by Eve Bradley
“I see that your clansmen have not yet arrived. When are they to be here?” Dedreia’s voice was punctual and cold.
“They’re a fortnight away,” he told her, eyes bright and undeterred. “I’ll ride south when they arrive immediately.”
“I do hope so,” Dedreia nodded crisply and then clasped her hands together. “In any case. Sir Mathers, can you drudge up a list of available lords, kings, and princes?”
The wiry old man who’d spoken on Margaret’s behalf bowed his head humbly.
“Of course. I shall.”
“I will choose promptly once you’ve produced the information,” Dedreia affirmed, but then clasped her hands before her. “Although, I’m afraid at least the younger two will have to wait a few more years. Marriage at such young ages is dangerous for a woman.”
Margaret felt as if Lucarian were looking over her shoulder. She swallowed, and shut her eyes for a brief respite.
“Princess Elvensa is fourteen. Ansephria is sixteen. Those are ages appropriate for marrying as they’ve always been,” Margaret said, voice fragile.
Before she could say much more, she felt Zothar’s boot stamp down upon her slipper. He pretended to be shifting in his chair, but she felt this slight pressure, and she took it as a warning. Do not press your luck; it told her. She scrambled to right herself, and then fixed a mindless smile onto her face.
“But if you presume them to be, I am sure you are correct, Queen mother,” she spoke more warmly now, and Queen Dedreia’s expression drained into positive bemusement.
The rest of the council murmured words of agreement.
“The betrothals should be enough for them,” Dedreia added. “Portraits shall be painted. Don’t you think?”
Margaret tilted her head demurely.
When the gathering was dismissed, she followed her guards out of the tower, leaving Zothar and the rest of them alone to discuss whatever they wished. Perhaps Dedreia would speak more of the Peacequeen, which she’d carefully avoided during the rest of their time. In fact, she was suspicious that Dedreia had plans for her, as well as plans that she’d hatched with Zothar, seeing as she’d been the first to hook him into aiding Raspandar in their similar goals.
The Peacequeen. She recalled the woman as a beautiful warm person with long, rich red hair, nearly the color of raspberry wine. She remembered the woman staring at Margaret, who’d been tied up in Lucarian’s tent, with horror sparkling like flames in her eyes. She wished the woman would have killed Lucarian then and there. She was angry that she’d played along with his game, doing nothing more to save her. Stories of the Peaceking had been told to her by her nursemaid, but no one had ever expected one to rise again. No less a queen.
Lost in her thoughts, she decided to walk amongst the gardens, which sprawled on a hill at the base of the castle. There were many entrances to the castle, but this was the one most often used by merchants or departing armies. The pathways led inland, away from the sea that the castle overlooked from its precarious place atop the rocks.
Near the municipal gardens, there were a few different buildings. The court's blacksmith, the stables, an herbalist, an armory, and a few other dwellings important to the production and harmony of the castle’s inner-workings. Her dress skipped over the muddy roads, her hem becoming wet and heavy. But it didn’t matter. The gardens were clarifying.
“Your grace,” one of the guards protested.
She smiled calmly.
“It’s such a nice day, gentleman. Allow me to get fresh air for a while.”
They agreed halfheartedly. As they walked, Margaret was completely bewitched by the sight of the castle. It nearly touched the sky from this angle — every turret like a black spike poking at the heavens. Copper fittings enhanced the dark scape of it, and she couldn’t imagine how anyone even built it. Inside there were pathways built like bridges, and there were more levels than she could count. Every hall and room was confusingly placed so that once you found your way to one, it was difficult to remember how to return. Luckily her rooms were nearby the audience hall. The guards walked forward towards the gardens.
As she dawdled behind them, her sight was suddenly wrenched away from the castle. A hand was over her mouth, firmly placed so that she didn’t dare try to bite. She was drug into a side room of a storage shack and then thrown up against the wall.
“Don’t speak a word, young courtesan,” Zothar towered over her, his hand over her mouth. “I’ll let you go quickly enough.”
