by N M Zoltack
She slowly walked about the room, pausing before each of the statues devoted to one of the four Fates.
The first she approached was the Fate of Life, a baby angel whose wings acted as swaddling clothes.
Peace was a woman whose face had gentle lines. Although stone, her eyes conveyed a sense of hopefulness that Rosalynne wished desperately that she shared.
Next, she came before Death, a shadowy figure with a swirling mist about him. The black, grays, and browns of the statue made Death appear to be vicious and dark.
The one she lingered about the longest was the Fate of Chaos. The warhammer at the side of the muscular man gave the Fate a sense of being a barbarian who thirsted for bloodlust.
Had the dragons three who returned been reincarnations of the Fates? Yes, there were four Fates and only three dragons, but it seemed as if the Fate of Life had abandoned them. Mayhap Peace, Death, and Chaos had taken on dragon form, but no. None of the dragons had been a defender of life, and nor had they been advocates for peace either.
No, that theory was pointless.
Rosalynne’s footsteps echoed as she approached the altar. Each time she shut her eyes, she could see her brother lying there, dead, and she pressed a hand to her chest, willing her pain and suffering to end.
And yet, so many others had lost just as much if not more than she had.
As she sat in the first pew, the door opened. She did not turn to see who approached, but the slow, shuffling gait told her the vicar had finally arrived. The queen shifted over, and, with a groan, he sat beside her.
“I do not mean to disturb your prayers,” he said in his slow, gravelly voice, “but if you wish to speak with me, I have two listening ears and a tongue that can share my knowledge if you think my counsel might be of assistance to you.”
“The first dragon died and unleashed magic into the world. Some people gain, but so many others did not, and while some use their newfound abilities to help, others do not.”
“I cannot speak for the dragons,” the vicar said, his back hunched more than normal. How it must pain him. “I do not know if they choose who received magic and who did not.”
“You think it merely happened without a guiding force behind it? If not the dragons, then surely the Fates would have affected their will on us, don’t you think?”
“I cannot say that either.”
“You are a vicar,” she said dryly. “You are the mouth of the Fates here on the world.”
“Ah, yes, I am, but I remain just a mortal man. As for why some use their magic for good or for ill… Is that not the same for any man, for any woman? Some use their influence to help others, to better the world. Others care only for themselves and never should have had so much in the first place.”
She swallowed hard. As much as she strove to help others, had she done enough? Could she do more? Had she bettered the world? Compared to when her father had ruled, Tenoch was rife with strife, turmoil, and death, so much death.
Yes, it was true she cared for others and not merely herself, but she also perhaps had not done enough.
She stared straight ahead, not really seeing the altar, unable to look the old man in the eye. In truth, he had no answers for her, and the little he had said made her wonder if she was fit to rule after all.
The Rivera legacy had started with bloodshed, and her rule had been filled with far more blood spilled than she could have possibly imagined. Mayhap Tenoch would have been better suited to a different ruler.
But who?
44
Ulric Cooper, Personal Guard to Queen Rosalynne
The evening meal Ulric always ate in the company of the queen. If he did not, she would suspect something was awry, and he did not wish to alarm her. Besides, he was shirking his duties as her personal guard as it was, something he never thought he would do.
So he retired to the small dining area King Jankin used to eat in when he no longer wished to appear in public. With so many commoners and peasants in the keep, there were longer hours than normal when the banquet hall was used so as to accommodate them all, and he knew well that the queen worried about their capacity to feed them all for a substantial amount of time, but where else could the poor people go?
Rosalynne was already there, waiting patiently beside her chair. Once she made eye contact with him, she offered him a rueful smile.
“Let us sit and eat and tell each other about our day,” she said, and they both took their seats across from one another. “It is strange to not already know everything, given that we have spent so much time with each other as of late.”
“Rosalynne…” His gaze shifted to a maid who stepped forward to fill his goblet with ale. He lifted his hand. “I will pour myself wine. Thank you.”
The maid nodded and stepped back.
He grimaced, feeling out of sorts and out of place.
“Leave us,” Rosalynne said graciously.
The maid hurried from the room.
Rosalynne eyed Ulric. “You still do not feel comfortable around servants.”
He shook his head.
“That is fine. I understand.” She furrowed her brow. “What is troubling you?”
His lips parted, and he sought to screw up the courage to tell her about his lineage.
But to do so would mean explaining that Olympia Li was here, within the castle, and Rosalynne was bound to think that a betrayal.
And who was even to say that Rosalynne would believe him?
So instead, he uttered, “I do not feel comfortable calling you so informally by your given name in front of others.”
“Oh.” She waved a hand and laughed. “You do not have to worry about what they think.”
“You did not allow your previous guards to be so personal with you,” he uttered.
Rosalynne lowered her head. He knew she had sought the counsel of some of her guards, including the late Bernard Belinelli, who had died during the Rivers battle, and the late Eldric Synder, who had perished during the Castle Conquest.
“No, but then you mean far more to me than just a personal guard,” Rosalynne said. “You are very dear to my family. You befriended Noll, and you might well have saved Vivian’s life for spiriting her away as you did. I will forever be in your debt.”
Ulric poured his wine and drank heartily to avoid making a face. She spoke of her siblings but not of herself, a fact that did not sit well with him.
