by N M Zoltack
He would fight until he had no breath in him.
He would die on the field of battle, whether from an enemy’s blade or a dragon’s claws or fiery breath.
The queens seemed to be of two minds about how many should guard the castle and where the rest of the knights should be deployed. By the time a message—whether by human or by bird—reached the castle to divulge where the dragons were attacking, it was already too late to send a troop out. The town was most likely lost.
All the more reason for troops to be wandering about, following the dragons, trying to save the towns.
But save the towns how? Where could the people be sent to? The castle could hold no more, and nearly all of the villages had houses made from wood. The houses would go up in flames instantly.
And it wasn’t as if the knights could fight against the dragons. They hadn’t the weapons for it. Their spears and javelins would do nothing, and while Edmund had heard that Queen Rosalynne had plans for weapons to be built that might help with that, it would take a great deal of time and resources for those weapons to be constructed.
It was with great frustration that Edmund returned to the barracks. Almost immediately, Jurian Hansen, another knight, approached him.
“I’m not in the mood for gossip,” Edmund grumbled.
“I’m not here to gossip,” Jurian said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve a message for you, but I haven’t seen you for a bit.”
“What is it?”
“Your brother.” Jurian smirked. “No, not from your brother’s wife.”
Edmund coughed into his hand. “I don’t know what you mean to suggest—”
Jurian laughed and shrugged, holding out his hands. “He wants you to head on over to his hotel when you get the chance.”
“His hotel, huh?”
Jurian laughed some more. “You can ask him about the name of the place.”
Edmund furrowed his brow. “What did he name it?”
“Tranquil Wolf Hotel. Wolves aren’t tranquil, and there aren’t any wolves native to this area! Why would he call it such a ridiculous name?”
“No idea,” Edmund said with a shrug. “Have you seen the place?”
“Nah.” Jurian shook his head and ran a hand through his black hair. “We’ve all been too busy to go running around to see this place or that, but you should go.”
“Should I?”
“Your brother was very insistent on the matter.” Jurian grimaced. “If I had a brother, I would go and see him and hope he fares with his ventures.”
“I’ll go. I’ll go,” Edmund grumbled. “You nag worse than an old woman.”
“Better an old woman than your mother,” Jurian shot back.
The knight laughed, and Edmund just waved him off. Every part of his body ached yet from the recent battles, and he hadn’t been sleeping all that well either. Maybe he could afford to rent out one of the rooms in his brother’s hotel. After all, Jurian was right. Edmund should support his brother. Not everyone could have aspirations of being a knight, especially when they were the sons of commoners. Only through luck—nay, through the will of the Fates—had Edmund been made a knight. The Fates and hard work and discipline. Dudley had set himself on another path, that of entrepreneurship, and that was no less worthy of distinction than that of Edmund’s knighthood.
Jurian gave Edmund directions, and he meandered his way through the cobbled streets to the shops. Tranquil Wolf Hotel wasn’t near Mermaid’s Tears at all, which surprised Edmund. Wouldn’t that make matters easier for Tatum if she had to go back and forth between the two?
The wooden sign hanging from Tranquil Wolf Hotel was already faded a bit. The sun was an orange blob behind the gray shape that might have resembled a wolf but only because of the name on the sign. Maybe Dudley had painted it himself.
The place itself, however, looked to be in good order, and there was a decent crowd already inside. The common room seemed to serve as a bar, and Dudley himself stood right near the door to welcome each guest inside.
"Ah, Edmund!" Dudley beamed and clapped his brother hard right in the chest plate. "I knew you would come! How have you been?"
“Tired,” Edmund muttered.
Dudley roared with laughter. “Then you’ve come to the right place! I can set you up with a room straight away, the finest room I have! Only the best for my brother!”
Dudley started to walk away, but Edmund stood there, soaking in the place. The wooden panels of the ceiling were slanted perfectly, all in alignment, the tables strong and sturdy, none slanted, and the benches were the same. Troughs had been carved into either side of every table, and there was plenty of clay cups and mugs for everyone and anyone.