He spoke in Catharsan. There was straw beneath her feet, and she was enraged, bucking against him as he held her there.
“If the King-” she began.
He placed his hand over her mouth again.
“Hush, will ya. I need to tell you something that just may save your life.”
This got Margaret’s attention. She relaxed, and he let off of her. Both of them were gulping breaths from the struggle, and she stared up at him, deeply afraid. What could he mean? Was she in danger?
“Don’t openly go against her. We all know what Lucarian asked. But Dedreia’s influence stems far beyond Raspandar. I’ve been around enough to see that she is not afraid of violence. The woman has relations further than you think. You think she won’t murder you if she thinks she can get away with it? You have to curry some favor. Make people like you. Make her...” he pointed firmly back towards the castle. “Think that you’re no threat. That you’re dumb, just like the rest of them believe.”
“They think me foolish?” Margaret’s cheeks burned. She knew it.
“Ya. Don’t worry about it. You do what you must to survive. I’ve seen this firsthand.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed. She heard shouts from the guards, and she crossed her arms over her chest. Fear and fascination were hurrying through her stomach. Looking up at Zothar, she was confused. Why did he dare help her? Especially if his allegiances were with Dedreia? There were too many questions she wished to ask, and not enough time.
“I need to ask you...”
Zothar shook his head.
“Play dumb, little mouse,” he urged her, and pat her arm before storming out the opposite side of the storage shed.
She stood there a few moments longer, her legs shaking. She would have to do as he said.
She stumbled out of the storage shed from the side she’d been brought in at, her hand over her mouth. The guards spotted her and raced towards her.
“Your grace! What happened?”
“I’m so sorry...I felt ill. I did not want to disgust you.”
The guards' faces grew stern but soft with fatherly indignation.
“Next time, don’t worry for our stomachs. You’re to stay in our sight,” one told her.
But she was yet again distracted, because there rutting on up the muddy path, about a hundred yards away, was a carriage that sported the Snow Lily Company logo. The carriage was white, and the doors were decorated with an engraving of white lilies with green stems. Margaret heard a flock of geese honking overhead, and she shivered.
Hopefully. Finally. That would be her father.
Catryn
The Djinn’s Haven, The Desert
A few days of rigorous studying had passed. Catryn had smuggled a few scrolls and books into her bag, knowing that Glend would especially appreciate it. If he were here, he’d think he was in heaven. Guilt cascaded over her shoulders. After reading pointless accounts and recollections of wars and marriages, sieges and random bits of poetry, Cat and Maru were spent. Exhaustion had settled in her bones. There was nothing about Vulzon, nothing about Greguene’s powers, nothing about how to cure the curse of darkness that charred her soul.
Flames flickered in the corner of the room, and she shook her head, irritated at every single word she read. She glanced back to see Maru leaning over a pile of separated herbs, a quill in her hand. Every so often, she’d bring the point to the parchment and make a notation. Catryn also saw her beautiful illustrations and was impressed with Maru’s ability to cre
ate such lifelike images.
She wondered what Evanona was like. She knew it was near the ocean, and being in the desert so long, it made her even more anxious to see it. She imagined giant ships and fishermen bringing large hauls back to a dusty old castle filled with sculptures of sea dragons. Maybe she was too hard on Maru. The woman had only been one thing so long in her life. Maybe Catryn was too much for her.
This loneliness filled her up and caused her stomach to turn. She couldn’t continue this charade. If they found nothing, they’d have to return. But she’d promised herself she wouldn’t go back without knowing of a way to save Yamar and keep Darrian, Glend, and Val safe. She had nothing of the sort.
Her eyes settled on one of the books she’d grabbed, a book bound in crinkled leather with a strange symbol on its front. She grabbed it, thumbing through the pages in one final attempt to reach a resolution. The book fell open at the center, and instead of scrawling letters, the crisp pages were filled with pictures. Beneath them, in an unknown language, was a description. The only word she could make out was: Greguene. There were depictions of him standing on the land. Others of him pointing with many arms towards all over the world. Then finally, something that she could understand. Countless frowning faces and mournful people reaching upward to the sky. Then, waves of energy that Catryn assumed to be magic, scattering into the clouds.
