by N M Zoltack
Who had her father been? Dimly, she had memories of her father smiling and laughing, of him running around, chasing her in the courtyard as they tried to capture butterflies. Then, her mother died, and her father withdrew.
On one occasion, perhaps a year after her mother had passed away, Rosalynne had asked her father if he would dance with her. Once before, they had danced under the moonlight while her mother held baby Noll. He had been drinking excessively that evening, and he asked her to shut her trap and refill his wine. It wasn’t until she was much older that she realized he had been drunk and had mistaken her for a maid despite her being maybe five years old at the time.
That the loss of one’s love could completely change a person’s temperament shocked and perplexed Rosalynne. Was it possible to love another so deeply that one ceased to exist without them? Such had been the case with her father, after all.
How utterly ridiculous. Rosalynne knew that she must marry for the sake of the united lands and not for love. Perhaps that was for the best.
The door creaked open, and she glanced up from the scroll she was staring at but not reading. The tall, dark-haired Marcellus entered. When he saw her, he dipped his head. Not a proper bow but she did not mind. Perhaps she should press the issue so that he and the Vincanans would know to give the crown the respect it deserved, but she was also not the ruling queen.
“I do not mean to intrude,” he said in a deep, rich voice. “I was hoping I could read some.”
“Of course.” She smiled and spread out her hands. “You have come to the right place. Read at your leisure. In fact, I give you free rein of not only the library but of the entire castle.”
He blinked in surprise. “You trust me?”
“Should I not?”
Marcellus turned to look at the tomes, but she thought she saw the ghost of a smile cross his face first.
Although she had been talking less lately, she found herself curious enough about the Vincana to ask, “I am surprised more of your people did not make the voyage.”
“A terrible monsoon hit us,” he said stiffly.
Her brows furrowed, and her jaw set. “Was the queen informed?” she asked coldly.
“No. We can handle ourselves.”
Rosalynne’s worry grew. She had been furious that Sabine had failed to send aid, but how could she know about an island in need if the islanders did not ask for help? How could Sabine claim to be their queen if she remained ignorant of plights? Did the Vincanans feel too removed from Tenoch to be a part of the united lands?
“The throne will provide any assistance you need,” she assured him. “You need only ask.”
“Assistance such as the burning of our fleet?” Marcellus removed a tome, examined it, and returned it onto the shelf.
“That was not my doing,” she said stiffly.
“No. It was your father’s, and you would sit on his throne.”
This conversation was going terribly. To try to salvage it, she changed the subject slightly. “What of your father? Your mother?”
“What of them?” he asked gruffly.
“How will they fare without their competent son?” she asked dryly.
Whose conversational skills are rather incompetent?
“My father is hard at work trying to rebuild that which the monsoon took from us.” He seized a tome seemingly at random and sat at a table far from her. At least he was facing her somewhat.
“And your mother?” she asked.
“She is dead.”
“Oh. I am sorry. I did not know.”
“Did you cause her death?”
“Of course not!”
“Do not apologize then,” he muttered.
“How did she die?”
“I would rather not say.”
Rosalynne nodded. She was not offended in the slightest. Talking about death could conjure up grief and sorrow.
For whatever reason, she did wish to speak more on the topic. “My mother died when my sister was born,” she said.
“You must have been young,” Marcellus said. His gaze was on the open tome, but he had not yet turned the page.
“I was, but I do remember her some. Not much but enough to know I loved her.”
“That is a gift,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And a curse.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Although she had not thought of it in this manner before, he was right. Knowing her mother had loved her and that she had adored her mother in return was both a blessing and a curse.
“Yes,” she admitted slowly.
As she opened her eyes, Marcellus was staring at her. A look of despair flashed over his face.
Tears burned in her eyes as she thought about her mother, her father, her brother, even the baby that had not truly been her half-brother. Her sister so far away, how was she faring? Rosalynne felt as if she were drowning. Perhaps the world was quaking beneath her feet, and a hole would emerge to swallow her whole. Her father had not prepared her for this, and she had been naïve and careless to not take it upon herself to learn how to rule. Of course her father would not rule forever, but she thought she had time.
Time to learn.
To accept her role.
To be the queen that Tenoch Proper needed.
First, though, she needed to marry. Even with that, she wished her father was alive.
Why? He would have belittled every man I would have suggested and then forced me to marry the one of his choosing regardless of my feelings.
Which was why she should not allow her feelings to enter into this decision at all. Whomever she should marry should be for the betterment of all the lands. A match from one from Vincana would be ideal, yes. So few of them had come. Perhaps she should sail with them back to Vincana after the week-long festivities ended as neither of the two Vincanans who had come seemed viable choices to her.
There was something about Marcellus that unsettled her, although she did not understand it. He seemed to be too wary, too watchful, as if he were waiting for her or someone else to make a mistake. Did he wish to find a reason to declare them unfit to rule and try to seize the crown?