“How did you manage all of this?” Edmund asked.
“Ah, don’t you worry about that,” Dudley said.
“No, I mean… This place is wonderful.” Edmund was impressed.
Dudley chuckled. "You didn't think I had it in me, did you? Don't you worry about me. I have it all under control. I've a short friend with a bit of money who helped me some, but don't you worry. I'm already paying him back, and I'll be on my feet with this place solely mine in no time at all!"
Ah, a backer. Edmund supposed that was better than for Dudley to have taken money from his wife's business. Tatum did right well for herself, even if most of her customers didn't realize she was an alchemist. The whole curse thing would really put a damper on her business, aside from the castle, that was.
Dudley clapped Edmund’s back and directed him over to the bar area. A few ladies wore shirts that were barely decent, hardly covered up at all, and Edmund found himself looking away, embarrassed for them. If he were their brother, husband, or father, he would not be pleased for them to be dressed like that, especially not with the way the men were eyeing them, as if they were salivating over juicy bits of meat.
“Get my brother here an ale,” Dudley ordered.
One of the ladies jumped to fulfill his request and brought over two frothy mugs.
Dudley clanged the mugs, some brown liquid sloshing from one to the other, before handing one to Edmund. “Drink up!” he ordered.
To placate him, Edmund took a sip. The cold drink was smooth and refreshing, some of the best ale Edmund ever tasted.
He gaped at his brother, who roared with laughter. “The trick,” he whispered into Edmund’s ear, throwing an arm across his shoulder, “is to give the better ale earlier on in the day. Once they’re drunk, they don’t care what you give ‘em. Ah, yeah?”
Edmund just nodded, not knowing what to say to that, unsurprised that his brother would have a scheme like that in mind.
“Melisende,” Dudley called. “Where’s my wife?”
The bar wench shrugged, racing about to fulfill orders.
“Do you know when she’ll be back?” Dudley grumbled loudly.
She shrugged again.
Dudley slammed his mug down, scowling, clearly irked. “I need her,” he mumbled.
“Of course you want your wife here, but she also has to do her work too,” Edmund soothed.
“You don’t understand,” Dudley said, quite cross. He wrinkled his nose, picked up his mug, drained its contents, and slammed it back down. “I need her to make the guys happy. They like to look at her, so they stay longer, drink more, pay me more…”
Edmund was disgusted, beyond disgusted. How could Dudley do such a thing? Edmund hoped, for Tatum's sake, that she stayed as far away from Tranquil Wolf Hotel as she could. Having to work for the queens provided her a more than adequate excuse.
The knight eyed his brother. They both had the same gray eyes, but Dudley’s hair was dark blond, whereas Edmund’s was sandy brown. The two men were as opposite as could be, and Edmund was doing his level best not to hate his brother, but that most certainly wasn’t an easy feat. It might even prove more difficult than attacking the hordes from Vincana, and that was saying something.
22
Princess Vivian Rivera
Days had p
assed since Vivian spoke with the vicar.
Days had passed since she saw the burning village.
Days had passed since she observed the dragons.
Each one of those nights, Vivian slept fitfully, but she could not recall any of her dreams when she woke. Aside from a tightness in her chest and an unexplained fright, she would rise from her bed and do her part to cope with the idea that this was her new reality.
She hated every second of it.
While there had not been another battle since that one on the banks of the river, she longed to fight, to reclaim her land, whether from the Vincanans or from the dragons.
But the Vincanans fought for freedom. Was that so terrible a thing?
Then again, they did not merely wish to be free from the reign of the Queen of Atlan. Now, they wished to have their own king be the ruler of both Vincana and Tenoch.
And as for the dragons, she couldn’t fight against them even if she wished to.