Catryn slammed her hand down upon the paper, and Maru jerked.
“Gods, Cat. You almost made me break the Penculla,” she grumbled.
Catryn ignored her and exited the room, coming out into the haven of little houses dotting the hills inside the giant hub. Djinns went about their days, making their exchanges, living their peaceful lives. It made Catryn angry. This anger surged in her veins, and before she could stop herself, she was heading for the sanctuary that Aisha shut herself up in. She shouldered through the great vines hanging over the entryway and came to the small glowing shack that sported a hundred lamps, lit and nearly humming all around the Djinn’s house. The lamps that hung all around looked like little crystal vials, some wrapped in gold or brass, others in silver. But they were all shaped differently. Faint colors seemed to coat the walls of each. Jewels glittered on others, like little twinkling stars angry at her for disturbing them.
She didn’t stop the knock.
When she opened the door to Aisha’s place of resting, she was accosted by a sight that made her vomit. Hunched over the beautiful purple Djinn was a giant, demonic being. Thick black oozing scales covered its skin, and his eyes were like coals, giant and all-seeing. Its enormous cock was stuck inside her, and it looked like she was pinned down by it. His hands were talons, and instantly she was reminded of the Djinn who’d attacked in the palace. But this creature was double the size of a normal person.
The edges of its skin rippled with smoke. The scales nearly looked as if they were formed of ice, but beneath them, mucosal oils dripped. The face was horrifyingly absent, lacking a discernable mouth or nose, but those eyes...Catryn was frozen as she stared.
She had a split second to draw up her Faerus to block the lashes of black poisonous magic that came hurtling towards her. The Faerus deflected the dark necrotic flashes so that they were sent back slapping against the ground. Where they fell, the earth bubbled and steamed as if the substance was deforming the earth itself; melting it away. Catryn’s body pulsed with a chaotic need, and she pushed the Faerus out in a blaring force towards the creature.
He pulled out of Aisha, and Catryn had to relieve her stomach yet again when she saw a sickening trail of black smoke billow out of her opening. The black smoke quickly evolved into sickeningly familiar figures. Djinn, but those she’d seen before.
Djinn born of Vulzos. Demons.
The hulking being moved like a boulder, grinding towards her as the demonic Djinn raced ahead. The cave filled with hissing noises, like lurid torrents you might hear on the ocean.
“You shouldn’t have come, daughter of Celosia,” Aisha’s words were haunting. Aching.
Catryn sprinted from the scene, flying through the opening out into the hub of blissfully ignorant Djinn.
As she clambered towards the house where Maru would be humming away, living so peacefully, she blanched. What had she just seen? The image of the giant black figure submerged in Aisha’s purple body singed every particle in her mind. And from that, the dark Djinn were created.
She heard them coming. Rounding out behind her the demons flew, howling for her blood. She sent blasts of Faerus at them.
“Maru!” she screamed.
The hub of common Djinn was quickly thrown into an uproar. People scattered, confused at what was happening. Everyone ran for cover, perplexed screams filling her head with echoes.
Catryn took the blade in her pocket and hurtled it towards one who was just at her heels, scrambling and swiping at her as the metal swooped and lodged between its eyes. Then she spotted Sarth dodging through the crowds. The noise heightened as the colorful complex of Djinn screamed and roared. Sarth sidled up alongside her and subdued a few of the dark smoldering creatures. Mela followed close behind him, red eyes frightened. Their stances were at the ready.
“Aisha...she-”
But before they could speak, the behemoth creature smashed through the entryway out into the dome gathering space. Rocks flew. People stopped, fear gelling their legs. It angered Catryn intensely that the Djinn were so afraid when they held so much painfully inaccessible power. Her mind raced, her stomach sour and curdled. Her skin tingled with the god’s and goddess's pull.
