by N M Zoltack
But she was here. She had done it. She had arrived in Olac.
From the mountains, she had been able to get a decent view of the city before she even ventured forth into it. The city was divided evenly in half passed on the River Texcoco. One side seemed to be far more affluent than the other, with the buildings all in stone. A large pyramid stood in the direct center. There were a few palaces too, three that she had seen.
The other side had much smaller houses, made of mud and wood, the roofs all fashioned from reed.
The land surrounding Olac was all jungle, but she had easily enough travelled through it without any complications. At one point, she had heard wolves, and she even saw a lion with a massive, mangy mane, but the beast allowed her to past, essentially ignoring her.
Although she would most likely be able to hide herself better in the poorer half of Olac, Vivian could not help but be drawn to the pyramid. She longed to see it up close. They had no such thing back in Atlan. Maloyan had a pyramid, if she remembered her lessons accurately, but those were the only two in the entire world. Could she pass up the chance to see such a wondrous sight up close?
Yes, yes, she could. She could not forget that she was on the run. Her brother had been murdered. The sooner she entered the city, the sooner she could discover if word had been sent forth from Atlan about her brother. If the killer had been found, she could return home. At a later time, perhaps with Ulric to guide her, then she could see the pyramid.
That decision final, Viviana shifted toward the south. There must be hundreds of small bridges over River Texcoco, and she crossed over one to reach the poorer side of Olac. There, she paused, refilled her water pouches, drained one, and had to refill it yet again.
Although she had no money, Viviana guided her horse along until she found a small tavern. Inside, she listened to as many conversations as she could. It took a long while, but eventually, she did overhear two women talk about the two queens. They said that neither of them were doing much of anything, which infuriated Viviana. Rosalynne’s brother had been killed! Hopefully by now, Rosalynne had learned from Ulric that Vivian still lived. Regardless, her sister had so very much to face. Indeed, she was not even the ruling queen. Whether or not either should be doing anything, it should be Sabine.
Not that Vivian had much faith that the woman would make for a great queen. If Rosalynne knew what was good for her, she would marry and have a baby as quickly as she could. It almost did not matter who the father would be.
But Rosalynne had never cared for the crown. What if she were to lose all desire to have it? What if she decided she did not wish to fight Sabine for the right to rule? Although it was pointless and certainly not for the first time, Vivian wished and wished and wished that she would have been born the eldest of the three.
But wishes changed nothing at all.
As much as she could assume that the women not speaking about Noll and his murder, she could not help walking over to them.
“The prince, huh?” she asked past a lump in her throat. Bitter tears of sorrow and grief stung her eyes. “A tragedy to be sure.”
The two women stared at her.
After a moment, the wider one nodded. “A real tragedy. You would think his sister would do all she could to find the killer. No one has.”
“None?” Vivian asked.
The other woman with a long nose and a thin neck shook her head. “None at all. And the other sister? Probably dead too. A shame.”
“A shame,” the first woman said, “but no excuse to not be a queen. I have a feeling bad times are head of us.”
“Bad times indeed,” Vivian murmured.
Unable to bear talking to them a moment longer, Vivian slipped out of the tavern. None had even looked her way. It shocked her how easily she blended in. The sand covering her clothes from her trek here caused her to intermingle with the inhabitants with ease. All of their clothing was sand-colored and boring. No blues or reds or golds or purples anywhere at all. Already, Vivian was missing the brightness of her dresses and gowns.
She guided her tired horse deeper into the city. The roads were gravel but fairly smooth with no divots or holes. Wagons rumbled by with wares from the marketplace, and Vivian turned aside. The market was not where she wished to go.
Eventually, as the moon was rising, Vivian made her way to a stable. Most of the stalls were empty, and she walked her horse into one. Perhaps not the smartest of moves, she laid down curled into a ball at the front of his closed stall.
To her surprise, she fell asleep almost immediately. She was just stirring the next morning when the stall swung open. Vivian scrambled to her feet and stared open-mouthed at a man dressed in brown clothes. He was the first person in all of Olac whom she had seen that was not wearing tan clothes.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She swallowed hard. Maybe he was the owner of the stables. The last thing she wanted was to cause any trouble, but she hadn’t wanted to sleep on the ground again. Not that sleeping in a small stall with her horse had been much better. She would love to get a room at an inn, but how? Without money, she was in a tough spot. Maybe she could get a position as a bar wench in the tavern. Earn some coins. Get a room. It wouldn’t be for long. Just until Noll’s killer was found, and she could return home.
Wow, had her life’s circumstances changed considering she was contemplating working as a tavern wench. Her of all people, Princess Vivian Rivera.
But here, she wasn’t a princess. She was just a commoner. A nobody.
She lowered her head. “I am Cateline Locke,” she whispered.
When the man did not reply, she glanced up. He was appraising her critically. Did he recognize her? The last puddle Vivian had passed, she had examined her appearance in. Honestly, she couldn’t see any hint of royalty to her. Surviving out in the wilderness by herself had stripped away a lot of her preconceived notions. Already, she suspected she could not return to being the girl she had once been. The thought didn’t even sadden her. How could she not be changed after her father had died? After Noll had been killed? Only the thought of returning to the castle and being reunited with her sister gave her any hope at all.
