The Triumphant Return

by N M Zoltack

  “I returned the earliest I could,” Vivian said. “I never intended to be gone for so long. I never intended to leave in the first place, but perhaps everything happens as it is supposed to.”

  “You left with that servant, did you not?”

  “Ulric Cooper,” Vivian murmured. “Yes. I’ve asked the servants if they could direct me to him, but none could tell me.”

  “That is because he is not in the castle.”

  “He’s not? Why?” she demanded.

  How quickly she was reverting back to her commanding self, and yet, it was more out of fear and worry than because of being an impatient child.

  Tabes wiggled out of her arms and jumped down but stayed close by her legs, as if knowing she needed comfort.

  "When he returned to the castle, well, for a time, people thought he had kidnapped you, that perhaps he had killed you as they thought he had killed the prince."

  “Ulric would never have harmed Noll!” she cried out.

  “Well, others thought he had, and he had even been charged with the murder.”

  Vivian gaped at the vicar. Without another word, she pivoted about and marched out of the chapel, Tabes close on her heels as he had once been with Noll.

  It did not take the princess long to locate her sister, and the moment she entered the parlor, Rosalynne stood and bid the men and women she spoke with, all nobles, to give them the room.

  Once they were alone, Rosalynne started to sit, but when she saw Vivian make no room to take a seat, the queen remained upright as well.

  “What is wrong?” Rosalynne asked. “You look as if you wish to…”

  “Ulric was imprisoned? He may have saved my life! He did so much for Noll. He was teaching him how to use weapons. Did you know that? Ulric helped both Noll and I, and—”

  “Ulric and I have conversed at great length,” Rosalynne said softly. “He is not Noll’s murderer, and I hate to confess this, but we do not know the guilty party yet.”

  “I don’t care about the murderer,” Vivian said. “Where is Ulric?”

  “I do not know. He hasn’t sent a messenger. After the battle at the beach—”

  “He’s in the army?” Vivian asked, shocked.

  “Not exactly,” Rosalynne murmured. “He has a band of civilians who he commands, and I used him—”

  “You used him?”

  “More like I gave him an assignment.” Rosalynne smiled wanly. “He captured a Vincanan and learned some important information, so I rewarded him.”

  “With a battle,” Vivian said flatly, “and now you don’t’ know where he is.”

  “I did see him after,” Rosalynne protested. “He survived.”

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” Vivian muttered.

  “Vivian, since you’ve returned…” Rosalynne glanced away.

  “Yes?”

  Her sister said nothing. Tabes, the traitor, raced over to the queen, who reached down to pet him.

  Vivian left the room without another word. She was going to have to be careful. None of the Vincanans she had traveled with would be anywhere close to Tenoch. They had to be sailing back to the southern continent. Still, it remained possible that some of the Vincanans already here might recognize her.

  Swiftly, the princess retired to her room. She donned a hat and pulled it low, but the skirt swirling around her legs, the tightness of the bodice… Vivian could not stand how the dress made her feel—inadequate, improper, and like a fraud.

  Although her maid would be scandalized, her sister, too, Vivian yanked off the dress and traded it for trousers and a tunic.

  As she headed for the door, she happened to catch her reflection in the mirror. Her body was not the same shape it had been before Ulric had dragged her out of bed and out of the castle. Yes, she felt more at home in this attire than the dress, but she looked so very strange in it. People were certain to look her way.

  Yes, she would need to wear the hat as low as possible.

  Hopefully, she would locate Ulric quickly. It seemed she had much to apologize to him for, and she also was so very grateful too. If not for him, she and her sister would be ignorant of the Li Princess, but more than that, learning how to fight had given Vivian a purpose her life had lacked previously. For that alone, she doubted she could ever repay the former servant.

  She grinned. Former servant. Ulric deserved to be elevated much higher, and if she had any clout as the princess, she would use it for his sake.

  52

  Queen Sabine Grantham

  The grimoire lay open next to Sabine’s lists of ingredients and her hunches as to their properties. Some were clearly meant for healing purposes only, but many other ingredients could be used in various potions that seemingly had no connections at all. Those were the hardest ones for her to distinguish their abilities, but she had recognized enough patterns to deduce most of them.

  Now, it was time for her to create a potion. It was not a brand new one, not entirely, but she was desperate to learn the truth from the Vincanan prisoners. They would not speak to herself or to Rosalynne or even to the knights. Persuasion in liquid form was proving necessary.

  How much should she make? How could she be certain the tongue-loosening potion would work? Well, if it did not, the prisoners should not suffer any ill effects, and if they did… well, perhaps the potion would cause tongues to wag no matter how potent and effective it was.

  Wide vials were necessary, and Sabine secreted them away in the pockets of her gown. With her every step, the vials clanged against each other, so she opted to put on more and more bracelets that could serve as an explanation for the noise.

  Her guards, of course, wished to be her shadows, but she helped up her hands. “Please,” she murmured. “I wish to go to the chapel to pray. I do not need an audience.”

