by N M Zoltack
That was why the accusations against him pertaining to the prince had wounded him so deeply. Even when he fought and killed for the sake of the kingdom, a pang would hit his heart each time.
Ulric paused right there in the hallway and then turned to head in the direction of the chapel. He needed to pray, and if the Fates were kind, Albert—Aldwin—would not have returned to the place as of yet.
He needed to pray to each and every one of the Fates. Whichever one would hear him, he would be most grateful for any insight they might offer to him.
Could he truly accept this? Who had put those papers there? Might the vicar have? But he could have brought those scrolls or at least the portrait to try to bolster his claims. Could this suggest there was another who supported the Lis? Might someone else know who he was?
Would he ever be able to trust anyone on this matter?
40
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
The queen waited patiently for the alchemist to arrive. It felt strange to have Ulric gone from her side. He had departed to locate the guard Tiberius to head off with Vivian and Marcellus, and now, he was elsewhere. Rosalynne had become so accustomed to Ulric’s presence that she did not know what to do with herself when he was not about her.
A gentle knock sounded, and the door to the tea room opened a little. “You wished to see me?” Tatum asked.
Rosalynne waved the alchemist inside with a warm smile that slowly fell. The woman’s brown hair drooped about her. Her dress hung on her as if she had lost some weight recently, perhaps too quickly and even more than she should have. Her shoulders were slouched, and even her blue eyes seemed a bit sad. Everything about Tatum screamed sorrow and depression.
“Do you need anything?” Rosalynne asked.
Tatum waved her hand and shook her head. “You did not call me here so that you could pamper me.”
“I would know what is troubling you,” Rosalynne said gently.
“I do not think you have the luxury of having friends,” the alchemist stated plainly.
Rosalynne winced. She could not deny the shrewd woman’s claim. “Perhaps I can in times of peace,” she murmured.
“We are not near peace,” Tatum returned.
“I wish that were not the case, and I need your opinion on a matter. You see, there is a woman in the healer’s hall with magic.”
“Yes. Isabel Faure.”
“Do you know her personally?”
“I am coming to know her.”
“And? Would you say she is a good and decent person?”
“Oh, yes.” Tatum furrowed her brow. “Why? Has someone complained about her? Even without her magic, she is tender and caring with those in her charge, and—”
“Some of the knights have gone off to a small town that has been overtaken by a man with magic. I was wondering… A knight and a guard both have magic. This healer. Can magic… Does it affect a person? Turn them…”
“Evil?” Tatum asked, her voice nearly devoid of emotion.
Rosalynne wordlessly nodded.
“Perhaps I should have spoken to you about this…” The alchemist hung her head.
“You can tell me anything,” Rosalynne assured her.
“It is only a theory, and I could be wrong… I do not know if the magic is cursed, but it might not be a blessing.”
“Why do you say this?”
“Isabel… She remains kind and patient, but… She has started to look worse and worse lately. It’s almost as if… It appears to me that maybe the magic is eating away at her. Or maybe the magic is taking a toll on her body.”
“Interesting. That is troubling.” Rosalynne neglected to mention that perhaps the same could be said of Tatum, and the queen winced inwardly. She had asked too much of the alchemist, but there were hardly any male alchemists, and Tatum’s potions had helped save the lives of many of Tenoch’s warriors.
"There is more." Tatum closed her eyes, tilted her chin up so that she faced the ceiling, and inhaled deeply. She kept her head upturned when she opened her eyes and added, "I learned of a peasant woman with magic. She had needed help with her husband, and she used her magic for the first time to save him. Then, sometime later, I heard from a healer about a daughter who had been killed by her mother. The girl's name was the same name as the daughter of the peasant woman. I thought… I hoped it had been another woman, another mother… I went to their house… Agatha, the woman, she killed her husband, her son, and her daughter before fleeing. Maybe she should be tracked down, so she does not kill again. Mayhap she's killed herself. I cannot say, and I do not know… She had been so desperate for her husband Killian to live that I thought her loving…"
Rosalynne held up her hand. “Thank you for sharing all of this, and do not fret that you waited to. This is no small burden.”
“What will you do about Agatha?”
“I will tell the guards to know there is a peasant woman with magic, to be wary, but to leave her be unless she is violent. She has suffered, perhaps. I hope she regrets and despairs her actions, but…”
“Atlan does not have many people there, I do not think,” Tatum said. “She would not have many opportunities to kill again.”
Rosalynne winced. “Yes, that is true.”
“Forgive me. I am certain Atlan will thrive again—”
“Then you might well have more faith than the queen whose castle resides in that same city,” Rosalynne said bitterly.
“We can only do what the Fates allow us to,” Tatum allowed. She wrinkled her nose. “I wish they would allow me to do more and spare me some as well.”
“Don’t we all?” Rosalynne agreed. “Now that that matter has been discussed, how about we eat and pretend to be friends?”