She wanted to listen, but she couldn’t focus.
“Catryn Islenes!” the beast of a being raged, his voice akin to groaning tree roots and rockslides.
But with every fiber of her being, he brought a feeling of disgust and dismay as if nothing would be well. It was the urge to slaughter and kill everyone, including herself. His presence bleached the ground of any plant life.
Her name rang in her ears.
“I did not know I was being slighted so greatly, as not to meet you,” the being’s features twisted, and for a moment, beyond the icy black scales and coal eyes, she saw a hint of electric blue surrounding the pupils. As if it were attempting to be humanistic.
Maru raced to stand beside them as well; her eyes saucer wide and terrified when she saw, and felt, what stood before them.
“Aisha didn’t allow me the pleasure,” he growled, and rumbles thundered through the earth.
With one swoop of its taloned hand, Catryn felt her limbs move, and then she was flying towards him. She looked like a bird in front of a ravenous cat. She hung in mid-air, a black miasma pulsing and kneading her. Her Faerus was nowhere to be found as if it had dropped submissively into the confines of her mind. She heard Maru shriek and heard Sarth stop her from following.
“Vul...zon...I take it?” Catryn’s voice croaked from her chest.
The great being tilted its emotionless face and tugged her closer so that she could smell the rotting breath. Everything that existed could be taken away by him, she knew this now. Terror made her feel like a cold flopping fish. She was entirely limp in this grip. The magic, a chaos so strong and fierce, controlled her now. She could easily give herself over to him. She could easily enjoy it. Being in his presence was maddening, spiritual, and transcendent. Everything she was could be smashed into eons of nothingness, into a fine dust of futility. Everything that he was saturated her with these depressive, corrupting thoughts.
It would be simple to accept them. To deny the balance and gulp power and evil like a drug that would blacken her new sinister veins.
He peered down at her as if she were a morsel he’d like to digest.
“You’ve never belonged on this earth. Let me take you with me,” the giant dark creature growled, and from his tone, she heard the grinding chill of seduction.
“These humans are pointless to save. You’re one of us. You don’t belong here,” the rotting breath tickled her face, and for a moment she sa
w spiked black teeth where his mouth ought to have been.
Then she saw Aisha stumbling out behind them. Her beautiful purple skin was tinged grey, and her hair flowed slowly, in lackluster forms.
“You promised not to harm my people,” her voice raised.
“You kept her from me,” Vulzon chuckled darkly. “Now, you all will serve me.”
“No!” Aisha’s voice was a thread, and she buckled and fell to her knees.
Her sorrow snapped Catryn back a bit, and a sliver of life poured back into her. She needed her full powers. She needed to dissolve the curse, even if it allowed more Djinn to come. At least she’d have full reign of her magic. She looked within herself, finding the edges of the hard shield that was blocking her, and then stopped. Vulzon was chaos and the desire for imbalance. His magic relied on persuasion, a poisonous dark hellish magic that caused men to go mad. How could she ever stop him? He was the embodiment of death and destruction.
Just then, an arrow flew through the air, catching the giant scaly arm, a snake arm, through the flesh. He was so astounded that for a moment, the magic surrounding Catryn wavered, and she fell to the mossy ground. Maru. But how could the arrows even pierce him? Without thinking, Catryn recalled the edges that Majmal had drawn back in her mind. She was afraid of this place, so damn afraid, but everything within her willed this.
There was no other choice.
From her skin, in one clean pulse, rose the storm. But this time, she saw dead people flying through the air around her. Valryn. Darrian. Glend. Her jaw dropped. Demon djinn rose out of the tornado winds, black smoke creatures with embers burning in their eyes, hunger in their pitted stomachs.
The magic flooded through her, like a warm coasting river correcting every ounce of non-magic flesh in her body. She felt each element so strongly it nearly blinded her with pleasure. She didn’t even care that the rest of the earth around her was surging. Astra, Vermora, Faerus, Chronos, and even Vulzos, bubbled and fizzed, delighted and free, in her body.