by N M Zoltack
One way or another, this venture would be a learning experience. That much was for sure.
It was the middle of the night. Thousands of stars twinkled down on the water, illuminating the gentle waves. The voyage so far had been peaceful, without incident, yet a cloud of unease hung over Marcellus. Strangely, it felt as if his father had become King of Vincana only yesterday. The news that he was prince had not sunk in yet. Perhaps once war was fully declared and the world knew that he was prince, then he could accept it.
Nearly silent footsteps sounded, and Rufus appeared next to him. “Too excited to sleep?” Rufus asked with a grin.
“Wondering what tomorrow will bring.”
“More water and perhaps finally land.” Rufus’s smiled widened. “I cannot wait for a feast and some dancing.”
“You’ll have to get your land legs first.”
Rufus waved off his concern. “The ladies will be so enamored by you that they will not mind if I step on a few toes.”
Marcellus laughed. “You are the better dancer.”
“Not I.” Rufus shook his head. “At least if we are talking on the ballroom floor. Behind closed doors…” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Marcellus returned his focus ahead. The stillness of the night did little to appease his growing concerns.
“I doubt there will ever be a lady as lovely as your mother was said to be.” Rufus sighed.
Marcellus grimaced. “You act as if you love her, and you never met her.”
“I have seen paintings. So have you for that matter.”
He had, and he could not dent Rufus’s claim. None could rival her beauty. She had been one of the loveliest ladies in all of Vincana, perhaps in all of the entire world. So many had loved her that war had nearly broken out over her hand. When she had chosen Antonius Gallus, that war ended, although her father had set up guards to protect her. A wise choice as there had been no less than three attempts to kidnap her, so blindly and completely devoted were some of the men to her. When Aelia had died, all of the males on Vincana mourned and attended her funeral.
Had she done anything to inspire their love beyond her looks? Marcellus never had uncovered the answer. His father had been as blinded as the others. Why she had chosen him, Marcellus did not know. She had passed away giving birth to Marcellus, so he had never had the chance to truly know her himself.
“Whoever my wife will be,” Marcellus said grimly, “she will not just be a pretty face.”
“Ah,” Rufus said, “but she will have a pretty face regardless.”
Marcellus sighed. “I am going to sleep,” he announced.
He left his friend at the railing to do just that. One more day of sailing and before they could deliberate between which fish option to eat, they spotted land. They prepared to anchor and arrived at shore. From here, it would be a four days’ march to Atlan.
Onward and upward and to the great beyond. Marcellus was firm and resolute. The lands should all be united, yes, but one truly was not ahead of the others. For ignoring the islands, Tenoch would fall, and a new empire would rise from its ashes.
It would mean war. It would mean bloodshed. But perhaps the peace to come thereafter would be long lasting.
Perhaps unless others would attempt to rise up and compete for the throne.
“A very tangled web indeed,” Marcellus muttered as the men began to set up camp. They would head toward Atlan in the morning, before the sun would even rise. In four days, the world would change even if no one else knew it but he.
49
Queen Sabine Grantham
After returning to the castle after her disaster of a time with the commoners, Sabine marched back inside the castle. She instructed a maid to have some scones and fruit tarts brought up to her room immediately and then went up to her chambers.
When she opened the door, she was startled and frustrated to find her mother already in the room, waiting for her.
“This is my bedroom,” Sabine said coldly. “Mine. I am the queen. Why are you here?”
“You are the queen, and I am your mother. I have a question for you, my dear daughter.”
“Ask and be gone.” Sabine crossed over to her window to peer out. She was in a terribly foul mood.
A decanter of wine caught her eye, and she poured herself some. A delicious, fruity blend, the white wine hit her empty stomach, and she smiled.
“Go ahead and ask me,” she said, speaking softer this time.
Her mother was eyeing her curiously, perhaps even critically. Her blue dress matched Sabine’s eyes better than her own coloring.
“I was hoping you could explain to me your decision to tax the people.”
Sabine forced herself not to blink or react in any way to this most startling and surprising news. For fear that her indifferent mask would slip, she swallowed more wine.
Thankfully, there was a knock on the door. Sabine called out for the person to open the door. The maid popped in her head, and Sabine directed her to leave the tray of desserts on the chest at the foot of Sabine’s bed. The maid hurried to complied, curtsied, and fled the room.
“I merely wish to commend you for your clear-headed resolution,” her mother said. “Do not worry I think it bold or brazen or unwise. It is prudent. The people must respect the throne, and that they did not pay taxes for so very long under Jankin means they all have money to spare. Why shouldn’t the crown receive her share?”
“Why indeed,” Sabine murmured. “I am grateful you think so highly of my decision.”
“Of course. Dear girl, you do take after me.” Her mother rose from the seat near Sabine’s bed and approached the tray. After a moment’s quiet deliberation, she selected two tarts and bit into the one. “Delicious.”
Sabine’s appetite had fled her, so she merely smiled and enjoyed more wine.
“A one-day joust is not long at all,” her mother said as she reclaimed her chair. “At least two days. Three even. Who knows how many Vincanans will come.”
“Their message did not say. Perhaps they do not know themselves.”
