The Dark Queen

by M. Dalto

  The incantation seemed simple enough, but Lexan felt the sizzle of power against his skin and noticed the sweat on Reylor’s brow once he was finished. It was like he was saying goodbye to a part of himself he never knew, and he contemplated what it could have been like had he returned with them when they first escaped the Empire, growing up with his sister, living whatever was considered a normal life.

  But they weren’t bred to be normal.

  “Have we put any thought into how we’re actually going to return to the Empire?” Lexan asked as they walked back to his apartment.

  “I’ve been working on that,” he admitted. “I spent the entire time while you three were away trying to figure it out. But I don’t have the book, and without the book, I don’t even know how to start…”

  “But what about the other book?” Lexan proposed. “Perhaps there is something in there that can assist us. If the original book was initially taken from the library in the Borderlands, maybe there’s something from it that was transcribed.”

  Reylor only shrugged, and it was the most vulnerable movement Lexan had ever seen his father make. He watched him for a moment longer before he returned his gaze to the sidewalk at his feet.

  “You miss her.”

  There was no need to ask of whom Lexan was speaking.

  “Every day,” Reylor admitted quietly.

  “Is it true you asked her to marry you?”

  Reylor cast his son a glance before he nodded. “I truly didn’t know Treyan was still alive, regardless of what Sarayna may have thought.”

  “You had to have known that would never have gone over well,” he told his father, and Reylor actually snorted.

  “No—of that you are correct. I suppose, at the time, I didn’t really give a damn about what anyone else thought of me, or of us. It was just her and me, and…”

  “We’ll return to her,” Lexan promised.

  Reylor cast his eyes to the horizon ahead of them. “Let’s just hope we have something to return to.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Treyan wondered if this was what hell felt like.

  Hour after hour, shackled to a bed, his body beaten and abused by a woman in his wife’s body, but who was not his wife.

  They released him, for only an hour a day, to relieve himself and eat the one meal they provided him. Otherwise, he was hers to torture as she deemed fit.

  Sometimes she would taunt him verbally, sometimes she would abuse him physically, and sometimes the psychological torture was worse than any form of torture one could begin to imagine. Sometimes she would draw blood, and sometimes she wouldn’t touch him at all. But when she would talk in her voice—Alex’s voice…she called to him like she knew him.

  “Leminol would be proud of your sacrifice in his name,” she would muse.

  All Treyan could do was close his eyes and remind himself this wasn’t Alex, no matter how often his mind betrayed him, and his body ached for her as if she was.

  He tried to count the days, but he lost track—his meals arrived without schedule and her visits were sporadic at best.

  Until one day, she didn’t visit him.

  Perhaps the gods were listening to his curses after all.

  “You do know there are places I need to be right now,” Brynaxia hissed as she followed Xavon down the hall. “Where are you taking me on such short notice?”

  “I assure you, Prince Treyan will be exactly where you’ve left him when you return,” Xavon asserted as he continued his trek.

  “Don’t sound so jealous,” Bryn mocked as she kept pace. “It’s unbecoming.”

  He spun to face her, and for the first time since her awakening, she saw a fire in his gaze. It made her heart pound in response, but in no way was she terrified. If anything, it made her body ache for more.

  “What you are doing behind your chamber doors is not unknown, Brynaxia, and I’m going to assume that you are remembering to ask the prince about his cohorts and their whereabouts. Before forgetting that was the true propose of taking the prince into your care.”

  “He’s an exceptionally difficult nut to crack.” She smirked. “I assure you, we are making progress.”

  “I hope so, but in the meantime, your assistance is required elsewhere.”

  Before she could inquire, a scream rattled the windows above their heads, and both quickened their paces to the room at the end of the hall.

  Throwing open the doors, Brynaxia was startled by the scene spread out before her.

  In the royals’ master suite, Crystalia lay on the bed, legs bent and spread, as she leaned against the headboard, moaning and writhing, her brow sweating and eyes clenched shut. Razen was sitting next to her, attempting to wipe her forehead when she let him close enough to touch her.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Brynaxia asked as casually as she could, well aware of what exactly was happening to the woman.

  “What is she doing here?” Crystalia hissed through clenched teeth, having opened her eyes upon realizing she and Razen were no longer alone.

  “Queen Empress Brynaxia is here to help you, seeing as she has done this before, and you have not,” Xavon announced.

  “What?” both women exclaimed in unison, and Razen stood from the bed.

  “Xavon, are you certain this is a good idea?”

  “Well, we don’t seem to have a midwife on hand any longer, seeing as Crystal killed her not too long ago. Bryn is the next best thing we have.”

  “Because I’m a woman who has given birth?” she asked curiously.

  “More or less, yes.”

  Brynaxia glared at him before turning back to the scene before her. True, she had delivered children of her own. Given the current circumstances…

  “I’ll need clean cloth, warm water, and a sterile knife,” she decisively requested as she walked to the end of the bed.

  “A knife?” Crystal breathed out in the middle of her pain.

