by N M Zoltack
“May I have this dance?” he asked, bowing slightly and holding out his hand.
Desperately, she flanked over her shoulder at the queens. They had seen the man before. Didn’t they recognize him? But they were talking to nobles, paying Vivian no mind, and she had no choice but to comply.
In his arms, she was stiff and awkward, not as graceful on the dance floor as she normally was, but he made no comment as such, but he did talk.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Earlier, I was in my room,” she said. “I went to the chapel. Do you pray to the Fates? Which one do you feel an affinity for?”
“Which one do you think?” His smile made her stomach churned, and she dropped her gaze to his collar.
“Chaos,” she said shortly.
He laughed, and she hated how pleasant it sounded. “You truly won’t tell me where you’ve been? You were away for so long.”
I haven’t answered my own sister’s inquiry concerning where I’ve been. I’m not about to answer to you.
Instead of voice her thought aloud, she asked, “Where have you been?”
The longer they danced and the more they spoke, the greater the risk that he could recognize her from the one time they had crossed paths back on Vincana.
When he did not answer, she risked looking up at his face. He was merely smirking.
“Do you want to dance with either of the queens?” she asked.
“No, actually. I think I prefer the princess.”
She rolled her eyes, unable to help herself. “I thought you might wish to. Haven’t you danced with them previously?”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I have not been long in Atlan,” he said, finally stiff.
“No? A long journey for you?”
“Not terribly, no.”
“No? By land? I cannot place your dialect. Where exactly are you from?”
“Do you wish to see my homeland, to meet my parents? It seems a tad bit rushed for our relationship to take that next step—”
“Our relationship? One dance is hardly a relationship,” she retorted.
“Ah, but this is our third dance.” His grin was slow to form and decidedly lopsided.
How could it be that he was somewhat charming?
Unnerved, Vivian forced herself to listen to the music, and the moment the song ended, she stepped back, out of his arms.
“I frightened you,” he said.
“It takes more than words to frighten me,” she snapped.
“What does it take then?”
“Why? Do you wish for me to be scared?” She longed to cross her arms but settled for tapping her foot.
“Perhaps I wish to take away that which frightens you.”
She barked a laugh. “Oh, I doubt that greatly.”
“Go on. Tell me.”
Vivian held her tongue.
“You wish for the war to end,” he said.
“I wish for this ball to end,” she snapped.
She left him then and approached the nearest guard, but when she went to point out Marcellus, the Vincanan was gone.
Frustrated and irritated, Vivian longed to disappear. When she had had enough, which was only a few minutes later, she ducked out of there, changed her attire, and went to the courtyard to practice with her sword.
She might be Vivian Rivera again, but she was not the princess. Not anymore.
60
Garsea
The next day, Garsea returned to the streets, still interviewing people, still driven to find a person or even persons to sacrifice. Perhaps three would be better than one, but if one was all he could find, then so be it. He was certain, though, that the person must be a willing participant in the ritual. He could not find any particular person and force them to die for the sake of the dragons coming back to life. Besides, as a Keeper, he was duty-bound to respect and care for all lives, not merely those of the dragons.
As he reached the market, the ground beneath his feet began to tremble violently. Several others about Garsea tumbled and fell to their knees, but he fell hard onto his back. Winded, he lay there a minute, unable to do anything but rise and fall with each quake of the earth.
Long ago, Olac suffered through many, many earthquakes, but ever since the dragons had perished, Olac’s earthquakes seemed to have become a relic of the past.
Yet, now there were wraiths, and the earthquakes had returned. How many more signs did a Keeper need to realize that the time for the dragons’ return was near at hand?
With a loud, agonizing groan, the building to Garsea’s right began to crack. Shards of rock came crashing to the ground. People screamed, racing outside of the doomed walls, and Garsea finally moved. He rolled onto his stomach, pushed up to all fours, and then stood. As he backed away, the earth quaked again and again, and finally, the building gave up its fight entirely, the stone-and-sand walls crumbling into a massive heap. A cloud of pebbles and sand rose up, and Garsea covered his mouth, tucking the lower part of his face into the crook of his arm, but even so, he still coughed and coughed, hacking so violently that he fell onto one knee.
Wails and cries for help and shouts of people desperately looking for loved ones spurred Garsea into action. As he struggled to stand, someone kicked his staff, thankfully closer to him. He gripped the staff and used the staff to shove debris and rock out of his path. A hand reached out of the rubble, and he sat down, attempting to shove off rock after rock. Eventually, he uncovered a face half-coated in blood. Others moved to help, but the person seemed to die, the hand no longer waving, the eyes shut.
The people moved on, but Garsea hesitated a moment, uttering a silent prayer to the dragons that they might watch over the poor soul before moving on himself. He ended up helping to unearth several people, but the ones lamenting loved ones could not be consoled, even when told that many left the building before its collapse.
For hours, Garsea tried to help the people, but a few removed from the wreckage would clearly not last the night.
And that was when an idea struck Garsea. These people would die. Why shouldn’t he give their death meaning?
