“That would be one interpretation of the events,” Fredrik said.
“You owe me a debt,” Morgan said hurriedly to Jarol. Fredrik turned away so Jarol wouldn’t see him smile.
“There was a dragon and it killed the two elves who were escorting your father,” Lorna added. “Look. Your father carries the bag of messages and dispatches he took off the dead elf guard.”
Fredrik watched Morgan avert his eyes. He knew the woman told the truth. He was there for all except—
“And who are you?” Jarol asked warily.
“My name is Lorna and I owe Morgan a debt, just as you do,” Lorna fired back, raising her voice.
Jarol ignored Lorna. “Tomorrow we march. Don’t be here when I return. Ride any direction but south.”
“Morgan, would you and Lorna step outside? I need to talk to my son in private,” Fredrik said. Morgan’s face proved he was worried Fredrik would undo the small victory he won over Jarol. Lorna grabbed Morgan’s arm and pulled him along behind her.
Fredrik smiled at the two as they departed. The woman looked out for the younger man like an older sister. He removed the heavy broadsword from his back. It felt ten times heavier than it used to. Unbuttoning his heavy fur coat, he took it off and lay it across an empty chair, then sat in the empty chair next to it.
“What time do we march in the morning?” Fredrik asked.
“We march before dawn and you will stay here.”
“I didn’t ride across the continent to sit in a tent and be ordered around by my son. This is what you were born and raised to do, Son, and I will watch you do it.”
“You are here, Father, so you can fight and die with honor.”
“There is truth to that,” Fredrik agreed.
“More truth than what I heard from the three of you a few minutes ago.”
“That you are wrong about. Morgan fought the dragon twice on our ride here.”
“Is the dragon dead? Is there a body?”
“No... I don’t think he wanted to kill it. Furthermore, I believe he and Drae’Anallese are... friends.”
“The white dragon!” Jarol said in disbelief.
“Of that I’m certain. Large and white one time, and another she changed into a dark elf. From what I saw... from behind.” Fredrik grinned.
“I see what you’re doing—changing the subject to distract me. First things first: you are not riding on the battlefield just so you can uphold an idiot tradition about dying with a sword in your hand.”
“Enough!” Fredrik yelled then sighed and softened his tone. “I don’t want to spend the evening arguing with you. It is likely our last one together. Send for some food and wine and let’s eat while you tell me your plans for winning this war.” Fredrik watched his son storm out of the tent. He would have liked to fight the dragon to see which was harder: that or talking to his son about his final day.
*****
Morgan stood outside the tent listening to Fredrik and Jarol. He quickly moved a few steps away when he heard Jarol’s footsteps coming toward the tent opening. Jarol gave him an angry look when he exited and stomped off. Morgan hurried to get inside the tent and was almost there when Raile yelled, “Hey, Fredrik, looks like you made your little boy cry!”
Morgan looked into the tent and saw the anger on Fredrik’s face. Morgan returned his attention to the man and kicked him in the face. His mouth and nose exploded in a spray of blood.
Morgan lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Disrespect Jarol all you want, but you talk to Fredrik like that again and I’ll kill Tarin and make you watch as I cut pieces off of him and toss them into your lap.”
Dra?
I had nothing to do with that. It was all you, and well put, I have to say. You’ll be a dragon before you know it.
That was enough of that conversation. He walked in and over to Fredrik. The man in front of him didn’t fit what he pictured. Fredrik’s ill-fitting clothing bespoke a man who had once been well-muscled, but now it seemed his body just hung on his bones.
“They call it a wasting disease. It slowly eats away the body, starting with the muscles then moving on. There is no cure, I’m told. I don’t want to die lying around in my bed with my wife and servants hovering around me. I have enough strength to swing this sword once or twice. Enough to make an enemy soldier attack me. There will be pain, but it will be short-lived compared to the summers I’ve spent suffering.”