Tatum hesitated and then nodded. “Do you know I met your sister?” she asked as she reached for a fruit tart.
“Did you? What did you think of her? And you can be honest. I know Vivian better than anyone, and I know she can be difficult at times.”
Tatum laughed. “I am certain she would say the same about you.”
Rosalynne chuckled. “Undoubtedly.”
“The question remains—which of you is telling the truth?”
“Oh, it is very possible we are both factual,” Rosalynne said, and the two settled in to eat and drink and almost but not quite be merry.
That night, Rosalynne found herself sleeping easily. Her night was dreamless at first, but then she stood at the balcony, overlooking a full courtyard. The people were all there, dressed in decent clothes, none looking like poor peasants. Even the children were cleaned, racing about as they played with each other. There were no threats from the skies, she knew, no threats anywhere, and the crowd started a chant.
“Rosalynne the Peacemaker! Rosalynne the Peacemaker! Rosalynne the—”
“Rosalynne!”
A different voice, much closer and a sole voice versus the crowd, called her name over and over, without a title, and Rosalynne slowly stirred from her slumber.
“Yes?” Rosalynne asked as she sat up, bracing herself with her arms on her pillows.
“My Queen, I hate to disturb your slumber, but you must know this.”
Rosalynne’s eyes widened. Ulric was never so formal with her, not for a long while.
Ulric exhaled loudly. “There have been and still are more attacks by other evil magic users throughout our land.”
So much for that dream of peace. If anything, Rosalynne might well go down in history as Rosalynne the Ruiner. That was, if anyone survived for knowledge of her reign to become a part of history.
41
Alchemist Tatum Hill
The alchemist had taken to sleeping in the healer’s hall instead of in a separate room. So many persons were living within the keep that there was hardly room for them all as it was. By doing without, others could have a room instead of more being forced to sleep out in the ruined courtyard.
She did not sleep much as it was. In her corner, she could work on her potions
and tend to the sick as she was needed. A sickness had started to spread among the peasants, and she wondered if perhaps the water supply had somehow become contaminated, but then none of the nobles seemed to be affected. Perhaps she should ask a guard to inspect the sleeping quarters of the peasants. Some small animals could carry diseases. That might well be the cause here.
Tatum reached for her jar of fury stalks. The stalks were white by the bulb, and the color altered slowly up the way to end in a deep red color. A lot of the sickness caused the people to shiver, their body temperature plummeting, and fury stalk could help to abate that, but she was nearly without. For now, she would need to ask a guard to go out and find her some. Fury stalk grew in clumps on the outskirt of swampy areas. Some considered it a poison, and it could be, in ignorant or, she supposed, evil hands.
“Tatum? Tatum Hill?”
She lifted her head and turned from her workstation to see a guard standing nearby, wringing his hands.
“Good. Please, I need you—”
“You are needed,” he interrupted.
Tatum blinked and nodded. “Of course. Where am I to go?” she asked, assuming he needed her to help heal someone or elsewise needed an alchemist’s abilities.
“You have been summoned for a council meeting.”
She heaved a sigh. “Must I?” she murmured.
“The queen specifically requested your presence. If you wish for me to tell her you are—”
“No, I will go.”
Tatum did not wish to go. She could hardly keep track of everything, of everything. Never before had she been stretched quite so thin, and she had been feeling this way for a long while now. The last time she had slept was… Honestly, she did not know. She did not think she could handle much of anything, but she would go, and she would do what she could.
The guard—a different one who stood outside of the meeting room—opened the door for her, and Tatum walked in and approached the table. The moment the queen's gaze landed on Tatum, Rosalynne stood.
“Go and lie down,” the queen instructed.
“No, I am fine,” Tatum said. “You have need of me.”
“And you have a far more pressing need for sleep,” Rosalynne countered. “Thorley, will you escort Tatum—”
“I do not need an escort,” Tatum murmured.
“Be sure that you sleep,” Rosalynne ordered. “No potions. No work. Nothing at all but slumber. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, My Queen.” Tatum nodded, and she returned to her workspace. It took a good fifteen minutes to clear off a table so that she could lie down.
Her mind refused to slow for some time, but eventually, her eyelids grew heavy, and sleep came to her.
She climbed out of bed and realized she was wearing a lovely silk blue gown that hugged her upper body and flowed out away from her legs. Tatum went to run a hand through her hair, but it had been pinned up, and she could smell flowers.
Without a care in the world, she left her house and crossed over to the field behind it. There, a vicar stood, waiting for her. She approached, and there, standing beside her, was the man she was to wed.
Only he was not Dudley.
With a strangled gasp, Tatum woke up. She rubbed a hand down her face and brushed away her tears. She had loved Dudley, or she had thought she had. He had been the first man to treat her with any measure of kindness. He had listened to her but only in the beginning. Over time, the man had changed, and she could see him for the selfish brute he truly was, but by then, it had been too late. They had already wed.
And now, the man was dead. She was left all alone with nothing to occupy her time but to throw herself into her work. At least then she might feel as if her life was worthwhile.