It took Garsea another two hours to half-drag two persons one at a time to the monastery. Yes, he was picking people to sacrifice, but what other choice did he have?
He had left the first near the doorway of the monastery when he had left to fetch another. Now, he brought one and then the other down to where the dragon bones were kept.
As before, he completed the ritual. Just as he was about to sacrifice the first, he hesitated. Perhaps he should fetch a third, one for each dragon. Yes, that made a great deal of sense, but Garsea spied movement coming through the wall. Yes, through the wall.
A wraith was coming for one or both of the wounded men Garsea had situated on the ground next to each other.
The two of them would have to suffice for the sacrifice.
Garsea used a dagger, testing along the ribs to find the space between, and slid the blade through to pierce the heart of first the younger man and then the older. But expired with hardly a whimper, and the young man had even smiled at Garsea before dying, as if grateful to have his life cut short.
Pain could be a most devastating affliction.
The wraith made a snarling noise and hurried away. Garsea breathed easier and waited, watching. Everything should be in place for the dragons to return, but nothing was happening.
Plop!
Garsea glanced down, startled. Drops of blood were falling onto the floor.
Inspired, he flicked the blood from the blade onto the bones, but still nothing happed The sacrifices had been committed in vain.
Garsea slumped to his knees. The world needed the dragons more than ever before. If he failed, the world might descend into chaos and madness the likes of which it might never recover.
61
Rase Ainsley
Paranoia. Rase did not think there could be a worse feeling in the world than paranoia. Everywhere he went, he found himself watching
everyone, trying to make sure no one was following him, that no one was trailing him. He kept an eye on hands, the people’s swagger. It was easy to tell who was armed versus those who did not carry a weapon on their person, and nowadays, most everyone was armed, even if some, like that farmer over there, carried a shovel with them. The war left everyone on edge, but Rase wasn’t too concerned about that conflict.
He had hoped that his suspicions, his fears, his doubts would all be laid to rest now that he had killed Radcliff, but no. His inability to find proof that his ma had been killed and his sister injured by the man left Rase to worry that perhaps he had been too hasty in his assumption that the earl’s son had been behind the violence. After all, would Radcliff have even known that Rase had a sister? Why attack his ma and his sister but not lie in wait to kill the one Radcliff had known and seen and been threatened by?
So perhaps Radcliff hadn’t been the responsible party, or else there might be a murderer lying in wait somewhere, hoping to finish off the Ainsleys.
Well, that murderer, if he or she were out there, would not have an easy time locating Leanne at least. Despite her objections, Rase had insisted they move into an abandoned house. So many people had fled the city, and Rase took a modest home. Would they have to leave one day? Most likely but for now at least, he felt safe leaving his sister behind. He felt all the better about the thievery considering how much better his sister now slept. She also was eating more, so either the potion the alchemist had given him was working, or else the new location had been something Leanne desperately needed. Perhaps both. Rase could not imagine it had been easy for her to sleep there, in that place where she had been attacked and their ma killed.
It was times like these, when Rase was taking notice of whom remained in the city and who had departed like coward, that Rase felt far old than his age. He was twelve, no, thirteen years old now. A few days’ past, he had seen his reflection in a giant rain puddle. His stature had grown enough that he could pass as nine instead of seven as he had just a year ago, but if the person were to pay attention to Rase’s eyes alone, he or she would think Rase far, far older than his years.
Rase had played a dangerous game before by blackmailing others so that he acquire food or his dagger or other various items he needed. He had likewise acquired some of his friends that way.
That dangerous game had caused him to be imprisoned. His friends, though, rescued him.
Now, Rase did not feel safe. He knew the risks, but he would do what was necessary to protect himself, to save Leanne.
And so, one by one, he started to force others to become indebted to him.
He spied a merchant whose wheel had broken off his wagon. Rase had some practice whittling wood into tiny figures, but he knew he couldn’t fashion an entire wheel. Still, he was able to get the merchant the wood necessary for a new wheel at least.
“You can have what you want from my wagon,” the man said appreciatively.
“I would rather have your name,” Rase said.
The merchant eyed Rase with a soft glint of suspicion in his eyes.
“I don’t need anything from you now,” Rase said slowly, “but maybe one day…”
The man nodded slowly. “Very well. The name’s Wade Mercer.”
Rase nodded. “I will see you around, Master Mercer.
The next person Rase entrapped was a woman who was struggling to carry her food. Rase had witnessed his sister make enough flower wreaths and even small baskets to know how to weave on himself, and he took the time to gather enough thin sticks to make a small basket.
When he presented it to her, having followed her as he made the basket, pausing here and there to gather sticks and then racing along to catch up to her, she gave him a wide smile and gratefully dumped her load into the basket. It was overflowing, but it did not break out the bottom.
“Why, thank you, young man!” she cried.
Rase grinned. “You are very welcome. You are the carpenter’s wife, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. Do you need something?”