Maybe, one day, her life would be filled with sunshine and smiles and laughter again. Maybe. Maybe not.
“Cateline Locke,” the man repeated.
She nodded. “Are you the owner of the stable?” she asked. Once the question fled her lips, words poured out of her. “I didn’t mean to trespass. I’m sorry. I’ve traveled a bit to get here. I… I’m from Cilla, and I… My family… I couldn’t remain there. Too many memories. I needed to make a clean break. Start over. I… I’ll muck out the stall. All of the stalls. I’ll make it up to you. I didn’t mean anything by it. I swear. I… Please don’t turn me in. I meant no harm. Truly, I didn’t. I only wanted a place to sleep. For my horse and myself.”
The man did not seem impressed by her words. If anything, he seemed bored.
To her surprise, after a long moment, he nodded. “Please. Follow me.”
Confused, Vivian hesitated.
The man was already leaving the stables. “Bring your horse if you wish,” he said over his shoulder.
Even more perplexed, Vivian grabbed her horse’s reins and guided him out of the stall. He neighed and flicked his hair. She patted his neck, and they trailed after the man.
He moved slowly but easily. No one else wandering through the streets of the city seemed to pay him any mind. Vivian got a few glances, but none lingered. It felt so foreign to be so easily ignored. Normally, back in Atlan, people would constantly come up to Vivian and her family, wanting to talk to them, to touch them.
We aren’t any different from anyone else.
It wasn’t a novel thought for her, but it was finally sinking in. After all, she didn’t truly have royal blood in her. Her father had defeated the previous royal family. And before the Lis had been another family. What made any of them arrogant enough to consider themselves royalty?
She shook her
head to clear her thoughts and tried to determine where the man was taking her. They had already passed the tavern she had entered the previous day.
The man seemed to almost glide across the gravel street instead of taking steps. His robe nearly brushed the ground, his sandals hardly visible at all. The majestic grace of his movements almost made him seem royal to Vivian. How ironic considering she was just thinking that none were truly royal unless conceited and overly proud and ambitious to a fault.
To Vivian’s amazement, the man was approaching one of the bridges that would lead to the wealthy half of Olac. For whatever strange reason, she felt no uneasiness in following this man. If he meant to harm her, she would merely climb onto her horse and run away. There was no need to stay in Olac if she did not feel safe here. Because she could venture northeastward to Cilla. Or maybe she could sneak onto a ship and sail for one of the islands. That route had little appeal to her, though, as it would make the return trek to Atlan take that much longer. Plus, she would most likely have to abandon her horse. Sneaking onto a ship with only herself was perhaps and hopefully easily enough done. Sneaking also a horse was another matter altogether.
The houses here on the wealthier side were so much grander than those they had just left behind. Not only were they all constructed of stone, but many were painted, the stones dyed. The windows held stained glass, something that not many buildings outside of the castle in Atlan had. Glass was relatively new yet. Many years ago, seemingly a lifetime yonder, Vivian and Noll would sneak to the marketplace to watch the glassblower create his masterpieces. Each one had been more beautiful than the last.
On a shelf above her bed, Vivian still had the glass vase she had painted. By now, the flowers within the vase must have long since died unless Rosalynne had thought to water them. The thought saddened Vivian.
Then again, she almost hoped the flowers had died. She would rather Rosalynne attempt to her duties than for her to be spending time in Vivian’s empty room.
The princess wanted Rosalynne to be strong, to be the queen that Rosalynne seemed scared to be. Vivian never understood her sister’s distrust and disdain for the crown. Because of their father’s actions, they were now royal, Vivian’s misgivings over their titles aside. As such, the crown and the queendom were Rosalynne’s birthright. She should claim it. She must. For all of the Riveras, their father and brother most of all.
The man seemed to be guiding her closer and closer to the pyramid, and Vivian couldn’t help growing excited. This was all so amazing.
But then the man in the robe turned abruptly, and they changed direction. She cast longing glances toward the pyramid, which rose so much taller than even the tall buildings on this half of Olac.
“How was the pyramid built?” she asked, hurrying to stand directly next to the man instead of trailing behind him. Her horse neighed, not happy with that sudden burst of speed. He was being lazy now that she wasn’t riding him.
The man didn’t glance at her or hesitated with his steps, not acknowledging her at all. Somehow, she didn’t think he was being intentionally rude. He had a purpose, to bring her somewhere, and that was all he was focused on.
Eventually, he paused in front of a massive monastery. Every single window contained stained glass, nearly all of them featuring dragons in some fashion. She stared at one with a dragon soaring skyward. Anther featured across three windows showed a dragon with his wings stretched out.
Now, the robes made sense. This man must be a monk of some kind.
The man, who never had given her his name, faced her. “Won’t you come inside?”
Vivian hesitated. Somehow, this felt monumental. Which was ridiculous. It was not as if she could enter and then never leave again. She was being absurd. Besides, she wasn’t nervous or frightened at all.
Other than the fact that she was far from home. No one knew she was here, not even Ulric. He might assume that she would continue on to their destination, but he couldn’t be certain that she had or that she had arrived.
