by N M Zoltack
Reflecting on her failures with Noll reminded Rosalynne of Vivian. Far too much time had passed since she had seen her sister. According to Ulric Cooper, a former servant, he had fled the castle with Vivian to protect her after the murder of Noll. Vivian being Vivian had slipped away from him. So many months had passed since Ulric had returned. Had the spoiled princess been able to survive all of this time on her own? Where was she? Would she ever return? With the war, perhaps it would be best for Vivian to remain away as much as Rosalynne longed to embrace her only living blood relative.
“My Queen,” Aldus said, sounding as if he had called to her several times already.
Rosalynne eyed the advisor. Yes, she was queen, but until she could think clearly, she should not make any decisions that could affect the lives of her people, knights, and guards.
“You should talk to Sabine,” she said, shocked by how devoid of emotion she sounded, including bitterness.
“My Queen, if I may…” Aldus eyed her. “I advise you to reconsider this. Giving Sabine more power now will hurt you later. I can assure you of that.”
He had a point, damn the man.
“Very well,” she said wearily. “I will consider my options and get back to you.”
Before he could say more or change the topic of discussion, Rosalynne stood and followed Wilfrid out of the room.
“You may go,” she told him.
“I will see you to your room,” Wilfrid protested.
“I wish to see the vicar. I will be quite fine in his presence.”
The guard grimaced but then nodded. “As you wish, My Queen.”
It did not take Rosalynne long to go to the chapel. As always, Vicar Albert Leeson was there, his back stooped more that the previous time she had seen him. His white hair was cut short, but his eyebrows were as bushy as ever.
When she gently closed the door, he glanced up. “My Queen, how may I serve you?”
“I wish… I wish to speak with you about my father.”
“Most certainly. Anything in particular?”
She hesitated. Confessing her father’s sin felt wrong, but she needed someone to talk to.
The vicar stared at her with kind eyes. “Death is not easy to accept, especially when that death means you are elevated to a position of power and authority far earlier than you ever expected.”
“I’m not worried about my duties,” she said truthfully but doubting that the man understood what she meant. Her father’s death did not matter as much as Bates’, and her duties meant even less. In truth, she truly was not acting like a queen at all.
“Death is necessary even if it is painful,” the vicar said.
Bates hadn't been, but her thoughts returned to Vivian. Was she alive or dead? Would Rosalynne ever see her again?
She shifted away from the vicar and eyed the statues dedicated to the four fates.
Please, Fate of Life, please guide my sister home. Please, Fate of Peace, Fate of Chaos. Rosalynne smiled despite the tears welling in her eyes. Chaos might well be the one looking over her sister the most.
She eyed the last Fate with disdain. The Fate of Death.
Fate of Death, please leave my family be.
Her family. All that remained was Vivian. The thought was so sorrowful that Rosalynne had to sit down. The vicar spoke to her, but she did not hear his words above the dull roar in her ears.
Life had been so good for the Rivera trio for so long, and now, life was so very terrible. Would there ever be balance?
7
Sir Edmund Hill
Ten or perhaps an even dozen Vincanans were all bunched together in a camp without a fire. The cover of trees, underbrush, and bushes only brought him so close to them, however, and he could not figure out a way for him to get even closer. From this point, he was invisible to them, but unfortunately, they were inaudible to him.
Was there a potion to increase the power of one’s ears? To make him have the hearing of an owl with their crooked ears?
In short, he needed Tatum’s help. He shouldn’t have pushed her away, and now, she might hate him. She could very well refuse to help him, and he would not blame her in the least. Knowing Tatum as he did, she would probably pretend to send him away but then make the potions and bring them to him later.
But he should not ask her for anything and not because of how he had treated her earlier. No, she should be helping Tenoch Proper instead by making more potions for the knights and guards.
Just then, he felt a slight breeze on the back of his neck, and he froze. The night was deathly still, without any wind at all until now.
It wasn't the wind. It was a person's breath.
He reached for his dagger as that would be easier to secure versus drawing his sword and drawing the attention of the Vincanans. Who else would be behind him but a Vincanan?
But the Vincanan would have either captured or killed him by now.
Edmund did not remove his dagger after all. Sure enough, he turned to see Tatum beside him.
“You are a terrible spy,” she murmured.
“I’m too focused,” he grumbled. “Now, hush. I’m trying to listen.”
“You cannot hear them?” Tatum asked innocently.
Edmund grunted. “Keep your voice down.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “You can?”
“Yes. They’re clearly talking about, well…” She grinned.
“Tatum, this isn’t the time for games,” he grumbled.
“This is not a game, and I know that, but you are going to get yourself killed.”
“I will not!”
She slapped her hand over his mouth. “I can take care of myself, not that I need to prove myself to you.”
He gently touched her wrist, and she lowered her hand. “Does your husband know you are here?”
Tatum’s eyes flashed, and her entire body stiffened with anger. He hadn’t thought it possible, but she’s even more furious with him. “I will not leave,” she said evenly, “not while I can help you, and do not deny that you need my help.”