  Her guards glanced at each other, and she bypassed them, heading for the chapel. Once she was certain her guards were not following her, she then altered her course and headed straight for the dungeon. As before, it was simple enough to convince the prison guards to leave, which, truth be told, bothered her. Yes, she appreciated that her commands were obeyed without question, but if the guards could be so easily persuaded from their duties, the chances that others could use and manipulate them as well were far too high for her liking.

  For now, though, her only concern rested with the prisoners.

  She stood before the first cell that housed the Vincanan who had been their captive the longest. Her hand slipped into her pocket, and then, she thought better of it.

  Sabine leaned close. “You might have old intelligence, but you still have words to offer. I do believe that. Battle tactics, training regimens, and the like can all be a boon, and I would very much like—”

  “I would very much like to wring that necklace tight enough against your throat that you suffocate to death.” He scowled at her.

  She nodded. “Very well. You wish to do this the hard way, and I can’t say I’m surprised. Truly, I’m not.”

  With a flourish, Sabine returned to the brighter portion of the castle and secured the assistance of Tiberius Davis. Out of all the guards, she trusted him the most for his discretion. He was tall and thin, lanky to be sure, but Sabine had managed to also bring with her another potion, one of Tatum’s, that Tiberius drank without question.

  His watery eyes cleared as they widened, and he rolled his shoulders back.

  She smirked. “Feeling up for any task?”

  “Always, My Queen.”

  “Then follow me.”

  He trailed her to the dungeon, and she handed him a larger vial and pointed to the first prisoner. “Make him drink it.”

  Tiberius’ gaze fell on the lock.

  Sabine stepped forward and using a spare set of keys, she unlocked the cell.

  The Vincanan rushed Tiberius, but the guard merely held out his arm, and the Vincanan ran straight into it, his neck caught on the outstretched limb. Tiberius shoved the man into the back corner of the cell and l
ifted his arm until the Vincanan was dangling in the air. He clawed at Tiberius’ arm, but the guard held fast, waiting until the prisoner’s face began to turn purple before opening the vial and pouring the contents into the man’s mouth.

  Sabine clapped a single time, and Tiberius stepped back as the queen entered the cell. She stared down at the sputtering, heaving captive.

  “Now, will you start talking?” she asked sweetly.

  The man met her gaze. His eyes had taken on a strange coloring. An effect of her potion most likely.

  “Well?” she demanded. “What do you know that Vincanans would not like shared?”

  “Tenoch Proper will fall,” he spat out.

  “Yes, yes,” she said impatiently, but no matter what questions she asked, the captive gave away intelligence she knew to be old as it concerned locating Rufus’ murderer, a goal the so-called Prince of Vincana no doubt wished for but was not a priority, not with the two countries at war.

  And so, the queen and the guard left him to rot in his cell, locking it once more, never to be opened again until it was time to remove his carcass, Sabine thought.

  They moved onto the next cell, which housed a woman, but she gave nothing of importance either. Neither did the next female.

  By now, Sabine's patience had worn nearly entirely thin. The next was a male who refused to talk at all. In frustration, Sabine handed Tiberius another vial for the prisoner to drink.

  The man coughed and sputtered, spraying some of the potion onto the floor, bright red against the dank, dark stones.

  “Well?” she asked impatiently.

  “We will not stop,” he said, staring up at her with hatred in his eyes. “We will never stop. The war will not end until the throne is ours.”

  Sabine just shook her head. Yes, he was speaking, but even a bobolyne would realize this about the Vincanans.

  So she waved for Tiberius to give another potion, but all the man ever gave was that they would not stop.

  The next prisoner, another male, also did not speak, but with this one, it took four potions for his tongue to loosen.

  "We have many more warriors to bring over," he muttered, his eyes darting back and forth as if he still struggled to fight the effects of her potion. "We have the ships, and our warriors are far superior. The Valkyries have risen again, and with them, Tenoch will fall. Vincana will rise, and all will look to the south for aid, yes, even your precious Tenoch. We will usher in a true age of prosperity, unlike the false peace that sloth husband of yours…"

  Abruptly, the Vincanan slumped to the ground, head rolling forward.

  Tiberius yanked the man’s head up by pulling on his hair. The man’s tongue, swelled to five times its normal size, hung out of his mouth like a dog.

  “Is he…” Sabine asked.

  Tiberius released his hold on the man, stood, and nodded. He moved to retrieve the dead body.

  “Leave him. The dungeon guards can see to him.”

  She locked the cell behind Tiberius and headed back toward the stairwell, noticing that the other prisoner who had been given more than one vial of her potion likewise appeared to be dead.

  No matter. They were expendable. Sabine had little doubt that if the Vincanans had any prisoners, they would not keep them captive but rather kill them outright immediately.

  The queen swept by the other cells, head held high, noticing out of the corner of her eye that the others all lived. Without a word to Tiberius, Sabine retired to her chambers but not to rest.

  As she paced, she worried. More ships. More of their vicious warriors. Sheer numbers would not win the day against the likes of the Vincanans. No, they needed a far better plan if they were to not only survive but to win the war.

  If only there were a way to ensure their ships did not reach Tenoch shores…

  53

  Bjorn Ivano

  Olympia had nursed him back to health. Bjorn could hardly believe it. He had known he was growing sick, but he had done his best to hide it, to match her great speed. Her haste drove them to cover a greater distance than he himself would’ve pushed if traveling alone. Her eagerness would get them killed.