“If that is what you truly want, then I will accompany you on the battlefield and bring your body back so they don’t desecrate it. I’ll end the fight once the killing blow has been struck.”
“Do not get yourself killed intervening on my behalf. That would be a waste of your life.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve done ok keeping myself alive. Now I have a magical sword that cuts through anything. Even dragon scale,” Morgan revealed and smiled.
“Jarol may not like you bloodying his prisoner. What did you say to Raile? You spoke too soft for me to hear.”
“I told him he could disrespect Jarol if he wanted to, but if he disrespected you again I would cut Tarin up into pieces and pile them into his lap.”
“And would you?”
“Yes,” Morgan replied with certainty.
Thirty-Five
Alexis crept through the palace halls, staying in the shadows until she found her way to her uncle’s rooms. He had a block of three rooms, as befitted his station within the family and court. She knocked softly in a sequence that he would recognize if he wasn’t sleeping. As a child, her uncle had doted on her more than her sisters, indulging her sense of adventure that the other two princesses didn’t have. He was good to teach her about rangers and assassins and dragons.
The code was from a game they used to play. He would leave clues throughout the palace and she would have to find each clue, continuing her search until she located what room he was in. Once there, she had to use the special knock or he wouldn’t answer. They played during the day while he worked, so her knock could come right in the middle of anything. She also had to wait until he answered the door. If she left too soon, she lost. The door opened moments later, just enough for her to slip inside.
“Uncle,” she said giving him a hug.
“My dearest niece,” he answered. “Why are you skulking about the palace and using our secret knock? It had been so long since I last heard it I almost had to think.”
“I have a task to perform, Uncle, and then I’m leaving again. I want no one to know I was here. Believe me when I say it will be better this way.”
“What is this task that is such a secret?”
“Assassins came for me a second time and took my friend instead. They paid the price and my friend is safe now. He can’t know for sure the assassins failed and I need to use his ignorance of the matter against him. He will die as he has lived—only the knife will find his back.”
Her uncle’s face twisted through a series of emotions before returning to the calm, stoic expression he now wore. “I need information,” she said. “The sooner the better. The longer I’m here, the better the odds I’m found out.”
“Alexis,” her uncle said looking pained. “Someone killed your sister’s betrothed in a hunting accident not a quarter moon ago.”
“What. Which?”
“Dalphenia’s betrothed. She has been in mourning ever since.”
Alexis thought about this new information. “Uncle, if the assassins had killed or taken me, then that would have left Milandro free to talk my parents into a pairing with Dalphenia. But why Dalphenia? Why not Charlain, who will be queen one day?” Alexis asked. “It’s clear all he seeks is power and position.”
“That would’ve been too ambitious even for him.”
“His ambition will be his undoing. Find out where he is staying and his daily routine. I’m sure he ends up here most of his days, but he has to go elsewhere sometimes. His demise has to happen outside the palace.”
Her uncle gave a knowing s
mile. “He will be easy to find because your parents gave him a permanent room here in the palace.”
“They did what? Uncle Nafillion, has he some hold over my parents?”
“No, child. They like him. He is a schemer just like them, and they enjoy the game. If they had evidence he had a part in your sister’s future husband’s death, then they would have dealt with him. But if they find no evidence, then they will respect him even more. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, and it’s so much sadder for the telling. My parents are terrible.”
“They are elf nobility. Which reminds me, how did you find your cousin Verlainia’s court?”
“Cold, Uncle. In every way.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was, and yet you seem to have come away unscathed.”
“Her treatment was fair. I’ve no complaints. Although I can’t say it was the same for everyone,” she whispered, thinking of Morgan chained to Queen Verlainia’s throne.
“No doubt. Where are you staying?” Nafillion asked. Alexis gave him the name of the inn and he took her to a secret passage that exited the palace. It would be how she would enter and depart the palace from that point on. Her uncle asked if he could sleep on the situation and he would send a trusted servant to contact her tomorrow.
