The Deceit of Tongues (In the Eye of the Dragon Book 2)

by N M Zoltack

  “Good evening to you. I wish to introduce myself to you. I am Queen Rosalynne Rivera.”

  The younger queen. Marcellus took in her dark eyes and chestnut-colored hair. Whereas Queen Sabine allowed her hair to flow freely over her shoulders, nearly all of Queen Rosalynne’s was piled onto her head. The first queen wore her crown as if a badge of honor that she deserved. This queen wore no crown at all.

  It was as if the crown meant nothing to her, a thought that churned Marcellus’s stomach with disgust and dismay. Her she was, giving him a slight smile when she had lost so much recently. How could she even produce a ghost of a smile? If family meant so little to her, surely the people of Tenoch and certainly Vincana and the other islands meant even less.

  She was waiting for his name, and he forced himself to bow. “I am Marcellus Gallus from Vincana.”

  If she wished for him to say more, he disappointed her as he straightened and stared her down.

  “I bid you welcome to Atlan Castle. Please. If there is anything at all that you desire, ask, and I shall see it done.”

  She hesitated, but he said nothing. He did not have anything he wished to ask of her and required only isolation until the ball would start off the week-long festivities.

  After a moment, the young queen dipped her head. She was more polished than her older counterpart.

  Without another word, Queen Rosalynne walked away to greet the person in the next room, Rufus.

  Not interested in listening to his friend flirt with the queen, Marcellus shut his down. He had not been here long yet, and already, he had met both queens. Truly, he was not impressed by either.

  Taking their crowns away would not be something he would ever regret.

  54

  Cateline Locke

  After reading about the terrible, frightening wraiths, Vivian rushed back to her room. She knew the chances that she would sleep were nearly nonexistent. In fact, when she closed the door behind her, she did not bother to even lie down. Instead, she began to peace furiously.

  The image of the wraith had burned to her mind, and she could not stop imagining it, how tall it would be, if it had legs or would hover above the ground. The image had a smoky-like quality to it, as if the wraith were not wholly physically in this world.

  Fates protect her, she knew that one day, she would die. One day, she would be brought before the Fates, and they would determine what should happen to her. Some were to come back and try again. Others were to live with one of the Fates, serving them. A few were granted the best of existence in that they could live on in another world with their loved ones, but only if their loved ones had also reached that place.

  Could there be another, darker, more sinister place? It almost seemed to her possible that the wraiths may be trapped between this world and that other evil realm.

  Oh, she wished she hadn’t spoken so much with Vicar Albert Leeson!

  Sudden sharp rapping at her door had Vivian hesitating mid-step, a hand flying to her chest. Her heart beat furiously, and an overwhelming sense of fright washed over her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered to herself out loud.

  Head high, she crossed over to the door. The man from earlier was waiting for her.

  “I trust you are settled,” he said. “Have you need for anything?”

  Vivian’s mind raced. Truly, she lacked nothing, but she did not want to be alone at the moment. Her thoughts were too dark and depressing at the moment for her to enjoy isolation and solitude.

  “Won’t you eat with me?” she asked, hoping for some conversation to unburden her mind.

  The man appraised her and then nodded. She fell into step behind him as he brought her back down to the kitchen. Again, she wondered about the monastery. She had yet to see another person here. Surely, they could not be the only two souls in this massive building.

  No scullery maid was in the kitchen either. Vivian hung back as the man found two trays and began to create spreads of food. Belatedly, she realized she should not be acting as if he were her servant. She was acting like royalty or at the very least nobility. If she did not wish to give herself away, and she most certainly did not, then she had to do things for herself and not rely on others.

  “Where are the cups?” she asked.

  “I will provide the meal,” the man said.

  Was he being terse with her? She watched him critically, carefully, but he did not seem to be complaining. He went about swiftly gathering nuts, berries, bread, and stew from a cauldron resting above a dying fire. No steam rose from the bowls, but Vivian was merely grateful for a meal she did not have to find for herself.

  She had watched Ulric on their trek to see how he hunted. While she lacked the skill to use weapons of any kind, he had showed her how to make traps and which berries were safe to eat. Every night, she would lay out traps. If morning came with no hare or other animal, she had to survive on berries. Most days, that was the case, but she did cook herself some meat on a few occasions. Only once did she not burn the meat, and that time, she had undercooked it and had to return it to the fire. That one, after she got the slimy taste of undercooked meat out of her mouth, had been the most delicious.

  Once the man poured them some water, much to Vivian’s disappointment as she had hoped for some wine, he led her to a small room tucked to the side past the kitchen. A small table with four chairs was waiting for them.

  The two sat down, and Vivian helped herself to some of the food. She had used the food as an excuse, but now, she found herself starving. Eagerly, she dug in. The meat in the stew was a little tough. Perhaps it had been sitting there for a long while, but she did not complain. The stew was a bit watered down and not as hearty as she was used to. When she added some bits of hard bread to it, the stew tasted better.

  The man watched her eat more than indulged herself, and she could not decide if this pleased her or if she wanted him to speak.