He gritted his teeth and then sighed. “I do need your help, and I apologize—”
"Hush. We shouldn't be talking this much." Her eyes glittered even though she did not smile, and she reached into the pouch tucked into the rope that belted her simple blue dress. "Drink this," she whispered, pushing a small vial into his hand.
Without hesitating, he lifted the stopper and drained the vial. The potion tasted like mold and sunshine, a disgusting combination, and he covered his mouth so he wouldn’t be sick.
"I know it tastes terrible, but if I add anything merely for taste, the potency is affected," she said ruefully.
“It’s fine,” he said, and he gasped.
He could hear the faint breeze he could hardly feel, hear the rustling of the grass from insects, hear their wings buzz as they rubbed against each other. His ears prickled, hurting from hearing too much, and he turned his gaze on the Vincanans, hoping he could concentrate on whatever they were discussing in hushed tones.
At first, their words were too loud for him to make them out individually, but then he heard something that made his blood turn cold, and he shivered.
The Vincanans didn’t want to be separate from Tenoch Proper. They didn’t merely wish for their own independence.
No. They wanted to create Vincana Proper, and far worse than that, they seemed to think that not only feasible but obtainable in a very short amount of time.
8
Garsea
The jungle seemed to be far more expansive than Garsea recalled, or else perhaps he had gotten turned around somewhere. The tall trees formed a canopy above his head so he could not gain a bearing from the stars as they proved to be invisible at night. Moss did not only grow on the northern portions of trees here because the jungle was so very damp. Moss clung to and coated a fair number of the tree barks entirely.
Although the eldest Keeper did his best to move as quickly as he could, his body, well into his
sixties, could not handle the strain very well. His pace was slow, but thankfully, other than the manticore, the animals seemed to have gone back to watching him and allowing him to pass, but he could feel their eyes on him long after he had left them behind.
It was disconcerting to say the least. Still, he did his best to move along, and when he had to rest and sleep, he climbed as high as he could. It was not the best form of protection, but he was traveling by himself, so what other means did he have for defense against the creatures who lived here and could easily end him if they so choose?
That night, Garsea attempted to find a tree with a low enough branch. Earlier that day, he had felt particularly vulnerable. If he fell out of the tree, he was liable to break a bone. Back at the monastery, he never felt his age, but now, at times, he felt even older.
Ah, there. He grabbed the branch, but it snapped off in his hands.
With a sigh, he kept on walking. Maybe he could just hide in some underbrush, but so many smaller creatures rustled about constantly, and he feared he would be found or even attacked while he slept.
He paused and wearily rubbed his forehead. A yawn had his jaw crackling.
The hair on the back of his neck rose, a sensation made even stranger because he had no hair on the top of his head. Something was watching him.
Garsea turned and spotted a wraith. He smiled, happy to see the creature that held such a close link to the dragons, but there was something unsettling about this one.
The wraith appeared identical to the first, a ghost-like figure without skin, only bones. A black hooded cloak covered the body. A bony finger pointed at Garsea.
And then the wraith flew straight toward him.
Garsea whirled around and rushed away as quickly as his old body would allow. Somehow, he had decent speed. Perhaps his fear lent him strength and quickened his pace.
After a minute, he glanced over his shoulder. The wraith was still coming toward him, gaining on him.
He ducked beneath a branch and then headed eastward. At least, he hoped he was moving toward the east. Despite the great amount of time he had already wasted in Kiamur Jungle, he quickly broke free, and the sight of the Olacic Mountains greeted him. Garsea should only have to climb one, perhaps two to be able to reach Olac. The jungle should have been a quicker route, but it was far too dangerous.
The wraith was nearly upon him. Just what did the creature intend to do to him? Garsea did not want to find out, even if that meant he was doubting the dragons some. The wraiths were their creations, yes, but the dragons had yet to return. This wraith might not know or understand what the dragons wished for, might not even know who Garsea was.
The moment Garsea set foot on the mountain, a strangle cry rang out behind him. Shocked at that horrific noise, Garsea fell and crawled up the mountain with his back toward the ground rather than his torso.
The wraith. For whatever reason, the creature seemed unwilling to approach the mountains. Why? Did another danger lurk here?
If so, Garsea would have to face it. He was not prepared to face a wraith’s assault or judgment or whatever the creature had planned for him. Even though it would delay his homecoming, Garsea was going to remain on the mountains as long as possible.
Perhaps he was a coward. Mayhap the wraith had something to convey to him. Being a Keeper of the Flames meant one was required to have a great deal of faith, and with that faith came trust but also instinct. Garsea's instinct right now was telling him to stay as far away as possible from that wraith.
His new fear was that the wraith would be waiting for him when he left the mountains behind for Olac and the monastery, but that was a concern for another day.
9
Rase Ainsley
The rage Rase first felt after being rescued from incarceration had only been growing as the street rat attempted to think how best to reach Radcliff Snell a listen. Just because the fool of a young man was the son of an earl did not give him the right to treat people as if they were less than him, as if their lives did not matter.
