three months, no letter came from Maxene. Rase hadn’t thought one would come. Maxene would have to ask someone to write the letter for her. Rase, Leanne, Maxene… none of them knew how to read or write. It wasn’t as if a servant at a noble household would know how to write either. At least, Rase didn’t think a servant would know. That meant Maxene would have to ask Lord Radcliff for assistance, and Rase knew that wouldn’t happen. Maxene wouldn’t ask anything of him. She wanted to look her best before him.
Yes, Rase was quite sure that Maxene had fallen in love with the lord. That was all the more reason why Maxene wouldn’t want the lord to write a letter to a peasant. She would want to pretend she was a noble too and potentially worthy of someone like the lord.
Rase was willing to bet that it never even crossed Maxene’s mind to send a runner with a verbal message. That was how most, if not all, of the peasants sent messages. Well, if they didn’t bother to travel the distance to send the message in person. Rase usually was the runner in the family. It wasn’t often that his parents needed a message sent to anyone.
For the most part, the Ainsleys kept to themselves. All of them had lost friends over the years.
That night, Rase’s Pa brought home his largest haul yet—enough meat and vegetables that they could make a stew that would last for a week if not longer.
While Ma and Leanne were out of their minds with excitement, Rase’s stomach was churning. He had been hoping and even praying to the Fates that his pa hadn’t started to gamble again. After all, the gambling before had always been at night. Pa was home every night now, just gone all day. Like a typical person with a job or trade.
But to have been able to bring so much more home, triple what he normally did, it just didn’t add up in Rase’s mind.
As much as Rase wanted to just come right out and ask his pa, he couldn’t bring himself too.
Just like he couldn’t bring himself to eat his stew.
“What’s wrong?” Ma asked gently. “It’s not too hot.”
“No, no, it’s not that,” Rase murmured.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Pa laughed, holding his belly. “You’re a growing boy, aren’t ya, lad?”
“Not sure he’s growing any taller,” Leanne teased. “Maybe a little wider, though.”
“Good! He needs some meat on his tiny bones.” Pa laughed again.
Rase muttered, “Not hungry,” but no one seemed to hear him. They were all talking and laughing, acting as if this was a feast.
To them, it was. They were practically eating like royalty, but Rase’s worried caused his stomach to churn.
His pa kept glancing at Rase to the point that he had to take a few bites just to appease Pa. Even the delicious taste wasn’t enough to settle Rase’s stomach. Still, he knew his body needed the food, and he forced himself to eat every morsel he had been given. To his tainted happiness, he kept down the food, but he truly worried about the source of the food.
Rase’s Pa had gambled with some lords. There had been a huge fight, and they had been lucky that none of the guards had showed up. They had been even more fortunate that they hadn’t been hurt or worse. The brawl had encompassed the entire tavern, and that was how Rase had lost his only job. Well, if you could consider a few nights’ worth of work a job.