by N M Zoltack
“She is gone,” Paulus said with a grimace. “I could not find her, so I had no choice but to pose as a servant, and I overheard that she had left.”
“Gone? By herself?” Marcellus pressed.
“I believe so.”
“Where was she heading?”
“I heard mention of Olac, but I do not know if that is accurate.”
“Hmm.” Marcellus ran a hand through his curls. He did not like this, not one bit. In fact, he was grievously disappointed by this development.
“There’s nothing to be done about the princess being off somewhere,” Flavius said, sticking his nose into the conversation. “From the start, you should have sought to speak with one of the queens, not the princess.”
Marcellus knew that, but it had been quite some time since he last spoke with Rosalynne, and while he could tolerate her a bit more than he could Sabine, it was Vivian who fascinated him. How had she ended up in Vincana? Why had she left her castle? He did know their brother died. Was that why she fled? But again, how did she end up in his homeland? And to train to fight… A princess from Tenoch would never learn such a thing, but she had not only attempted to learn how to fight. She had actually, truly changed, and she was a force.
She had hated when he suggested that she was not just of Tenoch. Deep down, she was loyal to her continent and her continent alone. Still, she strove to put aside her weapon. She wanted peace, and he now wanted that just as badly.
Maybe he had wanted that all along, considering he could have fallen a great number of knights and hadn't. Holding back might well have contributed to Flavius being injured and their losing their hold on the town.
“You prefer Rosalynne to Sabine, don’t you?” Flavius asked. “You should seek a meeting with her, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so,” Marcellus muttered.
“Speak with the princess… speak with her older sister… What does it matter?” the commander asked.
Marcellus glared at the commander. “I said I would have a meeting with her if she will have me. What more do you want from me?”
“To understand,” Flavius said. “You seem a bit…”
“I have not slept,” Marcellus said as an excuse.
“Fabia,” Flavius called.
One of the female warriors, a non-Valkyrie, rushed over. “How may I serve?”
“You are to go as an official representative of Prince Marcellus. Seek to arrange a meeting for him with Queen Rosalynne. Go.”
“At once.”
She rushed off, her blond braids flying behind her.
Marcellus slowly nodded. The longer he was here on Tenoch, the more he felt like he was losing himself. He wished he could return home already. Perhaps soon.
If Vincana Proper was ever formed, he would rule from Staston, the capital of Vincana. He and his wife would live there.
His wife.
But he was getting ahead of himself. The meeting, whenever it would occur, could change the fabric of the war. If they were lucky, it could even end it, but Marcellus was not naïve enough to expect that to be the case.
72
Queen Sabine Grantham
Feeling as if she were truly the one and only queen of Tenoch, Sabine hummed as she now sat in front of her own vanity, brushing her long hair. She had put Rosalynne in her place, and the younger queen would crumble beneath the pressure. The knowledge about her father being murdered, her brother, that baby… The Riveras were dying like fleas, and Rosalynne could be the next one if she did not step down soon. Not that Sabine had an active plan to put Rosalynne down for her final rest. The thought had crossed her mind, however, but she would not do it. No, Rosalynne would give up her crown willingly. Sabine was certain of it.
Knuckles tapped against her door.
“Come in.”
A maid opened it. “My Queen, you have been summoned to the throne room.”
“Very well.” Sabine all but floated the trek to the throne room. One day, this room would be filled with people chanting her name. They will adore her, and she will be the most beloved queen of all time.
The throne room, actually, was not all that emptied. Rosalynne was there. So was the vicar, Albert Leeson. Sabine did not care for the man. Right or wrong, she always felt as if he were judging her and most likely finding her lacking.
But they weren’t the only two there. So were Aldus Perez, Cricket Woodham, Emerson Fenne, Wystan Bartone, Brid Donocani, Irmela Fiedlerg. All of Sabine’s council, as well as a man Sabine had seen talking with Rosalynne a few times. Wymond Ward was his name if she recollected properly.
There were several guards as well. They were positioned on either side of the carpet leading up to the thrones. Rosalynne stood in front of the seats as if she were the one and only queen in Tenoch. The others in attendance were beyond the guards.
Head held high, Sabine strolled along the carpet as if she meant to dethrone Rosalynne, but one of the guards shifted to halt her when she still had a bit to go to approach the thrones.
“Sabine Grantham,” Rosalynne said in a clear voice that echoed like a bell, “you must make a choice. You can either wear the crown, or you can become an alchemist. You cannot and will not be able to do both. What say you?”
“A decision of that magnitude would require—”
“What say you?” repeated Rosalynne.
Sabine shifted slightly so she could see the faces of those all around her. Albert Leeson looked as if he were disinterested in the proceedings, which shocked her. Wouldn’t the vicar of all people not want there to be a female alchemist?
Cricket was shaking his head as if to tell her not to give up the crown.
Emerson tried to cross his arm, but the constable’s biceps were too large for such a feat.
Wystan rubbed his chin, not meeting her gaze. If she had to guess, the man in charge of the peasants would think she should do whichever would help them the most, which would lean toward alchemy.