“They must have left well before now if they wish to arrive on time,” her mother said. “Do not be foolish.”
Sabine’s nostrils flared.
“We can have feasts at midday and in the evenings. We must show our wealth, our prosperity. All the world must know how rich and opulent we are.”
“If we have a feast at midday, no one will be hungry for the evening one,” Sabine said.
Her mother waved her hand. “Give the surplus to the peasants. They will adore you.”
On and on, her mother made more and more demands about the upcoming festivities. Finally, Sabine could not help herself.
“It is a shame that only one Rivera royal will be here to partake in the events,” she said.
Her mother’s eyes flashed. She said nothing and instead finished her last bite of tart.
“The prince was not known for his skills with a blade,” Sabine continued, “but that does not mean that he could not have performed some kind of skit or act for the crowd. And Vivian could dance better than her sister. I wonder if she lives yet. Do you know, Mother?”
“Why would I know where that brat is?” her mother snapped. “Listen to me, Sabine. I’ve told you this before, and you ignored me then. I do not suggest you ignore me again. “If you truly want the crown to be yours, then you know what you must do. It is unfortunate that you have too much of your father in you. You’re too weak to take another’s life.”
“Actually, if you must know, I have killed already.”
Her mother’s eyes widened but just barely. She was the queen of keeping her expression a mask, and Sabine was envious of that. To hide one’s emotions meant that they could control what others perceived. That could be a rather useful tool.
“You have?” her mother finally asked.
“Yes.” Sabine gave her a smirk, retrieved the tray, and walked over to the door. “Open,” she commanded.
One of the
guards complied, and Sabine abandoned her mother. Swiftly, she made her way to the council room, bypassing a servant and demanding that he send the rest of the council to the room. He bowed and dashed off at once.
The men and women on the council were grateful for the scones and tarts. They all gave their reports, and she dismissed them one by one, starting with Aldus. Last of all, she spoke with the man in charge of the treasury. He was a small, rail-thin man with a large nose and beady eyes. Cricket Woodham had five tarts in total, thanking her before taking each one. A polite man if a bit dull but he did know how to control money. Originally, Cricket had been from Etian, just like Sabine and her mother. He had started out as one of the poorest farmers there, but he had somehow managed to become one of the richest in the entire city. Once Jankin learned that, he hired Cricket to be in charge of the treasury.
“Tell me about the amount of gold and coins we will have after the festivities,” Sabine said.
“Of course, My Queen. As I’m sure you’re aware, the king, well, he liked to spend money, but he would not allow me to tax the people. It made it nearly impossible to resupply the treasury. However, with the new taxes, we should be just fine. We can manage—”
“Under whose authority did you become instructed to collect taxes?” Sabine asked. She smiled so that he would not become upset by her rudeness in interrupting him.
“Why, the other queen. The young queen. Rosalynne Rivera.”
Sabine slowly nodded. When the treasurer opened his mouth to say more, she waved her hand, dismissing him. Then, she reached over and ate the last scone. A bit dry and not flakey enough, much like Rosalynne.
Perhaps Sabine’s mother was not entire wrong after all.
50
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
Rosalynne’s hesitated, quill hovering in mid-air as she struggled to determine how best to phrase the letter. Through the guard Col, she and Ulric had been communicating. She knew from Albert Leeson that not all islands would teach their servants and maids how to read. Tenoch always had. Only the poorest of the poor would not read. Perhaps she should try to correct that, but then again, would that truly help them? The poor needed houses and food and work more. Reading would not help with any of those, unless perhaps they were employed as a scribe, to write down a lord’s mighty exploits.
As of late, Rosalynne felt more and more lost. Her jubilation that Vivian lived rivaled with her fear that Vivian was in danger. Her sister had always been headstrong, so it was no surprise that she had sent Ulric back to Atlan. The young queen could not help but worry, though. Vivian never cared for long walks. She rode the carriage everywhere. That Ulric had taught her how to survive the outdoors amazed Rosalynne. That he tried to teach Noll how to use a bow and arrow astonished her. That he was willing to remain imprisoned to try and shift through Sabine’s deceitful tongue indebted Rosalynne to him.
Once the dust was settled, the true murderer found and punished, and Ulric was set free, she would… What? How could she possibly repay the man who had done so much for her family?
Sudden knocking at the door had Rosalynne moving a clean sheet of parchment over her barely started letter. Before she could voice, “Come in,” Sabine strolled in.
Rosalynne gave her a tight-lipped smile, hoping that her face was mostly an indifferent mask. “Sabine, how are you this fine day?”
“It is a miserable day, pouring raining and overcast.” Sabine narrowed her eyes.
“Yes, but the rain will make the flowers grow.”
The ruling queen marched forward. Her face most certainly was not a mask. Anger flashed in her eyes, and she clenched her skirt with tight fists. “Do not call me Sabine. I am not your equal. I am your queen. Give me the respect I deserve.”
Rosalynne rose to her feet and appraised her adversary. Clearly, she had learned about the taxes. If she were not so bullheaded, Sabine would have realized that Rosalynne had done her a great service. They needed more coins. The tax rate was based on what the families could afford. Those who had nothing Rosalynne had decreed would not be thrown into the dungeon for not being able to pay. She was still trying to best determine a way to help them.