  For a time, the food provided enough of a distraction from what she had read. Once she finished her meal, however, she needed the man to speak.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “A man willing to look after a young woman who clearly needs some help.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” he countered.

  “Most people don’t care about strangers.”

  “One day, perhaps you won’t be a stranger, Cateline Locke.”

  She blinked a few times and then nodded vigorously, most likely overcompensating for her hesitation. Vivian had forgotten that was the name she had given him.

  “It would help if you would tell me your name.”

  “In due time.”

  Vivian grimaced and glanced around the room. Little light shone in through the stained-glass window. This one contained a much smaller dragon than the others.

  “Whoever you are, you must believe in dragons,” she said.

  The man nodded, his expression mostly blank. “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “Do you know how to answer a question?” she grumbled.

  To her surprise, the man chuckled. “Certainly, I do, but you must ask a question I am willing to answer.”

  “Three dragons to rule over the people,” she said slowly, thinking about what she had read. “Could the dragons speak to humans?”

  “They had their methods.”

  “Did they speak with their mouths or a different way?”

  The man’s lips curled in amusement. “I was not alive when the dragons last lived.”

  “But your texts…” She trailed off, hoping she hadn’t said too much. Perhaps she had overstepped by visiting the library and helping herself to scrolls and tomes.

  “Having scrolls does not make a person the author. I am merely a collector.”

  “Have you read them all?” she asked curiously.

  “Perhaps.” He almost smiled. “Are those your most pressing questions?”

  “I do not know what you will answer ver
sus what you will not.”

  The man smiled. “Ask me for my name again.”

  She narrowed her eyes skeptically. How could she be certain that his answer would change?

  “What is your name? I would like to properly thank my host.”

  “I am known as Garsea.”

  “Garsea,” she repeated. “That is an interesting name.”

  The monk merely continued to smile.

  Hmm. Was he trying to change the subject? Did he not wish to speak about dragons? Considering that he took so long to even tell her his name, she doubted he would share much concerning himself. Certainly, she did not wish to provide details concerning herself. Therefore, dragons would remain the main topic of discussion.

  “Did the dragons truly turn people into wraiths?” she blurted out. “Were the wraiths as frightening as I think they were?”

  Garsea’s smile faded. “I do not know how frightening you think they were, but they were meant to scare people into being good and decent and kind.”

  “They were real, then?”

  “Yes. Do not fret, though, Cateline Locke. There has not been a single wraith since the last dragon had been killed.”

  Vivian grinned, feeling much relieved. “Good. I would hate to meet one.”

  “That you do not have to fear.”

  She swallowed hard. There was a dangerous, ominous undercurrent to his words that suggested Vivian had something else to fear.

  55

  Queen Sabine Grantham

  That so few of the Vincanans had arrived irked Sabine. She was pacing in the courtyard, which was becoming almost a pastime of hers as of late. To avoid her mother, Sabine avoided her own quarters as her mother seemed to think she had access to them whenever she wished.

  She is planning something. I am certain of it.

  When Queen Aldith had died, Sabine had been fighting off the courtship of three different men. Each of them would give her presents, but none of them were what she wanted. One was a decent sort. He was kind and would take care of her as best as he was able, but he was poor.

  The second owned a tavern. Everyone loved him because he brewed his own ale, and he knew how to make the best in all of Eitan. That he expected her to work alongside him as a bar wench meant that even though he could afford to buy her necklaces, he was not the man for her.

  The third had been a baron’s son. His sixth son. He had no claim to land and hardly any money. Worse, he thought himself able to land any lady. He thought he was doing Sabine a favor. His arrogance would make one think him a duke or someone else of import!

  As they enjoyed their evening meal together, Sabine jested about her marrying the king. The next morning, Sabine learned that her mother had already had their maids pack their clothes and jewelry. The footman was prepping the carriage when she was stirring from bed.

  When her mother wanted something, she tended to get it, a fact that worried Sabine, troubling her to the point of pacing. She hoped no one who might see her would recognize the anxiety driving her movements, and she forced herself to examine flowers every so often to disguise her unease.

  The next time she bent over a flower, she heard soft footsteps. Normally, anyone else within the courtyard would walk on by, but they hesitated and then stopped.

  “I would have thought the Queen of all of Tenoch Proper would be too busy to take the time to smell a sun juniper.”

  She straightened and faced the strikingly handsome Marcellus. “A savage bittersweet actually.”

  The Vincanan lifted his eyebrows. “A savage bittersweet? They do not grow on Vincana, and that name is rather… disturbing.”

  Sabine laughed and stepped to the side, gesturing to the beautiful orange-red ombre flower. “The name is fitting. Go on. Smell it.”

  Marcellus hesitated.

  “Would you deny your queen?” Her smiled broadened.

  The man stepped forward and sniffed. He drew closer, his nose nearly lost in the petals.

  “It is almost impossible to describe its smell,” he said once he could bring himself to pull away.

  “It is, but the smell is intoxicating. Hence the savage.”

  “And the bittersweet?”

  “The petals are edible. When mixed in stews or other meals, they lend a bitter sweet taste.”