The next morning, Alexis woke to a soft knock on her door. It was the coded knock and she opened it and recognized one of the palace servants wearing a hooded cape pulled low over her forehead.
“You need to be here—” the servant said, handing Alexis a small piece of parchment with a name and location “—right before dusk.” She stepped inside the room as Alexis read the note. He will come after dusk. The temptation will be too great for him not to. Her uncle had set up a day of distraction for Dalphenia. She would shop, dine and then go on a long carriage ride that would last until late evening. A few of her friends were going along to make sure she didn’t try to return early. The plan entitled the friends to shopping and food all day at the crown’s expense, so there would be no doubt they would try to keep her out as long as they could.
Meanwhile, a note had found its way to Milandro that requested he meet Dalphenia in secret and to come alone. There were various compliments and suggestions made, eluding to him being too good for her sister and the hint of a betrothal to her instead once she was released from the marriage promise. It hurt when she read that part and Alexis had to remind herself her sister didn’t write it. The servant who stood in front of her would play the part of Dalphenia, take a carriage and pick up Milandro at a defined location before going on to a secluded place outside of the city where they could speak of all matters in private. Alexis pushed the hood back from the servant’s head to study her. It was then she noticed the servant looked similar to her and her sisters, but even so, she looked more like her uncle. Why had she not noticed that before?
“I see in your eyes you’ve realized something,” the servant said calmly.
“Only that there are secrets everywhere and even my uncle, who I thought was always honest with me, has kept at least one to himself.”
“Keeping one’s own secrets doesn’t make one dishonest. Your position does not entitle to know everything there is to know.”
“So you are my cousin?”
“Bastard cousin,” the servant replied. “Do you think I would serve the household if I was legitimate? You know your uncle; my father never took a second wife.”
“Thank you for your help.”
“I was thrilled when Father came to me last night and ask me to help. Maybe a little too agreeable. Anyway, he doesn’t know my reasons, and neither will you. Just do your part, Princess, and we will all rejoice in the outcome.”
“Rejoice?”
“Yes, a fitting word.”
“What did he do to you?” Alexis asked, her voice stern, though she instantly regretted it.
The servant’s face didn’t hide what she thought about Alexis’s tone and question. “Not I but a friend and she still sobs in her pillow at night. Please don’t pretend that you care what happens to the household servants. I’ll have a dagger under my skirts in case you can’t handle the deed,” the servant replied hotly. Alexis slapped the side of her face. The servant’s eyes watered as she lowered them to floor. Her face burned from the forceful reminder of who she addressed.
Alexis exhaled, conflicted with emotions. She couldn’t decide what to say. She set her thoughts aside and pulled her newfound cousin into an embrace. The servant stiffened in her grasp at first then relaxed. She kissed the handprint still blazing on the servant’s cheek and eased her cousin back a step to look at her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “My resolve in this matter is stone. Tonight I will avenge the wrong done to your friend and I will not waver.”
“I beg your forgiveness, Princess.
“Given. Return to the palace. We have much to do.”
*****
Milandro sat in his room at the palace reading a note that had been slipped under his door. It was the third time he had read it and his smile grew larger with each reading. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d had so little of late. Not one, but two pairs of assassins failed in furthering his plans. He wasn’t certain about the second pair, but he hadn’t heard from them since the hiring and they should have reported their success or failure by now. It was safe to assume the latter.
He had Dalphenia’s betrothed killed in a plot he thought would take time to cultivate but if the princess—to his surprise—had feelings for him, it would expedite matters quite satisfactorily. It was also a surprise to him Dalphenia had a flair for intrigue. No one at court would have ever seen a drop of intrigue in her. She was quite the dullard and seemed content to hang on the arm of her betrothed and give him pecks on the cheek.
“Hot water! I need some hot water in here,” bellowed Milandro. “I must bathe at once.”