Honestly, she did not know if she should wish that, but then, each time she closed her eyes, she saw the burning flames of that village. How could she accept that not one of the persons dwelling in that fair village had been innocent? Surely children had lived there. The dragons should not judge mere children!
But weren’t all children judged? Vivian had heard about the story concerning the man Bjorn had killed in Rosalynne’s name. He stole for the sake of his starving children, children that might still be starving for all Vivian knew. Those of noble blood were held in higher esteem, but how just and righteous was that? Vivian was a princess only because her father had killed people and stole their crowns.
At one time, Vivian had been so very proud to be a princess but no longer. Now, she almost hated her crown, and she hardly ever wore it.
Time seemed to be passing her by strangely, and she hadn't felt like herself since the battle if she were being honest. What that said about herself, she didn't know, and she didn't want to contemplate that either.
The light shining from her window was bright and cheerful, the precise antithesis of how she was feeling. Opting to wear a pair of loose-fitting trousers and a tunic, she then reconsidered. She should go and see her sister rather than head to the training fields. Even if striking a wooden dummy would make her feel more like herself, she couldn’t—shouldn’t—ignore her duty any longer. Regardless of her feelings on the matter, she was the princess, and until she was no longer, she needed to do as she should.
Right now, her only goal as the princess was to try and find a way for there to be peace.
She'd already strived to bring about that peace when she had spoken with the prince, but Marcellus had slammed the door in her face. Maybe if it came from Queen Rosalynne instead, he would listen, although that notion of his accepting Rosalynne's words over hers irked her greatly.
With a sigh, Vivian changed her attire and put on one of the simplest, plainest dresses she owned, one without many fastens or buttons so she could dress herself. Leaving her hair free, she rushed out of her room and asked around until she found her sister leaving one of the meeting rooms.
“Rosalynne,” Vivian called. “A moment, if you can spare.”
“For you, two moments,” Rosalynne teased.
The sisters linked arms, and Vivian allowed Rosalynne to direct them to an empty tea room.
“You haven’t had your guards about you lately,” Vivian observed.
“There are far more pressing matters for them to attend to,” Rosalynne said airily.
“Nothing can happen to you,” Vivian insisted.
“What of you? You haven’t any guards,” Rosalynne pointed out.
Vivian’s lips curled into a smirk. “I am my own guard.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“It does indeed for me.” Vivian waved her hand. “I didn’t want to see you so that we could discuss your guards or lack thereof.”
“What do you wish to converse about?”
“What we need now more than anything is peace.”
“Oh, Vivian, one cannot merely wish for there to be peace. Peace will be had—”
“Peace needs to be had now,” Vivian insisted. “With the dragons, there can be no other way.”
“With the dragons, there is no method for us to have peace,” Rosalynne said sharply. “What would you have me do?”
"You must go to Marcellus. Talk to him. Make him see reason. Even if it's only a temporary alliance, that will serve both of our kingdoms well. Together, we can determine how to appease the dragons—"
“That will not happen,” the older sister said softly.
“Which part?” Vivian asked.
“All of it,” the queen said, her tone simple.
“I refuse to accept that.”
“Vivian.” Rosalynne shook her head. “How is it that you have lived through so much and yet remain too idealistic? You’re too young yet to understand the way of the world.”
“Too young yet? Bah.” Vivian waved her hand. “I’ve seen more of the world than you have. I’ve faced dangers the likes of which you can’t fathom. That I still cling to peace should tell you that peace is all the world needs.”
“There cannot be peace without chaos,” Rosalynne said.
Vivian wrinkled her nose. “You’ve been talking to the vicar too much.”
“Chaos and Death are fighting for supremacy.” The queen wrung her hands. “Until one overrules the other, there is nothing much that we can do. Our lives are in their hands.”
“You’re wrong,” Vivian burst out. “The Fates controlled us for a time, yes, but no longer. With the dragons returned, they are above the Fates. We no longer can assume the Fates will guide us, will help us. Even they bow down to the whims of the dragons. We have no choice but to combine, all of us, Tenoch and Vincana. We must become one.”