If he wished to try to marry one of the queens, he should try to behave more like the other, Rufus Vitus. The way he charmed Rosalynne was so polished and smooth that she had no doubt he was also trying to seduce Sabine and most likely countless others back on Vincana. The last thing the crown needed was for another unfaithful party to wear a crown.
Abruptly, Marcellus stood. He returned the tome to its place and eventually settled on another book. This one he did read.
At first, his presence distracted Rosalynne, but gradually, she forgot he was there. The awkwardness of their shared moment of grief had passed. Instead of bringing them closer together, Rosalynne felt even more isolated. Perhaps, one day, she would not feel so alone even if another was in the room with her.
Or perhaps the weight of the crown will serve as my only companion for the rest of my days.
57
Prince Marcellus Gallus
Marcellus read the tome about the city of Maloyan. The winner of the pathetic joust of only Tenoch had been from the land, which functioned as the only reason why he was bothering to study the book.
Inwardly, though, he was cursing himself. Rosalynne did not seem to have mastered the art of deception, which would not do her well given that she sought the crown herself. Her expressions and thoughts were too easily read. For being raised as a princess, one would have thought she would be the more polished one, but no, that crown belonged to the other queen, the imposter queen. Sabine.
Upon first meeting them and now with his second encounters with them both, Marcellus remained unimpressed with either queen. He knew that his father wanted him to seduce the women here, but he hated the land. He despised being away from his people when they needed him the most. His father was the one who wished to create Vincana Proper. Marcellus would be perfectly content merely ruling over Vincana, th
e rest of the world forgotten.
Tenoch felt too foreign, too different. Why were the soldiers not training daily? At least he had not witnessed it. Why were there so few women among the guards? How many more differences would he discover before he could leave this forsaken place?
Forsaken was perhaps not the most apt word choice. The castle seemed to suggest that the kingdom was thriving. The land here was lush and beautiful. He could not deny that.
Marcellus glanced up. Rosalynne was pouring over scrolls and tomes, going from one to the other as if searching for something. She was frowning, her eyebrows forming a “V” above her dark eyes. A few locks of hair had tumbled down from her pins, and they danced as she turned her head from side to side. As before, she was not wearing her crown.
He knew that without a doubt, his father would wish for Marcellus to find a noble woman outside of the queens. If his father had to pick between the two queens, he might well say Rosalynne but only because her last name was Rivera. Her claim to the throne was so much stronger than Sabine’s. However, if he were her king, he would be under her, and the kingdom would remain Tenoch Proper.
We can’t have that. Marcellus grimaced.
No. Even if he married a noblewoman from Tenoch, there would be war. There would be bloodshed. Both queens would have to die for Vincana Proper to rise from the ashes of Tenoch Proper.
Suddenly, the library felt so very small and intimate. The walls seemed to be closing in. Swiftly, Marcellus closed the tome and hopefully returned it to its proper place. Rosalynne had given him free rein of the castle, but he would take that a step farther. He would go out and see the villagers of Atlan. That was where the real truth of the kingdom would be revealed. If the people were malcontent, it would make a takeover that much simpler, easier.
But Marcellus already knew the truth. The transfer of power from Li to Rivera had been minimal bloodshed. He could not deny that. The transfer of power from Rivera/Grantham to Gallus would have more than enough blood to make up for that.
58
Rase Ainsley
When Rase’s Pa came home and saw that Maxene was there to stay, he hadn’t said anything but dropped off the stolen food and left immediately.
Four days passed where his pa tried to spend most of the days and nights away from the house. Rase finally stayed up half the night so the two of them could have a talk.
When his pa entered the house and saw Rase was awake, he sighed and dumped a bundle in the corner. “Why aren’t you asleep?” he grumbled quietly, glancing at the three sleeping females.
“Why did you come home so late?” Rase asked.
“Boy, if you want to yell at me again—”
“I want to say I’m sorry,” Rase whispered with feeling.
Pa furrowed his eyebrows. Only by the moonlight shining through the still-open door could Rase see some of his pa’s features.
“You’re doing what you have to do,” Rase continued.
“You aren’t going to judge me anymore?” Pa grumbled. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t been eating what I’ve been bringing home.”
“I’ve eaten some,” Rase admitted.
“Not enough. You need more.”
“Yes, well, now we have another mouth to feed.”
Rase glanced over at the peacefully sleeping Maxene. The first night, she had been restless and woke every few minutes. Her head had ached terribly, preventing her from sleeping. That next morning, Rase had gone to see the alchemist. He had been shocked to see that she was a female, but she had been very kind and understanding. When he had explained that he had only questions for her and no means to buy anything, she hadn’t sent him away. She had been patient and told him the exact herb that he could find and brew in hot water to make a tea to help with a headache. She had even showed him the exact plant and told him where to go to find some. Ever since, Maxene seemed to be doing better. Her color was improving, and she hardly cried at night. Already, in just a few days, she was doing much better.