The justiciar, Brid, clearly wanted Sabine to keep the crown.
As for Irmela, the duchess would also opt for Sabine to remain queen. Irmela and Rosalynne did not seem to get along all that well, and if Rosalynne were to ever fill out her entire council, doubtless Irmela would not have a set upon it.
Wymond kept glancing at the windows. He probably wished to return to work, although his work on the harpoons had been lackluster thus far.
Lastly, Aldus was smiling faintly, not quite looking at either of the queens but perhaps the thrones behind them.
“Very well,” Sabine said. “I have made my choice…”
Later that night, Sabine was back in her chambers. She sat at her vanity once more, vials scattered all about the surface. She added ingredients slowly, making notes all the while, and then paused to gaze at her appearance in the mirror. No longer did she wear the crown, but there was the rub. What was taken could be given back, and Sabine might not be queen now, but that could change again.
This particular potion was one Sabine desperately wanted to work. If she could bring down the dragons, all of Dragoona would hail her as their victor. They would beg for her to be their queen.
And who was she to deny them that?
The liquid in the vial was a light blue color, but when she added the next ingredient—a basilisk scale—the hue changed to a deep black color. She swirled the vial in her hand. Yes, she supposed that she now needed a test subject. This potion would be called Frozen Kiss, but only if the potion worked.
Sabine stood. Cradling the vial in her hand, she headed for the door and eased it open. The hour was late, and hardly anyone would be out and about now. In fact, the only one Sabine saw was Tabes the dog running down the hall…
73
Prince Marcellus Gallus
The wait was agonizing. How long would it take for a meeting to be procured? And then he might have to wait days for the meeting to actually take place. Marcellus had paced for miles back and forth near the Vast Waters, and still, nervous energy ate aw
ay at him.
“You act as if you have been given a death sentence,” Flavius remarked.
Marcellus halted and stared at the commander. “How can you stand there and make jests? Poor jests at that.”
“I am almost entirely healed,” Flavius protested.
“I don’t mean because of your injury. I mean because of…”
“Because Horatia left.”
“Yes. You do not even know if the dragons have accepted her or not.”
Flavius winced.
Shame filled Marcellus. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”
“No, you are right. I am trying not to think about it, but honestly, it is almost impossible. Do not fall in love, Marcellus. It is a dangerous thing.”
Marcellus narrowed his eyes. “Do you mean to say that you were distracted and that is why you were injured?”
Flavius hesitated and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s possible. I failed. How can I be the commander of our army when I… At least I had been the one injured, but being distracted on the field of battle could lead to deaths… my death… the deaths of my warriors. I have been thinking, and, Marcellus, perhaps you should have another—”
“No, Flavius,” Marcellus said firmly. “You are the commander. Horatia is fine. I am certain of it. I do not pretend to know what it is that the dragons want, but they will see that she is a fierce and loyal Valkyrie. They will accept her, will accept all of them.”
“Will they, though?” Flavius asked quietly. “They did not immediately seek out the dragons. What if they view that as a slight?”
Marcellus had no argument to that, so he altered their point of discussion. “You mentioned I should not love. Should I not marry then?”
“Love only complicates everything,” Flavius urged. “You can marry. You should marry. Your father would not allow you to remain unmarried.”
“But I should not love her.”
“You do not love Rosalynne.”
“Why should I marry her?”
“Who else would you marry? If we want the war to end… I thought that was why you… You wished to speak with the princess. You fancy her?”
Marcellus stared out at the waves. Perhaps it was just as well that Vivian had left. If she had come here, it was possible she would have been recognized. He had no notion as to how his legionaries would react to learning that a lady from Tenoch had lived and trained in Vincana for a time.
“How would you even know the princess well enough to love her?” Flavius continued.
“I don’t love her,” Marcellus grumbled. “I don’t know her. I don’t love anyone. You can stop trying to pretend to read my mind.”
“Now that would be a scary task,” Flavius joked.
“How was it that you convinced Horatia to give you a chance? It could not have been for your sense of humor.”
Flavius chuckled. “I wore her down over time. There’s something about her. I can’t explain it, but when she’s around… I know I would push her, would agitate her at times, but I wanted her attention. I wanted her to notice me. Pathetic, maybe, and this should only make you want me to step down all the more, but once she began to pay more attention to me, I was myself with her. When we were alone. Which happened more and more often, and I can’t tell you the moment I fell in love with her, but she… I live for her. It’s hard.”
“With her being gone, I know, but she might return one day, yes?”
The commander shook his head. “Even if she were to return, it would not matter. Nothing is as it had been, and she has made her choice. Her first duty is to the dragons. It will never be to me. Valkyries do not typically marry for a reason, and I… I know that never is a strong word. I never thought I would fall in love again, not after Marina. With her sickness… But I did find love again, only I will not marry her. I will never marry again, Marcellus. I will not.”
“But what about children?”
The commander laughed heartily. “Boy, there are ways of having children regardless of your marital status.”