  But, then, his illness might have done the same if she had not realized and forced him to stop. Chaos Malady was the illness he had suffered, or so he figured, but then, his fever hadn't induced hallucinations, not as far as he could recall. Then again, the hallucinations occurred shortly before the illness claimed its victim, creating chaos both in the mind and the body as the person could no longer differentiate reality from falsehood. Victims screamed that their skin was melting off, that spiders or other animals were biting them all over, and far worse fates. They truly believed it, too, and nothing could convince them otherwise. They died in a panic, in the thralls of a chaos that could not be overcome.

  Why had he gotten sick and not Olympia too? He had no way of knowing, but the Olacic Mountains housed many strange creatures, and they perhaps had brought him the illness.

  “Have I thanked you for not killing me?” he asked as they finally left the Olacic Mountains behind.

  Olympia snorted. She truly did not act like a regal princess, and he knew that if she were to somehow ascend to the throne, she would make sweeping changes not only for Tenoch but for the entire world of Dragoona.

  “I wasn’t about to leave you behind,” she said dryly.

  “Yes, but if we maintained your insane pace…”

  “I’m not a killer,” she said darkly.

  “And yet, how else will you gain the throne?” he challenged.

  “Perhaps a certain champion can handle that for me.”

  She continued ahead on the frost-covered grass, but Bjorn halted, shocked.

  After a moment, she turned about. “Aren’t you coming?”

  He stalked her, like a predator about to pounce on prey. “You seek to use me for my blade?”

  “In an ideal world, I would only have to capture the queens, the Vincana leaders, and anyone who opposes me. There would be no need for bloodshed at all," she said firmly. "But the world is not ideal, not at all, because if it were, then my parents would have ruled until old age claimed them. The Riveras never would have betrayed us. Tenoch Proper never would have formed in the first place! Vincana would have remained free, as well as the islands and—”

  “You told me how much the people of Xalac need aid,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, and in this scenario, I might not have realized that, but…” She exhaled. “I am not a foolish dreamer, Bjorn. I know what I wish for will not be an easy undertaking. Even if Tenoch was not at war, reclaiming the throne would not be an easy affair. Perhaps I should wait until after the war, but by then, there might be nothing to rule over. The Riveras are ruthless. I do not know about the Granthams, but Vincanans… their warriors are world-renown and legendary. Most likely, they will win the war.”

  “Only if they can bring enough of those warriors to Tenoch shores,” he countered.

  "Oh, my, did I wound your Tenoch pride?" Her lips twisted as if against her will into a teasing smile. "They are also known for their shipbuilding, are they not? And where is the Tenoch pride of the rest of Tenoch? We should see others marching toward Atlan, from Cilla, from Olac, from Maloyan, from the villages and towns, but, Bjorn, we have seen hardly anyone except a few from afar who are clearly fleeing Atlan rather than rushing to their capital."

  He gritted his teeth. Yes, he had noticed the same, and it plagued him greatly. “You know how to take words and fashion them into knives,” he said bitterly.

  “I speak nothing but the truth,” she insisted.

  A chilling breeze caused her straight black hair to cover half her face. She drew it back and eyed the path they must take. “How long until we see the castle?”

  “Soon,” he murmured. “Soon.”

  It pleased him that they passed Averla Bay to their north two days later. He kept them on their present course even though Atlan Castle was to their south, and the next day brought them to th
e edge of Stokeford Swamp.

  “This isn’t the castle,” Olympia said as they set up camp.

  “I know,” he admitted, “but I think we need to be careful. We can’t be seen and must avoid detection at any cost.”

  “No one knows who I am, and no one will look upon my face and recognize me, but you… This is because you were banished, is it not?”

  He scowled and flinched inwardly. How he hated to be reminded of that!

  “We need to learn what is going on,” he insisted. “Intelligence will be our third ally. If the castle is being attacked, we can’t very well run inside and sit you on the throne, can we?”

  “Who knew a fighter could be logical at times,” she grumbled.

  Bjorn just grinned. “A true queen listens to her advisors. It’s good that you can heed me.”

  “You will not be one of my advisors.” She snorted again.

  “What will I be?” he asked, daring to move closer to her.

  She retreated a step but only after a moment. “What you will be will be determined based on how you act all the way up until my coronation day,” she said after a long pause.

  “You still believe I will turn you over,” he said quietly, not entirely certain what he should do in that regard.

  “I do not know what to believe about you,” Olympia said just as quietly.

  Hmm. He could say the same about her. He truly could. Just who was this Li Princess? Was it even possible that she could change the world as she sought to? Or would she be one of the many to fall in the war?

  With a start, he realized his hand had fallen to his hilt. His first thought had been to protect her.

  Time alone would determine what his course of action should be, but the more time he spent with Olympia, the more he doubted he could sacrifice her as a lamb at the altar of Rosalynne. In fact, the only royal his thoughts turned to constantly was not the one with chestnut-colored hair but one with locks the color of a raven’s feather. Certainly, that was because he was traveling with Olympia and nothing more.