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

by N M Zoltack

  “My good people,” Sabine said with her arms outstretched as she walked around them toward the thrones. “Can Rosalynne not help you on this fair day?”

  “They have a question that would be better suited for you,” Rosalynne said with a smile. She gestured toward the five men.

  The center man glowered at the queens. “Tell us who killed Prince Noll. We want to know who did it. The queen to be needs protectin’, don’t ya think?”

  Sabine blinked a few times and cleared her throat. “Certainly the… Rosalynne needs to be protected, and she is. The killer, whoever he is, will never have a chance to harm her. Believe me.”

  “Are you even tryin’ to find the killer?” one of the other men asked.

  Sabine glanced out of the corner of her eyes at Rosalynne. From the corner of her mouth, she asked, “Did you put them up to this?”

  “No, but I have been wondering and hoping that the killer would be found. Not merely for peace of mind. The true killer must be found and executed for his or her crime.”

  Sabine’s blue eyes flashed when Rosalynne said true.

  The ruling queen refocused on those gathered. “Please do not give up hope as I have not. We have a few suspects in mind. We do not want to be rash, for if we execute the wrong person, the true killer may feel safe and risk an attempt on Rosalynne’s life.”

  Sabine reached over and clasped Rosalynne’s hand.

  “We cannot have that, now, can we?” Sabine asked, sounding triumphant.

  The men seemed satisfied, and Rosalynne was as well. Now more than ever, Rosalynne was convinced that Sabine knew who the killer was and was covering it up. The more Rosalynne thought of it, the more she believed that Sabine was not the killer herself. Otherwise, Sabine would not be hiding Ulric Cooper away. No. Sabine was using him as leverage in case the true killer forced her hand.

  But while she thought that Sabine was not strong enough to kill someone, Rosalynne did believe that Sabine would have no qualms having someone else do it for her.

  Rosalynne caught Wilfrid’s gaze. At the moment, she felt rather vulnerable. She would keep her guards close and try not to gaze too deeply into the shadows.

  60

  Cateline Locke

  Princess Vivian had spent several days now in the monastery. She had read more, eaten well, but slept fitfully. Every night, she had nightmares about either the dragons or the wraiths.

  The thought that someone could be punished for a crime they did not even commit frightened her. What if the person would not have gone through with the act. Anyone could have stray thought about doing something awful without ever intending to actually carrying through. To then be forced to either die or to live on as a wraith whose sole purpose was to terrify others so that they would not behave as they had was tragic. The more Vivian read about the dragons, the more she suspected that they enjoyed their power, authority, and domination over the humans far too much. Perhaps those who had killed the dragons had been right to do so.

  Never did she see anyone other than the one monk. The isolation plagued her. She felt cut off from the rest of the world. Some days, she did not even see Garsea and had to fend for herself.

  For so long, Vivian’s life had been filled with people, from her family to visiting nobles to peasants to servants and maids. She had never truly been alone. Even after she had abandoned Ulric, she had the horse. Now, she was so utterly isolated that she felt as if she could go mad.

  How had Garsea brought her here? For what purpose? How long should she stay?

  These thoughts kept her up for about an hour. Then, sleep came, and with it, a dream.

  Vivian decided to leave the monastery. She gathered some items, mostly food, and departed. As she left, she felt badly for departing without saying goodbye to Garsea. She turned back only to see the monastery reduced to rubble as a massive winged beast burst through. The foundation of the building collapsed, bringing up a stormy cloud of sand and rock and glass. Vivian coughed and coughed, stumbling away from the ruins, trying to catch her bearings. Eventually, she blinked enough to be able to see a ball of orange fire headed straight for her followed by massive ivory fangs.

  With a. gasp, Vivian sat up. Another nightmare. She placed a hand to her chest and tried to calm her furiously beating heart. It hadn’t been real. The monastery was very much still standing, and dragons remained very much dead. She had nothing to fear.

  Perhaps she would do no more reading this day.

  After trying and failing to locate Garsea, Vivian dropped some fruits from the kitchen and opted to go for a walk. She would return shortly. Then next time she saw the monk, she would ask those questions that had been plaguing her. Whatever he wished to teach her or learn from her should begin. At the very least, she would ask him if he knew what was happening at the castle. Yes, that might cause him to suspect her, but at this point, she did not care. If he had wished to harm her, surely, he would have done so already.

  Light shone within the monastery at all hours because of the glass, so Vivian had not realized that dawn had not arrived just yet when she exited. That hazy time between night and day lingered, the darkness battling the light. A surprising chilly gust of wind blew past her, and Vivian shivered.

  Determined to continue on, Vivian held her head high and marched along. A short walk was all she needed. Then, she could return, gain some answers, and perhaps leave again, that time for good.

  The light struggled to rise, but a fog rolled in, preserving the nigh a while longer yet. Undeterred, Vivian headed back toward the city, toward signs of life, but she saw none. Only the strange fog.

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Something wasn’t right.

  The princess whirled around. She could not see the monastery. In fact, she could see nothing at all save for the fog.

  Turning around again, she hesitated and then shrieked.