Love. Love was a truly complicated emotion, and honestly, Tatum was trying to do without it because all love ever did was complicate matters. Besides, with her curse, she most likely could not ever have true love.
42
Advisor Aldus Perez
It took some time, days, a week maybe, perhaps even longer, but eventually, Aldus recovered fully, slipping out of this room by removing the door from its hinges through the use of his ornately carved gilded handled blade and then rehinging the door so that it might take the guards a bit longer to realize he had fled.
For the most part, Aldus spent his days wandering the secret passageways but only until he located a room that none ever entered, a small room with no bed or chairs or anything at all. As luck would have it, this room was located near the servant stairs to the kitchens, and Aldus would slip down during the half an hour window when there were no maids about and the chefs had not yet started to prepare meals for the day.
During this time outside his room, Aldus made a young friend, a boy with wide eyes and a huge smile that grew even wider whenever Aldus gave him a bit of food.
In return for the food, the boy gave Aldus information. The first tidbit was unsurprising—Sabine had fled the castle, and no one knew where she was. The second tidbit was a bit shocking. It seemed that the princess and the prince had combined forces against a magical man who had overtaken a town.
Very interesting. If Marcellus and the Riveras were to become true allies, that could prove problematic.
“Learn anything else you can about the Vincanans, especially their prince,” Aldus instructed the boy.
“What about their king?”
Aldus waited.
“Their king is dead.”
“Dead?” the advisor parroted sharply. “Are you certain? How?”
“How do I know? I overheard—”
“No, how was he killed?”
The boy shrugged.
Aldus smiled smugly. “That does not matter. Thank you very much. Now, there is one other thing I need from you.”
“Just one?” the boy whined.
“Once you finish this, I have three more.”
“I’ll be hungry again after the four are up,” the boy muttered.
“If you do all of them, I may be willing to find something else for you, but only if you can be trusted to be very discreet.”
The boy furrowed his brow.
Aldus tapped a finger to his lips. “You must be quiet.”
The boy nodded vigorously and pressed his lips together.
“Very good. I need you to bring Jodoc Hayes here. Do not tell him why or anything about me.”
“Who is he?” the boy asked.
“A guard. He has—”
“I’ll find him.”
The boy rushed out of there, and Aldus laid in wait. It took only an hour for the door to open. Jodoc popped his head inside, and Aldus was ready. Not only had he healed, but he started to grow in the mastery of his magic, and flames covered his hand and halfway up his arm as he grabbed the guard’s throat. The scent of burnt skin and hair filled Aldus’s nostrils, and he used that pleasure to fuel his magical fire’s heat. When he removed his hand, the guard dropped to the ground, his throat burned away clear to the bone.
Aldus dragged the man’s corpse inside. He had added a bed to the room once he started to occupy it, and he had just concealed the man there when the boy entered.
“Here is your reward,” Aldus said smoothly, handing the boy what had to amount to a feast in his eyes.
The boy yanked the plate and raced away before Aldus could change his mind.
Aldus grinned and waited several minutes before risking leaving the room and dragging the body to the secret passageway.
Over the course of the next three days, Aldus gave three more names to the boy—Cunmin Gray, Haerviu Farnham, and the redhead Iudicael Millward.
It had taken Aldus a long bit of time for him to learn the names of the guards who had held him down, but he had done that alongside his growing and developing his magical abilities.
One by one, he went on a murderous spree, killing them all. As for their bodies, one of the passageways led to a window near where dogs and other animals liked to gather to hound the scullery maids for
scraps. Aldus dumped the bodies outside and let the dogs and animals feast on them.
And Aldus smiled. Those who wronged him would face the wrath of his power and the might of his magic, and there would be blood and ashes for all those who opposed him. In the end, he would be the one to wear the crown and sit on the throne, and none would dare even think a single thought to oppose him.
43
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
The queen's frustration over so many pressing issues had her wishing Ulric was there for her to talk to, wishing for her sister, even Marcellus. Her council meeting had proven a disaster. Her sister and Marcellus had not yet returned, and no guard had been able to locate Ulric. She had ordered Tatum to rest, and no one had seen the knight Edmund since he had given back his shield. Former knight, she supposed.
The only council member to have been there had been Wymond Ward, her master-at-sea, and he had nothing to report except that his scouts had told him that one of the Vincanan ships had been submerged, but they believed it to have been a new one.
This was not new information as she assumed that to have been the ship Antonius Gallus had sailed upon, the one Marcellus had detailed when he went into greater details concerning how the second dragon had fallen.
She pressed him about making more weapons to use against the dragons, the harpoons, but the man was not at all faith-inspiring, sputtering and scratching his head, and she left the room feeling more ill at ease than she had in recent days.
Her feet brought her near the chapel, and she opted to enter. To her dismay, the place was empty. Now more than ever, the people should be praying, and where was Vicar Albert Leeson?