“Yes, but…” Marcellus shook his head. It felt wrong. “You and Horatia are good for each other. You pushed her toward greatness, and her you. You each forced the other to think deeper, to look at things from another angle. You two made each other better people. That’s love, isn’t it?”
"Love is not always enough, or rather, her love and duty to the dragons overruled any love and sense of duty she has for me. It is fine, Marcellus. It is for the best it happens now before we wed. She has her life to live, and I have mine, and it might be for the best that we never meet again."
Marcellus winced. He hated that idea. Horatia had become a mentor and a friend to him, and he missed her.
The waves grew even more frantic, as if feeding on his anxious energy that would not abate, and then he saw a ship in the distance.
“Vincanan ship!” Paulus called, racing over to them. He handed his eyepiece to Marcellus.
Marcellus brought the cylindrical leather-bound piece to his eye and peered through it. He recognized several of the men and women on board, but one stood out in particular. His light brown hair fluttered in the breeze, and even through the eyepiece, his black eyes were piercing.
“Father,” Marcellus murmured, shocked, appalled, dismayed.
His father’s arrival meant that Marcellus had failed. Worse, his father would control every aspect of the war.
Why had Antonius Gallus come here? Did that mean the dragons had flown to the south? Was all of Vincana engulfed in flames? And his father, would he seek to marry one of the queens? He was double Marcellus's age at forty. Sabine was two-and-twenty and Rosalynne nine-and-ten, or so he believed. A bit of an age difference, yes, but that was not uncommon at all among royals.
Marcellus might not wish to marry Rosalynne or Sabine for that matter, but the thought of his father marrying either of them sickened him.
What had brought his father here? Just what did he want?
74
Princess Vivian Rivera
It took a lot to frighten the Rivera princess, but she had read enough to realize that she and everyone living in Dragoona should be utterly terrified. The dragons might only be destroying and devastating small villages for now, but that would change and quickly, or so the princess thought.
Not that Olac was a small village. It was one of the largest cities in all of Tenoch. It even rivaled in size Atlan. No doubt, the dragons had spared the monastery because the Keepers of the Dragons dwelled there.
Had dwelled there.
The dragons of old had been hope, faith, and love.
These dragons three were not them.
The moment she left the monastery, with sacks filled with scrolls and books and tomes, an icy wind blast against her face. Vivian did not have to look to see that a wraith was nearby, and she rushed over to her horse only to realize her horse had been frozen solid, an entire block of ice.
Tears burned her eyes. She had not meant for any harm to come to the beast during her travels, but even if she thawed the animal, she knew he no longer breathed.
The wraith had done this.
Or wraiths. Mayhap many of the citizens of Olac had been turned into wraiths, mindless entities of the dragons meant to scare others back toward the light.
But that horse had been innocent. Were even animals in danger from the dragons now?
Even more terrifying for Vivian as she raced toward the stable, hoping there might be one horse capable of riding within its stalls, was the realization that she had no hope, faith, or love herself. She was an agent of despair, of doubt, even hatred.
As much as she had wished to find a source of hope, to rekindle her faith in the dragons, all chances of that had been lost.
If humankind were to survive, they were going to have to fight back somehow. The dragons must be destroyed once and for all for humans to endure.
A rock slammed against her foot, and Vivian went down so hard that scrolls tumbled out of her sacks. She scrambled to retri
eve them all and straightened, shoving them back into her sacks when a wraith bore down on her, a skeletal hand reaching out to claim her, maybe even to kill her.
Paralyzed with fear, Vivian narrowed her eyes and swallowed hard, staring down the ghoulish being. How absurd she was to attempt to stare down a soulless entity, but here she was.
She was not merely an agent of despair, of doubt, even hatred. She was both a fighter and a princess, a warrior princess if one would, and she had not yet begun to fight.
“Let me pass,” she said through gritted teeth.
The wraith did not lower its arm, but she blazed past him, glancing back to see it was still reaching out toward her, reaching for her… or maybe the sacks on her back.
Vivian almost slammed into the stable door. She threw them open. The building had been only partially burned, and there were exactly zero horses inside. Desperation had her checking every single stall and then leaving the stable through the back, not a true exit but one the fire provided.
From there, she spied a horse. She rose onto her hind legs, kicking the air, neighing madly.
Wraiths were coming for the horse.
Without conscious thought, Vivian bent down and picked up pieces of the stable, wooden shards. She flung them at the wraiths.
“It’s me you want!” she called. “To me!”
And she raced away from the horse and the stable. A glance behind revealed the wraiths had taken the bait and had given chase after her, and she raced between and through ruined buildings before climbing vines and dismantled beams on her way up to the rooftops. The wraiths flew, rising as if creatures of the mist, flying after her as she rushed back the way she had come, one jump at a time, falling through one roof and having to claw back up so that her narrow lead did not shrink to the point that the wraiths came upon her.
The thunder of hooves sounded below, and Vivian leapt down to the ground a pace or two behind the horse. Her ankle almost gave out because she hadn’t dared to roll, worried enough as it was that she had lost a scroll or two during her mad dash and the leaping from rooftop to rooftop.