  There, standing before her, was a wraith. No skin. All bones. A flowing black hooded cloak riddled with holes covered the body. Slowly, the wraith lifted an arm and pointed a bony finger at Vivian.

  A nightmare. This had to be another nightmare.

  Vivian stepped back, tripped over a rock, and fell. The impact jarred her, and she abraded her palms.

  No. This was no dream gone terribly wrong. She was awake.

  The wraith was real.

  How was that possible? Dragons created the wraiths. The dragons were dead. There weren’t any more wraiths.

  Yet, one stood before her, or maybe hovering was more apt. The fog made it impossible for her to see the creature’s feet.

  Terrified, frightened nearly out of her mind, Vivian dropped the fruit she was holding, turned around, and began to run in the direction she thought the monastery was in. The fog and the iciness of the air seemed to cling to her, and she glanced over her shoulder. The wraith was following her.

  Stifling a cry, Vivian ran faster. The monastery was gone. All of the buildings were gone. What was happening? How could this be real?

  Straight ahead, she could see lights, and Vivian raced there. Surely the wraith, a creature of such darkness, would be adverse to the brightness.

  But the wraith was gaining on her. Her breath fogged, she was that cold, but still, she pressed onward. One foot, two, three, four…

  Abruptly, she reached the light. Olac surrounded her. The fog, the coldness in the air, the wraith, all of it was gone.

  Vivian did not stop running. She raced through the city all the way through until she reached the shore. Even then, she did not stop. Vivian spied the piers, found a ship that was being loaded up, ready to sail immediately. When the crew wasn’t looking, she slipped on board and hide among the barrels of spices marked for Tiapan. Fleeing to another island might be a bit extreme, but Vivian longed to be safe. The nightmares, that wraith, dragons… No. She did not need the answers to her questions. If she had her way, she would never see Garsea again.

  Thank you for your hospitality, but I really must be going.

  S
he sank into the shadows, fell to her knees, and tried to feel safe. Perhaps one day, she would truly feel safe, but she knew that sentiment would evade her for some time now.

  Perhaps all safety is an illusion.

  61

  Queen Sabine Grantham

  At long last, finally, the day was here, and all of Sabine’s planning and scheming would pay off. The grand ball to set off the week-long festivities was at hand.

  Her gown was by far the most elaborate one that she owned. The beautiful deep red of the dress perfectly compliment her pale complexion. The champagne beaded laces and trim decorated along the neckline, the bodice, along the sleeves, and on the sheer overlay of the skirt. The drop sleeves were not as long as some of her others. The full underskirt had a large champagne trim down the front. Glass pearl beads decorated the front panel. The hoop was not too wide so as to allow for close proximity while dancing.

  Every gentleman present wished to dance with the queen. She not only obliged them, but she flirted with one and all. After a round with Rufus Vitus, Sabine could use some time away from the dance floor. The man, while quite amusing and even fun to be around, liked the sound of his voice a bit much.

  A servant approached with a tray of champagne flutes. Although she wished for wine or even a stout ale, she accepted a flute. Nowhere did she see Rosalynne. Perhaps the younger queen had decided not to come. The thought pleased the queen.

  Her smile and happiness, however, were short-lived as she spotted her mother. She was standing far too close to Aldus Perez, whispering in his ear. A stab of jealousy seized Sabine, which was ridiculous. Most likely, her mother was trying to find a way to upset or. Or, perhaps even more likely, her mother was attempting to find a weakness she could exploit.

  Slowly, without being obvious, Sabine made her way over to the couple, coming up behind them. At first, the din of the revelry makers, the talking and laughing, the pleasing sounds teased from the instruments all served to keep their words from her. Gradually, she was able to listen enough to realize the two were flirting.

  Sabine drained her champagne, discarded the flute at the table offering an array of desserts and returned to the dance floor. Where was Marcellus? They had only danced the once, and the Vincana had been rather subdued.

  Alas, she could not find him, and instead, she danced with Rufus more. She must marry a Vincana. No one said it must be Marcellus. Rufus seemed easier to control. He did not seem ambitious outside of wishing to bed her. She had entertained the notion but thus far had not. Perhaps that should change.

  For whatever the reason, Sabine felt as if she needed to keep a close eye on Marcellus. Something she could not explain drew her to him. While he had not showed any outward sign of being ambitious, she though they were alike. He commended and demanded others to heed him, and he seemed to do it effortlessly. Together, they could be very powerful indeed.

  Unless he wished for that power to belong solely to himself.

  Sabine was now dancing with Bjorn Ivano. The man did not seem to care for her, and honestly, she despised him. Any who would prefer Rosalynne to her was a fool.

  Over his shoulder, she finally spied Marcellus. He stood away from the crowd and was speaking to none other than her mother.

  Sabine’s nostrils flared as her mother touched the Vincana’s shoulder, throwing back her head and laughing. More flirting.

  Her mother was after the crown for herself. Sabine was certain of it. Rosalynne wished for it. Perhaps Marcellus. That would explain why he had come. Did no one want Sabine to rule outside of herself? She would have to keep her enemies as close as possible to discover what they wished. As for Aldus Perez, she would deal with him later.