  “We will need something to cut the cord, dear.” Bryn smiled.

  Crystal held her gaze for a moment, as if she sensed something pass between them, and Brynaxia’s grin spread as her eyes widened.

  “No,” Crystal protested. “I’m a nurse—that’s a healer in my realm. I don’t need help, I don’t need—”

  “You’re delirious, love,” Brynaxia soothed. “I know how painful childbirth can be.”

  “And you’re certain you can help her?” Razen asked where he remained by Crystal’s side.

  “Of course, so long as you get me the items I need.”

  The former Lord Steward cast a glance to Xavon where he stood behind her, and nodded, leaving them with Crystal while he went to gather the requested components.

  Another scream soon escaped Crystal’s lips, but Bryn remained where she was, relishing in the pain this woman would have to endure. Though he didn’t move closer, Xavon offered Crystal words of support.

  “Just remember, you will bring forth the heir to the Borderlands, Crystalia. Our bloodline will continue through this child—”

  “I don’t give a damn about your bloodline!” Crystal yelled as she struggled to remain calm through her labor. “Just get this done with already.”

  Razen returned with his arms full of cloths and a basin of water as requested.

  “And the knife?” Brynaxia inquired, to which he presented her with his own once he set the other items down next to the bed.

  “Excellent, now if you’ll excuse us…”

  “You want us to leave?” Razen asked incredulously.

  “Of course. The birthing room is no place for men.”

  Razen peered at her and she held his gaze levelly.

  “Come, Razen—let’s leave them to their work,” Xavon urged, and though he hesitated at first, Razen soon conceded and followed Xavon from the room.

  Once the door was closed behind them, Brynaxia snapped her fingers, and the sound of the locking mechanism securing in place echoed off the walls.

  She turned to the writhing, swea
ting woman lying prone in the bed, but no sooner did she face her did searing flashes of white pain scorched through her mind. Memories not her own pummeled her consciousness, and she gripped the handle of the knife as she braced against the onslaught.

  A smile in a darkened tavern surrounded by unknown faces and figures while celebrating a birthing day.

  A concerned look in a small, comfortable sitting room while discussing a lost love and an uncertain future.

  An angry scowl in a cold chamber with nothing but fury and jealousy lashing out at a once-considered friend.

  “I remember you,” Brynaxia breathed, the hoarse whisper of her voice sounding unlike her own as she pushed off the door. “She hasn’t forgotten what you’ve done.”

  “Who—” Crystal’s eyes were enormous as she watched the former Empress approach with the knife in her hand. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to help bring your child into the world,” Bryn replied, oddly calm as she sat on the end of the bed, the knife resting in her lap. “I’m going to give them the opportunities mine were never given the chance to have. I’m going to let them live their lives and be loved for it.”

  Crystal’s breaths grew deeper still. “And then?”

  “Oh, you won’t need to worry about that,” she mused as she lifted the woman’s nightgown up to reveal her large abdomen. “By the time this is all over, you’ll have lost too much blood to even remember you gave birth in the first place.”

  “What?” Crystal gasped, panicked as she tried to sit, to move away, but Brynaxia brought the dagger to her navel, pressing the tip in ever so slightly. Crystal stilled as a strangled cry escaped her.

  “You are weak,” Brynaxia continued. “You were not chosen by either the fire or the light to carry on the line. You are nothing but an imposter who wanted what she was never meant to have, but you took it upon yourself to take it anyway.”

  Another smile graced her lips as she met Crystal’s wild stare.

  “Yes, I know all about you. Though I took her body, we seem to share the same mind, the same thoughts, the same memories. I know about you—what you did—and in this, she and I are in agreement.”

  “Alex? What—”

  Before Crystal could get the words out, Brynaxia dragged the dagger in and down, down, down, from navel to pubic bone. The woman’s screams were exactly what she had hoped for.

  “Good—keep that up. The more it sounds like you’re in pain, the better they’ll believe…”

  “What—” Crystal tried to gasp, but Brynaxia brought the dagger now across her belly that begged for release beneath the pressure of the unborn child.

  “That’s it,” Brynaxia urged.

  “Please,” Crystal tried to beg.

  “Shh.” Brynaxia glanced at her as she watched the light begin to fade from those emerald eyes. “Your sacrifice to the Empire will not be forgotten.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  As promised, Jamison joined Lord Dremond for breakfast. A simple spread of meats, pastries, fruit and coffee was ready for him upon his arrival, and the lord was already awake and dressed, waiting for him at the table when he presented himself.

  “I hope you slept well, Captain,” Dremond said by way of greeting. “We have a long journey ahead of us today.”

  Jamison stilled as he went to sit in his chair. “My lord?”

  “We’ll try our luck with the opposing castle, as you proposed. The troops are prepared to leave as soon as you’re done with breakfast.”

  And that was that.

  Jamison couldn’t eat or pack his belonging fast enough.

  Lord Dremond had finally agreed to move on the Borderlands; it was the best news Jamison could have asked for. They were going to be one step closer to winning this damn war once and for all. Perhaps they’d even make the world better than the one they once knew, if such a thing was possible.