Rase just smirked. If her husband worked with wood, why hadn’t he already fashioned her a basket? Or perhaps he was not as good with wood as he claimed. Regardless, Rase had seen the two of them wander about the marketplace together on occasion, and the man, Joachim Carpenter, was built like an ox. If given a weapon, he had to make a formidable ally, regardless of his talent or lack thereof for making creations out of wood.
“I do not need anything now, but maybe one day…” Rase said.
By the week’s end, Rase had acquired ten others who he thought might be willing to come to his aid if he should find himself in trouble. He made a point of meeting Joachim Carpenter face-to-face at one point, introduced by his wife, and the man even complimented Rase on the basket.
Yes. If someone were to come after Rase, between those who owed him and his friends, perhaps Rase might stand a chance of surviving.
Even if it seemed as if most of the people he had known, loved, and cared about were all dead.
62
Olympia Li
The moon shone brightly down on Olympia, mocking her, tormenting her. For only an hour now, she had started her watch, and she was wide awake. The moon was not to fault for that, but the moon did not just shine on her.
The moon shone on Atlan too.
She could not deny that Bjorn, as infuriating as he could be at times, had a point. All of her life, she had been kept safe only because no one knew she existed. If she were to reveal her identity now, both those from Tenoch and those from the southern continent of Vincana would want her dead. Waiting might be the better option but only until the war was won.
Then again, she could not help feeling ill at ease at the prospect of a Vincanan sitting on her throne or even one down in Vincana if the throne was meant to be the sole seat of power within all of Dragoona.
But under the cover of the moon, no one would see her approach, and certainly, no one would know who she was. Why should she not leave?
They were more on the outskirts of Stokeford Swamp, and Olympia headed due south. The trek took longer than she expected, and by the time the castle came into view, the sun was rising, beautiful and majestic.
But Olympia ignored the castle, giving it a wide berth, and she continued to observe the city.
The lack of what she would have taken for normal hustle and bustle of a large city like this gave her pause, and her unease only grew as she realized just how few people she had passed. Yes, the day was just dawning, but shouldn't people be waking?
After walking so long that her legs felt dead and her feet were sore, Olympia contemplated finding a spot to rest some. She was hungry but not starving, so she figured she could wait a little longer to eat.
But then she saw it. Up ahead was the scene of a massive battle. There were plenty of signs to show the place had been cleaned up massively already, but she still spied stones that were coated in blood.
A young girl, dirty but dressed nice enough kicked one of the bloodstained stones.
Olympia squatted down beside her. “Do you know what happened here?”
The girl blinked at her.
“What was this place?” Olympia asked, scanning the scene. It was a vast stretch of flat land, and she thought she spied some wooden shards among the gravel.
“The marketplace,” the girl muttered in a tone that suggested Olympia was none too bright. “What used to be.”
The girl ran off, leaving Olympia mouth agape. The marketplace had been ruined, so much so that the cleanup efforts had left it a barren stretch of land. If not for the girls’ words, Olympia never would have guessed that stalls, wagons, and tables were once arranged here so merchants could sell their wares.
Her mouth turned dry, and she coughed after her next swallow. This disgusted and horrified her.
Before she could even contemplate what to do, a hand rested on her shoulder, the person’s grip suggesting that he or she felt as if their hand belonged there.
>
She whirled around, ready to shove the person away, but it was Bjorn.
Instead of being relieved at seeing his angular face, she scowled. “Look at this,” she hissed, flinging out her arm to show off the battle scene aftermath. “Do you see this?”
“A battle was fought here.”
“At the marketplace,” she snapped.
“I can see that you’re angry—” he started.
“Angry? I’m furious! I’m frustrated! If you hadn’t purposely delayed me, I could have prevented this!”
“If I hadn’t delayed you, you would be dead,” he claimed.
“Doesn’t it bother you that so many from Tenoch died?” she cried out. “They died so that you could remain under their control and not fall under the sway of Vincana.”
“And you would rather the two queens prevail so that you can kill two royals instead of one?”
“I am not just worried about myself,” she said crossly. “Unlike you, I care about the people.”
“Do you think that little of me? Still?”
“I believe you should stop holding me back,” she said, her impatience growing.
“And just what is your plan? What is it that you want to accomplish here?”
“History can repeat itself,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Olympia, but if you think you can just walk into the throne room and kill the royals and peacefully claim the throne, you’re wrong. The people long for war, and they will turn against you. They will not be as accepting as the people had been when Jankin took control.”
“And why did they accept him then?” she demanded.
“I was not alive long enough then to know more than what I was told, but…”
“But what?” she prompted.
“But it seemed that the Lis were not universally well-liked. People thought…”
She gestured for him to continue, her rage only growing.
“People thought your parents were weak, spineless, and left them vulnerable to attack. Jankin, right or wrong, used that paranoia about attack from the southern continent to help force a peace on all of Dragoona by forming Tenoch Proper. Now, it seems that Vincana might have been lying in wait all along, waiting for the chance to rise up and not only free themselves but to try to claim Dragoona out from under Tenoch. There is so much chaos, strife, and turmoil right now, even deceit when you consider that someone murdered a Vincana to start the war.”