  For now… She dipped her head and left Bjorn although the song had not ended and found Rufus. At least with him, she knew where she stood. The Vincana smiled at her as if she were the only woman in the room. That he had just given a duke’s daughter that same look did not bother her as Rufus swept her into his arms and twirled her about. The man could dance, and this was a ball after all. For now, she would endeavor to enjoy herself and not worry about the deceit of others.

  62

  Queen Rosalynne Rivera

  Rosalynne felt very much removed and isolated from the others. They all laughed and talked, danced and twirled. All she was doing was watching from afar. Sabine had gone from man to man, which did not surprise her in the least. Greta, Sabine’s mother, was not dancing. Instead, she took her time, making the rounds, talking with various prominent men such as the advisor, the Vincanans, and council members.

  For the fifth time, Rosalynne thought about departing the room. It was tragic, but no one seemed to realize she was not engaging them. They did not care if she were here. Perhaps now would be the perfect chance to go and see Ulric and the guard Col. She had not had a chance to see Ulric recently, although they did correspond daily.

  Sabine was dancing once again with Rufus Vitus. The Vincana had great gamboling skill, and Rosalynne found herself wondering if he danced with a blade in his hand. Perhaps swordplay was a kind of lethal dance.

  Did the ruling queen favor the Vincana? It did not surprise Rosalynne that Sabine was eyeing one or even both of the islanders.

  The queen was walking away. To Rosalynne’s shock, the Vincana was not following her. It dismayed her to realize Rufus was heading straight for Rosalynne, who stood near the thrones tucked back in the corner of the grand ballroom.

  “There you are!” Rufus said, sweeping into a low bow. “I have been keeping an eye out for you. Please, will you not allow me to have one dance with you?”

  “I am not much in the mood for dancing,” she said softly.

  “No? Why not?”

  Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes. At once, Rufus straightened and his playful expression turned serious, a shocking look on the man who seemed to smile at every occasion.

  “This is the first dance since…”

  “Yes,” she said curtly.

  Rufus closed the small distance between them. “If you wish to leave, I will cover your retreat.”

  Rosalynne’s eyes widened, surprised and touched.

  The Vincanan sighed. “I am not a monster. I do feel grief and sorry. I bleed as you do. I may smile more than most, but that does not mean I cannot have sympathy, and you, My Queen, most certainly have mine.”

  He claimed her hand and pressed his lips to it.

  “You most certainly have a way with words.”

  “And I can dance too.” He was back to grinning.

  “So I saw.”

  “You were watching me? You flatter me.” Once more, he turned serious. “We can dance or we can talk or you can talk, and I will listen.”

  “Is that possible?” she murmured.

  Rufus shrugged. “Perhaps for a minute. Two might be my limit.”

  She beamed. The depressing isolation was lifting away. She feared only speaking to Ulric about her sister would help to shed this terrible, crushing weight. Perhaps even talking to the prisoner would not have helped. Lately, all Rosalynne felt was useless, worthless. She was not doing enough for her people. She could not even truly serve them until she married. How cruel was that? The man she would wed would not even rule alongside her, yet without a male’s presence in her life, she could not be the queen she had been born to be.

  Such distressing thoughts was why she offered Rufus her hand. With a grin, he wove her arm through his, and he brought her to the center of the dance floor. Rufus was even more skilled then she had realized, and she found herself smiling and laughing. He moved and twirled and dipped her so often that they could not speak. Which was just as well as she was rendered breathless.

  After one such dip, Rufus straightened her and then jerked. Startled, she propped him up as he slumped against her. A shriek rang out, and people rushed away, frightened, screaming, almost like a stampede.

  Rufus was not overweight by any means, but his body weighed so heavily against her that she sank to the floor, hol
ding him. Only then did she spy the handle sticking out from his back. Golden and with intricate engraved carvings, the weapon seemed more decorative than lethal.

  “Rufus,” she said, but she doubted he could hear with all of the commotion around them. “Rufus!”

  You fool. He’s dead.

  The throng of people trying to leave grew unruly, but one man pushed his way through toward her. Marcellus Gallus collapsed beside her.

  “Who did this? What happened? What did you see?” Marcellus asked her coldly as he took his friend from her.

  “I-I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone. We were dancing, and then—”

  “You saw nothing at all?” He glowered at her. The fierceness in his set jaw, the anger burning in his eyes, and the way his hand reached toward his belt even though he was not wearing his sword…

  Rosalynne knew that this meant war. So much for forging an alliance, and who would have done such a thing? There had been so many people here. How could none have seen the killer?

  Already, the guards were moving in. Sabine was handling the situation much better than Rosalynne was. She had hardly moved since she had sank to the ground. Her arms and lap felt empty now that Rufus was not leaning against her.

  One of the guards approached. Rosalynne could hardly see who it was to recognize him through her unshed tears.

  “We have funneled all of the guests to another room. Each will be questioned. We will find the killer.” The guard bowed and departed.

  “Find the killer of a foreigner before finding the killer of the prince,” Marcellus snapped. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

  Rosalynne merely winced. She had no words of comfort to give. All that sounded the young queen was death. Perhaps even Tenoch Proper would die because of her.

  63

  Cateline Locke