“Become one and do what precisely?” Rosalynne asked sharply. “You would have us do what?”
“You already would have us fight the dragons, won’t you?” Vivian asked.
“And you would rather us not. Is that what you are saying? For so long, you wished for me to accept you as a mighty warrior, and now fighting is not the course you would have us embark on? I truly do not understand you, sister.”
“It’s not for you to understand,” Vivian cried. “Or maybe it is. Can’t you see? The dragons want peace. They’re warring against us because we’re warring against each other!”
"I have seen nothing at all to suggest that the dragons want anything but this war," Rosalynne said. She patted her hair, which was mostly pinned up, but the job had been done rather hastily, either by herself or a rushed maid, and parts of her chestnut-colored hair were already tumbling free.
“We’re fighting amongst ourselves,” Vivian said, sorrow cutting into her tone. “I don’t wish to fight, but Rosalynne, you are queen—”
“I am not the ruling queen.” The bitterness in her sister’s voice was far too biting.
“You could be. You…” Vivian hesitated.
Rosalynne lifted her chin. “You think I shouldn’t be queen? Who then? Sabine, who was barely wed to Father? You? With me standing in your way—”
“I don’t want any harm to come to you or to anyone else,” Vivian protested.
“Or the Li princess you told me still lives?” Rosalynne continued as if uninterrupted. “You would rather see anyone else on the throne than me, don’t you? You’ve always been jealous of me—”
“I am not jealous in the slightest,” Vivian said, sitting as stiffly as her tone. “If you think that of me, you don’t realize who I’ve become. I’m a survivor, Roz, not a fighter. I’m not a warrior. I survive, and I want the people of Tenoch—and the people of Vincana—to survive against the initial onslaught of fury the dragons have.”
“Initial onslaught?” Rosalynne shook her head. “I doubt very much that this is merely an initial onslaught they will get over in a matter of time.”
Vivian said nothing at all.
> The silence proved unbearable for the queen. After a few minutes, she added, “I wish for the people to survive, and that is why I think we must strike back.”
“If you strike back, the dragons will only retaliate even more severely, and the violence will continue unabated until humans are the ones to die this time. Can’t you see that?” Vivian asked.
“You act as if the dragons are the ones who have been wronged,” Rosalynne protested. “What would you have me do? Nothing?”
“Peace! That is what I seek,” Vivian shouted. She slammed her palms onto the table.
Rosalynne flinched but remained silent for once.
Vivian knew no further words needed to be said. Her sister had chosen her path, and she would not turn aside. She thought fighting would save lives.
Vivian knew that would not be the case.
The last time Vivian had called Rosalynne Roz had been many long years ago, perhaps when Vivian had been five. The two had been close then, as close as thieves. That the use of the shortened name did not even register with Rosalynne only served to highlight and amplify how world's apart the two had grown.
Of course Vivian did not want the throne for herself or for Sabine or the Li Princess.
If Vivian had her way, no one would sit on the throne. The dragons could rule with peace and love once again.
But that would never happen. Even when the dragons had ruled in ages past, there still had been kings.
People craved power even as they desperately needed guidance, and Vivian wished there could be a way to talk to the dragons, to see if the dragons of old were lost, dead still.
What if these dragons were new ones, born of hatred, born of war? What if these dragons knew nothing of peace and love?
Then hope and faith would never be able to return to the land, she realized, and the icy tendrils of fear enclosed around the princess’s heart.
23
Queen Sabine Grantham
The queen retired to her bedchambers. Although it would appall her mother, Sabine waved the servant girl out of the room. Still wearing exquisite dresses yet to keep up appearances, Sabine struggled to unhook and unbutton the hundreds of clasps and buttons all down her back. The servant girl would’ve undressed her long before this, but Sabine almost welcomed the challenge, the struggle.