“So we do.” Pa sat down beside Rase with a groan. “I never wanted things to turn out this way.”
“Life can be trying.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Pa yawned. “I’m tired, Rase. We should both get some rest.”
“Yes. Fare the night well, Pa.”
Already, Pa was lying down and snoring.
Rase smiled, but he was not ready for sleep. Not just yet. He needed to plan.
Going to see the queen… No. The peasants and nobles hadn’t helped him any. The queen would not be bothered with the likes of a singular peasant who had nothing to offer. From the whispers Rase had heard, things were not going well for either queens. The country was doing poorly, and most signs pointed toward war. A war would only mean more hardship and chaos for the poor people.
As much as Rase didn’t want to be his pa’s son, there was no other way. How could he claw his way out of the depths of poverty when he could not find a job? There was no honest work available to him.
Which meant there was only one possible avenue left for Rase. Honestly, he did not even feel guilty accepting that this was his life.
Rase wasn’t a peasant. He was too poor even for that distinction.
He would never be a beggar. If the people wouldn’t help him find a job, they most certainly would not just hand over food or coins to him.
That meant there truly was only one option left for Rase. He had tried to avoid it as long as possible, but he couldn’t deny the truth that his pa had already accepted.
Life had treated them poorly. Yes, his pa might have done things differently, might have made better choices with the money from the farm, might have tried harder to learn how to upkeep it himself. That didn’t matter now. That was the past, and all Rase could focus on now was the future and whatever might lie ahead for them.
Rase lay down and shifted until he was comfortable. He stared at the ceiling. A harsh winter with a lot of snow might cause it to collapse. It already leaked sometimes when the rain fell too hard and swift. This wasn’t a home, not even a house. It was a shelter, but barely that. For now, it would have to do, but maybe one day, they could claw their way out of this desolate mess and live a life that meant something. Maybe one day, they could stand tall and not worry about the pains in their bellies. They could have new clothes and shoes that fit their feet.
Maybe one day, they would want for nothing.
I vow that I will do what I can to help my family no matter what that requires. Even if that means resorting to crimes, to being a thief like Pa. Even if it means I’ll have to do worse. We don’t have much. We don’t have coins or enough food, but we have each other. That’s not enough. We need more. We will do more than survive. We will live.
59
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
The upcoming festivities notwithstanding, Rosalynne continued to serve her people. The crowd for today was large, more numerous than previous occasions. Perhaps she should listen to Advisor Aldus Perez and consider having only a few people in at a time while having the rest wait outside. It would grant privacy to each one as they asked for their request.
Today, however, the lot of them were in the throne room. Rosalynne was shocked Sabine did not object to this. Perhaps the ruling queen knew that Rosalynne did not sit on a throne, although she did wear her crown for the assemblies.
She waved her hand and nodded for the first person to step forward. To her surprise, five men stepped forward. Normally, only one or two would present their argument or disagreement for her to settle. Otherwise, a single person would ask for a request.
“How can I serve you, my kind sirs?” she asked graciously.
The man in the middle had a nasty scowl. His clothes fit him well although a little dirty. His large nose overshadowed his thin, nearly nonexistent lips.
He took one more step. “How about you serve the Riveras?” he asked.
The men behind him nodded and voiced their agreement. Several others in the crowd
behind them nodded as well.
“How am I not?” she asked, her heart sinking.
Recently, her assemblies had been wonderful affairs, and she truly felt as if she were making a different. People had trekked from as far as Cilla to see her. Unfortunately, none had come from Olac, not that she would be able to ask them if they had seen her sister there.
The man immediately to the middle man’s right grimaced. His belly was larger than his head, but that was nothing compared to the size her father had grown to. He rubbed his stomach and shook his head. His hair was a shocking color, more orange than red.
This man crossed his arms. “How’s the investigatin’ goin’? The prince. Did you forget ‘bout him? He was killed, wasn’t he?”
Rosalynne did her best to not smile. She clasped her hands behind her back and straightened even taller.
“Certainly I have not forgotten my brother. Noll remains very much in my mind. However, the investigation belongs to Queen Sabine. I suggest and do wish for you to ask her about it. In fact…”
Rosalynne clapped her hands one time.
The guard Wilfrid Frye stepped forward and bowed. “How may I serve you, My Queen?”
“Won’t you please do us all a courtesy and bring Queen Sabine here?”
“Certainly.” Wilfrid bowed once more and departed.
Rosalynne nodded to the men. Two seemed to be appreciative. The three in the middle wore a scowl, grimace, and a frown.
Five minutes passed before Sabine entered the room. The people eyed her warily. Her gown was far more elaborate than Rosalynne’s. They both wore various shades of red, with Rosalynne’s brighter, but Sabine’s speckled with rubies and garnets. A circlet was draped around the queen’s head, a garnet dangling on her forehead.