  “Ah, rather fitting then, but I prefer sun junipers, I think.”

  “You do not like powerful things?” Sabine asked with a smirk.

  Marcellus placed his hands on his hips. He stood firmly, rooted to the ground. His back was straight but not rigid, and from his hand positioning, she could tell he was used to having a hand on the hilt of a sword. Of course he was not wearing one now. A warrior. A fighter.

  The man was powerful himself.

  “I prefer dangerous things,” he murmured.

  Sabine smiled and stepped closer to him, the material of her soft dress touching his legs. “I can be dangerous,” she promised.

  He shifted to have his hands behind his back. “Did you know that sun junipers can be ground and used as poison if ingested? It works slowly, over time. Well, if one were to wish to disguise their repulsive handiwork. If given in large quantities, it can result in death, but first giving burns throughout the body in patches that resemble burned suns in the flesh.”

  The queen shuddered. “I thought the sun referred to the flower’s coloring.”

  “In part perhaps.”

  “You know so much about this poisonous flower.”

  “Nearly a century ago, the King of Vincana was murdered that way.”

  “Should I employ a food tester?” she teased lightly.

  Marcellus shrugged. “If you wish. I did not think that sun junipers grow in most of Tenoch.”

  “Some have in Eitan, where I am from,” she admitted, eyeing him curiously. Was he naïve? “There are none in Atlan that I have seen.” After a slight pause, she nodded to him. “Please, will you dine with me?”

  “How can I refuse the queen?”

  The Vincanan fell into step beside her. She wished he would take her arm, but she supposed there would be time for that later. Of the two Vincanans, Marcellus had immediately caught her eye. He was handsome and vivacious. That he seemed naïve might be a boon. She wanted a man who would give her more power, not try to usurp some away.

  As they made their way to the small dining room where the queen sometimes ate alone, Marcellus asked her questions about the land. She answered them all easily. Her mother had taught her much and more about Atlan and all of Tenoch. Where her mother had learned all of the information Sabine had not considered until now. Perhaps her mother wished to be queen herself. Perhaps all of her talk about Sabine needing to kill the Riveras was a means for Sabine to be the last obstacle preventing her mother from acquiring the throne.

  A most troubling thought, and Sabine forced her mind to focus on the handsome man before her. They sat at the table, and she had the best wine brought out. Marcellus never touched his and eventually asked the servant for some ale.

  Still, he asked about the land, the plants, the farming, the people. Never about her Sabine tried to learn more about him or for him to learn more about her, but he did not seem interested. Sabine grew more and more frustrated. She was not used to a man ignoring her charm. The other chap, Rufus Vitus, had already hinted to Sabine that he was more than willing to do anything to get her into bed. He would wed her if she wished for him.

  But something told Sabine that the man sitting across from her was the one she should be paying more attention to. The two guards and the servants looked to him first. Naïve or not, Marcellus was higher up the ladder within Vincana society. That much was clear. Sabine made a mental note to speak with the vicar. Perhaps Albert Leeson knew about Marcellus Gallus or at least Vincanans in general. That man seemed to know much and more about anything and everything, which made him dangerous too in a way.

  Sabine shook her head. If she were not careful, she would start to think that even the shadows were against her.


  56

  Queen Rosalynne Rivera

  The castle was filled with people, from the Vincanans to nobles from all over Tenoch. As far as Rosalynne knew, no one from the other isles had made an appearance yet, and with the grand festivities set to start in a few days, she doubted any would. All three of the other islands were far smaller than Vincana, and they had much farther to travel to reach Atlan. Hopefully, that was the only reason why none had come. As much as Rosalynne did not want Tenoch Proper to flourish under Sabine, she likewise did not wish for there to be turmoil when Rosalynne assumed full and complete control.

  All of this, the power struggle, the pursuit of the crown, Rosalynne’s heart still was not in it. She wished only to live up to her father’s legacy. As long as she was a Rivera, she would do all she could to claim her birthright, even if she still did not truly want the crown for herself.

  Despite the sheer volume of persons within the castle, Rosalynne had never felt more alone. The days passed by quickly, but the nights dragged on. When the moon ruled supreme, casting her silver glow across the land, Rosalynne’s sorrow soared to new heights. The loss of those she loved stung her anew, creating fresh wounds. Even though her sister lived, Rosalynne felt abandoned. She had even stopped seeking out the council of the vicar. It had been a few days since she last spoke with the wrongfully imprisoned Ulric, and she was beginning to ignore her guards. Unless it was necessary for her to speak, she stilled her tongue. Silence seemed more important than the need for idle speech.

  After a small meal in her room to serve as her last meal of the day, Rosalynne made her way to the library. When she had been younger, she used to come here all the time and hide from her tutors and read. Oftentimes, she did not understands the texts and had to ask Vicar Albert Leeson for him to interpret and explain them.

  As she had several times now, she sought out the texts about the Li family. There was no proof that the queen had been pregnant, but the vicar had no reason to lie. If the queen had not been far along, no one might have suspected even if they had seen her. Perhaps her father had not knowingly struck down an expectant woman.