“Right away, Master Milandro,” a servant called out. He opened his wardrobe and took out two bottles of scented oil.
“Sweet Dalphenia, we shouldn’t waste this opportunity to get to know each other without interruption,” he murmured softly, looking at his reflection in the mirror. It was a rehearsal, like so many times before. He would send the carriage driver for a long walk in the wood while he got to know his future wife better. He selected his clothes while the servant filled the bath and he smiled once more at his good fortune.
Milandro had not been waiting long when he heard horse and carriage trotting along the cobble street. The driver pulled the reins and bellowed at the horses, stopping the carriage right in front of him. Stepping down—a foot atop the wheel and the other on a peg—the driver opened the carriage door. Milandro saw a woman looking at him over a veil and headdress. She was dressed in a gown befitting a princess, although it showed a little more of the valley between her breasts than he remembered the Princess Dalphenia ever putting on display. He sat down in the seat across from her as the driver shut the door.
The princess placed a finger up to her lips, signaling Milandro to silence. She leaned forward and handed him a note. It read: My apologies, dearest Milandro, for all of the subterfuge, but it would not bode well for us to be overheard in conversation so soon on the matter of an alliance, a betrothal, if you will, between us and our houses. The palace has ears everywhere. Once we reach our destination, we can send the driver away while we discuss a proper plan that would not raise the suspicion of Father and Mother.
I have someone who will talk to the driver upon my return and convince him it would not be wise to speak of the carriage ride today. Also, if he hears nothing, then there is nothing for him to tell if questioned. For anything beyond our control, then we say I saw you waiting and offered you a ride back to the palace.
Again, please forgive the secrecy but I thought it best to approach you sooner rather than later to hear your feelings on the matter. Yours truly, Dalphenia.
He read it twice then looked at Dalphenia and nodded his approval, giving her his best s
mile.
*****
Alexis watched—from the tree branch—as the carriage pulled into a secluded clearing not fifty paces away. The shades were drawn and in the last light of the day it came to stop. The driver sat waiting for the occupants to give him further instruction. He took a small knife out and cleaned his fingernails, which Alexis thought was odd. He hadn’t been sitting long enough to grow bored enough to perform a task like that.
The carriage door opened and the driver jumped, alarmed and vexed that he wasn’t informed anyone wanted to exit. Milandro spoke to him and then got back inside, pulling the door shut behind him. She watched the driver walk into the woods about sixty paces and sit down under a tree. Alexis silently lowered herself down the rope she had tied to the branch. She hurried toward the carriage, knowing if the plan had worked thus far, now would be the time when it began to unravel.
Entering the clearing, Alexis was relieved to see the shade on her side was still down. She heard a startled yelp that could only be Milandro, followed by a string of curses. A breath later, she heard the sound of a body crumpling—accompanied by the sound of ripping material—on the floor of the carriage.
“I’m unclear of your motives, wench, but by the time I’m done with you I will know everything about this little plot,” Milandro threatened. He punctuated his words with a slap. Alexis pulled on the carriage door, put her foot on the step and launched herself through. Milandro had the servant on the floor. The front of her dress was ripped open to her waist and the skirts were pushed up. Alexis had had anger simmering just under the surface for half over a moon and a frustration that nagged at her since childhood. She never cared for him. It wouldn’t have mattered to her parents what she cared about—the wedding would have taken place regardless. It took two attempts on her life and the scene in front of her for her anger to finally explode into a rage hotter than dragonfyre.
Alexis yelled, releasing her fury. Milandro looked at her and snarled at being interrupted until it registered who she was and that he had no way of stopping her booted foot. His head snapped to the side with the sound of breaking bone. Alexis had felt it crack through the top of her boot. The servant pushed with both hands, trying to get out from under him. Had she been wearing the same thing as Alexis, she would have sprung free, but the volumes of material that made up her dress trailed behind her and Milandro only needed to reach out, grab a handful and jerk.
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