  The army was a decent size—not small enough to conceal their advance, but not so large to delay them terribly. They moved slower than Jamison would have liked, but still they moved. Once they passed the lone, forgotten cabin belonging to the Mistress that…

  Jamison shook his head. Memories would do his no good now, not as their advance seemed to increase its speed tenfold towards the border. As if they all, too, sensed the closeness of their goal.

  The tree line, however, was the greatest obstacle they faced.

  The army would need to split amongst the trees as they passed through, and their numbers could trample the overgrowth as they marched on. As for the larger trunks and trees in their way, they would have to do their best to go over or around them, but their instructions were simple:

  Do not stop your approach until you are beyond the tree line.

  It was the most tedious mile-long walk of Jamison’s life. He made a promise to himself, to the Empire, and to whoever was waiting for them on the other side, that he would do everything he could to ensure the removal of each and every damn tree in their way when all was said and done.

  What exactly awaited them on the other side, he was still so damned uncertain.

  How many would be waiting for them? Would it be grunts, or soldiers, or mages? How long would they have been there, and how desperate would they be for blood?

  Too many unknowns and not enough time to figure them all out.

  Lord Dremond attempted to send his scouts ahead of the arm, but without going deep into the tree line, there was no way to truly know what to expect upon their arrival in the Borderlands. The ones he did send were too damn superstitious about mage curses and whatnot that none of them dared to enter the dense overgrowth to find out what was really waiting for them.

  So they trekked on, blindly, until they reached the Borderlands.

  The shift in temperature was Jamison’s first hint that they were getting closer to their destination. The suns seemed to hide behind the thick cloud cover known to linger year-round. He clutched his cloak tighter as he emerged before the soldiers falling in line behind him, but the scene ahead him made him stop.

  In perfect formation, for as far as the eye could see, were robed mages offset by dark-clad foot-soldiers. None were battle ready, however—all stood at attention, as if they had been waiting for them.

  At the front of the group stood a woman whose dominating stance exuded power, with her with black hair flowing over her dark red robed shoulders. Her eyes gleamed like rubies, as did those of the others who surrounded her. They were the color of Reylor’s gaze—those of traitors to the Empire and swore themselves to the darkness of the Borderlands.

  In that moment, as he stood between the two opposing fronts, he did not feel threatened at all.

  It was almost as though…

  “Peace, Empireborn,” the woman spoke in a voice that resounded with power, accented like those who once lived in the mountains to the north. “We know why you have come.”

  “And you’re going to allow us to enter the castle without conflict?” Dremond challenged as he took his place next to Jamison.

  The woman glanced to him, to his family crest he wore upon his breast, then back to Jamison, clothed in the Empire’s colors of blue and silver, the royal family’s shield on his shoulder. “We will speak with you and come to an agreement. A treaty.”

  “We’re to just take your word for it?” the lord questioned.

  “Our word is the only thing you have to go on at the moment,” she reminded him, her scarlet eyes amused as they flicked to him. “Come, we will meet in the castle. Your soldiers are welcome to sup with our own. You may stay as long as you like, but first, we will speak.”

  With a nod to a robed male beside her, a command was shouted in a northern tongue Jamison did not know. As one, the column split in half to allow their in-command to show the way toward the castle, and for them to follow.

  Jamison quickly considered their options. He glanced toward Dremond, who appeared skeptical of the entire ordeal. The Captain knew he should be more cautious, but they were at
their end, and this was truly their last attempt at rectifying the wrongs that had been done against them personally and to the Empire.

  “The choice is yours,” he murmured to the lord beside him. “But either way, I’m going with her.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer before following the female. He chuckled softly to himself when he heard Lord Dremond bark a few select orders to his soldiers before hurriedly following.

  The woman led them to a formal sitting area complete with a roaring fire and plush seating. Refreshments were prepared—warm tea and bread with cheese, as if they were expected.

  Jamison and Dremond took seats across from the mage, but as trained soldiers and knowledgeable in ways of the court, both waited for her to pour them their drinks, and take a sip of her own, before either man picked up their cups. The amused smile that graced her lips as she watched them move, almost in unison, was enough for Jamison to know that she should not be underestimated.

  “We would like to know what your presence here can do for the good of the Borderlands,” she said after another sip of her tea.

  “Who is we?” Jamison asked carefully.

  Her same amused look remained. “We are the mages of the north. We are the ones whose lands these were before your Empire decided to take what was not theirs. We work as one, we believe as one. Aside from that, I am named Dimura.”

  “Are you the leader of the mages?”

  “We have no leader, though there have been plenty who believed they would control us, lead us. For centuries, our people have resided in the north, in the coldest peaks of the mountains where your Empireborn don’t dare traverse. Though there have been some of us who aligned with the traitorous lords of the Borderlands, most of us just want to return home, to live our lives. Castles, riches, and powers other than our own do not appeal to us.”

  “Why haven’t you attempted to return home before now?”