But when he returned home, how tightly his ma clung to him! The Ainsleys had suffered so much lately. First, Pa being killed at the marketplace because of his thieving, and now Maxene…
Maxene Byron had been Rase's sister's best friend. When Maxene had gone missing a while back, Rase had done his best to find her, but Leanne had become so depressed and worried that she couldn't do anything. She even started to lose some of her hair, but Rase located Maxene, and he did his part to secure food for his family, and Leanne started to look, well, like a girl again. Leanne might be older than Rase by four years, but there was no denying how weak she was. She needed to be watched over and protected. Rase would not allow what had happened to Maxene to happen to Leanne.
His sister’s friend had disappeared because she had been injured at an earl’s house, and the son, Radcliff Snell, invited her to stay while she healed, given that the injury had been because of his own carelessness. He impregnated Maxene and kept her under his protection for a time until he possibly grew bored of her or just wished to be with a lady instead of a young, poor girl. Whatever the reason, Radcliff had tossed her aside, and the Ainsleys welcomed her with open arms even though it meant another mouth to feed.
The baby, though… Maxene and the babe both died.
Which was why Radcliff Snell had to learn a lesson. He must or else… Rase wasn’t entirely certain what other options he had, but he had a few dreams lately where he buried his dagger into the stomach of the earl’s son.
A violent thought, yes, but these were violent times. Tenoch Proper was at war with itself, the Vincanans coming for the castle and the two crowned queens, and Rase didn’t care about that a whit. All that mattered was his remaining family.
And his revenge.
The sun had finally risen. The days were growing shorter as winter neared, and Rase knew his family didn’t have nearly enough food to survive. Somehow, he would have to determine a way to provide, whether he had to return to his own thieving ways or else resume blackmailing anyone and everyone he could. Of course, the first ended up claiming his pa’s life, and the second had landed him in a cell, but there wasn’t anything Rase wouldn’t do for his family.
His ma and sister both slumbered yet. More times than not, they lingered in bed for hours beyond when they slept. They hadn't the strength of will to go about their days, and besides, what would they do? Leanne could try to find some berries perhaps, but the bushes had all been plucked clean long before now. As for Ma, Rase was ashamed to realize he did not know what she would do when she would leave. Visit friends, perhaps. Wash their clothes in the pond. Maybe wander the marketplace despite having no coins. No, the marketplace would not have been a locale for her, not often. Pa never would have stolen goods or coin purses in front of her.
That fateful day, Rase had a pit in his stomach from the moment he awoke. He couldn’t say how or why, but he had known something terrible would happen. He’d told his ma and sister as much. Although they’d thought him mad, they had followed him to the marketplace, where Rase knew Pa would go about his day, stealing as much as he could so he could bring home food for them all.
They arrived just in time to see Bjorn Ivano kill Pa.
Another who needed to be taught a lesson. Bjorn Ivano might have won the most recent tournament, but everyone knew that was because none of the Vincanans had taken part. At least one of the queens, Rase wasn’t certain which, but he thought perhaps Queen Rosalynne, had sent Bjorn away from the castle after the devastation.
Yes, Queen Rosalynne had been the one to speak to Ma afterward, although Rase had been too shocked and sorrowful and outraged to hear what the queen had to say. If she thought she could make things right by giving them food or coins… It was too late for that. Nothing could bring back Pa.
But Rase could still attempt to make things right by Maxene at the very least.
He sat up, stood noiselessly, and walked over to the door.
Leanne stir
red. Her light brown hair barely reached her shoulders. Had it stopped growing, or had she taken a blade to it?
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Nowhere important,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”
“But—”
“Don’t wake Ma.”
She fell silent, but she scowled. Then, her face became a mask once more. They all had experienced too much pain recently, and Rase had chosen to act as a result. His ma and sister hadn’t.
As swiftly as he could, Rase hurried to the Snells. On the other occasions he had come here, Maxene had greeted him. The butler would not take kindly to his presence, and Rase wished to speak to no one but Radcliff. Knowing the earl's son enjoyed riding horses, Rase hid in the stable.
An hour or so passed, but Rase waited patiently. Finally, the door opened, and in strolled Radcliff Snell.
“Roul, where are you?” Radcliff called arrogantly.
Rase glanced down at the stable hand he had hit a rock to the back of his head and had hidden behind a huge pile of straw. The stable hand was still breathing, merely passed out.
“Roul?”
Rase stepped out from beside the stable hand and behind the hay.
“Roul, fetch my… You aren’t Roul.”
“No.”
“I don’t know who you are, but get out of my stable,” Radcliff said through gritted teeth, “before I have you thrown out!”
“You don’t even know who I am,” Rase said coolly. “And you also don’t own this stable. Your father is the earl, not you.”
“He is my father, and—”
“For how long? If you could, I’m sure you wouldn’t hesitate to toss him aside and take over.”
Radcliff’s nostrils flared, and finger wagging, he took a step toward Rase. “You will leave now. I’ll even throw you out myself!”