But she would return to Atlan and the castle one day, and she would be able to leave this monastery.
Vivian nodded. “Yes, I will.”
34
Prisoner Ulric Cooper
Ulric was surprised. The guards gave him two meals a day, and they didn’t throw the food at him. They gave it to him nicely, and the food wasn’t merely stale bread. He had stew at times or even a little meat. Granted, the meat had been riddled with fat, and the stew had been cold, but Ulric wasn’t going to complain.
The guards gave him watered-down ale. He would have preferred just plain water, but he didn’t dare voice any other words than merely gratitude.
As the days slowly went by, Ulric knew that Queen Sabine was keeping him alive and a secret for a reason. He suspected more and more each day that she was using him to keep someone in check. The queen knew who the true killer was, but she was keeping the public unaware of the charge against him so that if the killer did anything untoward, the queen could release him and declare the true murderer as the one responsible. So long as the killer did as the queen wished, both the killer and Ulric were safe.
Which meant Ulric must not die of starvation.
In between his two meals, spaced nearly twelve hours apart, he would sleep or he would jog in place. He would lift himself up on the bars. He would push his body up from the ground. He would sit up time and again. He did his best to keep his body strong. Although he lacked a blade, he even pretended to use his arm as a sword so as to continue training. Foolish maybe and he most certainly looked like a buffoon, but he did not care. He wished to keep his body sharp.
As well as his mind. He longed to stop his thoughts, but he continually worried over the princess. He should have tried harder to find her. He should have done everything in his power to hunt her down. Maybe he should have even stolen a horse to better his chances of locating her. The crown could have compensated the person for the horse and the inconvenience.
After more cold stew this night that contained only vegetables and no meat, Ulric handed the bowl back to the guard through the bars of his cell. The guard nodded and walked away.
Ulric sat down in the corner. His eyes were closing. As long as he was keeping track correctly, it was night now. His body longed to rest.
Just as he was beginning to nod off, he heard the faintest of footsteps. They were not the tread of the guard. Nor the queen’s. Or that infuriating Aldus Perez. Ulric wasn’t sure who he hated more between Sabine or Aldus. That was a lie. He hated the advisor with every fiber of his being. Perhaps he was the true killer. Ulric could see it. That man was cold and calculating, and whoever had murdered poor Noll must have both of those qualities.
Noll had been such a fun and kind spirit. Yes, there was something off about him, but he was merely a prince whom no one respected. Ulric tried to treat him as he would have any other prince. To Ulric, Noll had been just the same as anyone else.
The footsteps paused for a moment and then resumed. The person was being cautious. They were sneaking toward him.
Ulric stood and walked over to the bars. He gasped as the person hesitated before his cell and turned to him.
Although he knew who she was, he inhaled sharply when she lowered her dark hood.
“Queen Rosalynne,” he mouthed more than said.
She glanced down the hall as if seeking out the guard.
“We should be safe,” Ulric said in a whisper. “Only do not speak loudly, my queen.”
“You are the one charged with killing my brother.”
Ulric grimaced. “Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
At once, she relaxed.
“You believe me?” he asked, shocked but elated.
She nodded. There was a lit torch behind her that covered her in shadows, but she remained as lovely as he recalled. Her sorrow gave her beauty a haunting edge it previously lacked.
“We can’t talk for long,” Ulric said urgently. “Your
sister is alive. I…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know if you know, but I was friends with your brother.”
Rosalynne blinked a few times. “Vivian? Where is she?”
Of course he should tell her about her sister first.
“I was one of the first to find the body.” He held up his hands defenselessly. “I swear I—” At Rosalynne’s impatient nod, he continued, “I saw the hand-sized bruises on his back and knew it was murder. I knew I couldn’t get close to you, and you had guards as queen, so I sought out Vivian.”
“You smuggled her out of the castle to protect her.”
Ulric nodded. “We traveled together for a while.” He scowled, feeling incompetent and worthless. His hands gripped the metal bars, their icy coldness shocking him. “She tricked me, stole the horse, and ran off. We were heading toward Olac. I tried to find her, but with me walking and her on the horse…”
“She is alive,” Rosalynne said. The light of hope shone in her eyes, and she grabbed his hands instead of the bars.
Instantly, Ulric went to remove his hands, but she seized them instead.
“Thank you,” she said warmly. “Thank you for having the foresight to remove her from here. I do think that she would have been in danger here.”
Ulric would have breathed easier if not for her touching him. Rosalynne was far lovelier than he had ever realized previously.
“You spoke of my brother,” she murmured, finally releasing his hands in favor of holding the bars.
“Y-Yes.” He shook his head to clear the fog overwhelming his mind. “He saw me trying to train myself.” Ulric hoped the darkness of the dungeon hid his flush from embarrassment. Hopefully, Rosalynne would not ask why he had been training. “To prevent him from telling anyone, I agreed to teach him archery. I’m only a simple servant, not a guard.”
“You are not simple at all,” the queen said firmly, her words still hushed. “You are brave and noble. I am certain that either Sabine killed Noll, or she is protecting the killer. Why she has you hidden down here, I cannot be certain.”