But more and more, Rosalynne was realizing that she needed to pay attention to the cities beyond just Atlan. There were so many large ones and smaller villages in Tenoch. And then the islands too, she could not forget them. Perhaps she could go on a tour of the villages and countries. Head to Olac. Find her sister. But after the week-long festivities. It would be most unwise for her to depart beforehand.
“Do not forget, Sabine,” Rosalynne said, “that you are not the true queen. I will be, and that crown will be mine sooner than you think.”
“You are trying to act as queen already,” Sabine said coolly, “but you do not know the first—”
“Unlike you, I have lived in this castle nearly my entire life. I am to be queen and have known that all of my days. You come here, my father dies, and we are meant to follow you merely because I am not of age. No, Sabine, I will not call you my queen. Not when we are alone like this. One day, I will be the queen, and you will not be any longer. Do not think I will forget how you treat me while you wear the crown.”
Sabine smiled and gave a soft laugh. “Do you know what the people are saying?” she asked. She ran her fingers along the edge of Rosalynne’s desk. “They believe the Riveras are cursed. You stole and bullied your way to the throne with blood on your hands. The Fates have had enough of you and your family. Your father is dead. Your brother. Maybe even your sister. And you think you will live long enough to be queen?”
“Do you think threatening me will work?” Rosalynne stepped toward Sabine. Ironically, they both wore shades of purple today, although Rosalynne thought Vivian would appreciate her sister’s deeper, darker shade than the ruling queen’s paler lilac color.
“It is not a threat. The Fates—”
“Chaos most certainly loves the Riveras,” Rosalynne said dryly.
“Yes, but Chaos is the most fickle, and clearly, Death does too.”
Rosalynne inhaled deeply. “You think I should be careful, Sabine? You should be too. You are an outsider. You may be from Tenoch, but you are not from Atlan, and we all know Atlan is the greatest city of all. That is why the first ruling family established and built their castle here. The Lis are gone, for better or worse, and the people have accepted the Riveras. If we are to turn over to the… Granthams… we would show vulnerability. War may well descend upon us. Do you crave power so much that you would risk war to keep my throne?”
Sabine’s smile was vindictive. “War will not come. Do not worry your head about that. My husband did one thing well. He maintained the peace.”
“My father did not rule well.”
The ruling queen’s grin stretched even wider. “All the more reason for you to not be on the throne.”
Rosalynne fumed. If she said that her father did not train her, Sabine would twist that against her too.
“Unless you become the outright queen,” Sabine continued, “I suggest you leave the ruling to me.”
The older woman started toward the door, but Rosalynne wasn’t about to allow her to have the last word in this verbal war.
“If you continue to ignore me as if you have the rest of the world beyond Atlan and Vincana, then you will see what will happen.”
Sabine hesitated in her stride and then continued onward to leave. Rosalynne’s smile fell. She needed to ensure her threat wasn’t idle.
Perhaps Vivian being in Olac was a good thing after all, if her sister was out there rallying support for them. What exactly was her sister doing out there? Was she hungry? Scared? Disgusted she had no dresses to wear?
“Wherever you are, I hope you are safe and happy,” Rosalynne murmured, “because I cannot say that I am.”
51
Olympia Bai
For as long as the sun would bless them with her rays, Olympia had been spending all of her days trying to clean up the island. The work was
hard as the tide continued to bring back their dead. Long ago, they had buried their dead, or so Olympia had been told. The island made burial unideal. Now, either bodies were burned, or else they were sent away to sail the open seas in a boa.
But the boats had all been destroyed from previous monsoons and had never been replaced. The scent of dead bodies and burned flesh was seared into Olympia’s nostrils, and she feared the stench would never leave her.
As she dragged yet another body from the waters, a rock smashed against her knuckles. Wincing from the pain, she ignored the sting and dragged the dead man to the shore. The cool water eased the hurt from her knuckles, and she appraised the wound. Nothing to concern herself about, so long as she did not drip blood onto her clothes.
Seaweed wrapped around her ankle and foot, and she used it to wrap around the small wound. There.
Shielding her eyes with her hand from the sun’s brightness, she surveyed the waves critically. Only the one body so far today. If a few hours passed with no more, she would start the fire. Thankfully, the stem of washed-up dead was slowing. Perhaps no more would come.
From this past monsoon at least.
The cool temperature of the water suggested that monsoon season was ending at least, but she could not bring herself to smile. They had lost more people than she originally estimated, and the pain from each loss struck her deeply.
Olympia headed deeper inland. By universal decree, the children were not to play near the beach until all of the bodies had been located. Only two others were missing, but sometimes, not all were recovered. At such a horrific storm, it was possible that the bodies could wash ashore in a fortnight or even longer. It depended on the tide and the whim of the waves.
Until midday, Olympia helped the other islanders to work on the construction of another building. After this monsoon, they longed to have more protection versus less. It did not escape her notice that old Amosis Nejem was not helping, however it did surprise her that the overly eager and energetic Ninos Ahmed was not.