He had seen the way she had looked at him in the kitchens that night when the Vincanans had attacked the castle. The two had nearly kissed even. Perhaps she had feelings for him, but even if she did, nothing could become of it. She and Marcellus… The Vincanans would not be happy if their prince—their king once coronated—married only the princess. They would see it an insult against them if the Queen of Tenoch then married a commoner who had grown up a servant with no parents.
Only, that was not who he was. That portrait… he could not stop thinking about it, about the man he so resembled, the woman whose lips he shared… Olympia knew and accepted who she was, but she had known that truth all her life. Ulric had been kept ignorant.
If there was one thing Ulric did not care for, it was his being ignorant. He would love to return to that spot and read all of those scrolls, but he knew he could not read it all. His knowledge was incomplete.
“Do you think that perhaps someone could teach me how to read?” he blurted out. “I can read some but not everything, and I would like to learn how to draw my letters. I have never tried. I recognize the letters, all of them, so drawing them—”
“Writing them,” she corrected faintly, a wide smile on her face, “but I suppose I prefer the idea of drawing them. Ulric, I would be more than happy to help you—”
“No. Someone else,” he insisted. “You have far too much to concern yourself with, more important matters—”
“Stop,” she said, her dark eyes flashing. “You are important—”
“Excuse me. Pardon me,” a servant said. He was almost trem
bling in the corner. “I need…”
Rosalynne nodded and waved him forward, but to Ulric’s surprise, the servant rushed over to him and murmured in his ear.
Ulric stood. “I must go,” he said, a small part of him relieved to have a matter to attend to that required his immediate assistance.
“What is going on?” Rosalynne asked.
“Tell her,” Ulric urged the servant.
Ulric rushed away to the familiar route to the servants' quarters. At once, the pungent scent of blood overwhelmed him, the smell only growing stronger as Ulric hurried to where Hamon slept.
Hamon Dannel had been a servant and a friend of Ulric’s. The sight of his friend lying in a pool of his own blood, stabbed in the back, the dagger still there, sickened Ulric.
Muriel Snell approached. The maid lowered her head, her palm pressed to her forehead.
“What happened?” Ulric demanded. “Do you know when or how or why?”
Muriel lowered her hand and eyed Ulric. “You know I have long wished Hamon would see me.”
“Yes.”
“You know I would never harm him.”
“Of course.” He waited for a moment. “Do you know who would wish him dead?”
“I do not know for certain.”
“Then what do you suspect?”
“Not all… Not all like that some have magic and they do not,” Muriel murmured. “Some believed they are agents of the dragons, and the dragons…”
Ulric swallowed hard.
“Some even think those with magic are more of a threat than the Vincanans,” Muriel stated.
With narrowed eyes, he watched as Muriel turned and walked away. Her gray eyes had not been full of tears. What if she had been the one who had killed Hamon?
Locating Hamon’s murderer was indeed important, but his death and the possible motive for it sparked two important questions. Who else within the keep had magic, and would they be targeted next?
45
Olympia Li
Her face remained wet, and Olympia neglected to wipe her tears of joy away. Oldrich might think of himself as Ulric yet, but that would change with time. He would come to accept his lineage.
For now, the vicar had promised to watch over Oldrich and keep him safe, but of course her brother could handle himself. Aldwin Lehr had explained about Oldrich’s life once her twin fled the room to consider what they had told him, how her brother had been a servant but had befriended the prince and saved the princess and had a militia of his own and was now the personal guard to the queen. He had fought for the sake of Tenoch, as he would need to in the future again, but once they sat on the thrones.
Thrones. How she appreciated that word so very much.
The vicar, stooped back and all, led her to the secret door, and she left the castle, but only after she had peeked into every cell in the dungeon. Bjorn was gone, which alarmed her. Had he been killed? But King Jankin had always sought to have public executions. Rosalynne was not her father, no, but Olympia knew better than to think she could live inside the castle and avoid being on the current queen’s block to be killed.
Olympia would not be gone for long, but if Bjorn had managed to flee, then she must go to him. He had done so much for her, and she would be there for him.
It was not quite so late as she would have wished, but she managed to slip past the guards and leave the castle walls behind.
“Well met,” a soft voice called out.
Olympia almost jumped. “Well met,” she said slowly as she gazed about, trying to see who had spoken to her.
A woman dressed in brown clothes stood from the rock she had been sitting on. In the near distance was a small house, presumably hers.
“I hadn’t seen that door in the keep before,” the woman said.
Olympia jerked. “I…”
“I suppose there are a lot of doors I don’t know about. I only lived there for a short time.”
“Why don’t you live there now?”
The woman inhaled deeply. “Do you want some stew? It shouldn’t be cold yet. I like to eat an early sup. I also tend to go to bed early. I’m a lonely woman.”
“I’d love some stew,” Olympia said. “I’m alone, so you could say I’m lonely too.”
“Are you?” The woman lifted her eyebrows. “You seem a bit too happy to be lonely. There’s a difference between being alone and lonely.”
Olympia said nothing at all and eagerly accepted the woman’s clay bowl. The stew was a bit cold, but there were chunks of meat in it, and the vegetables weren’t soggy.
“It’s delicious,” Olympia said.
The woman snorted. “You’re too kind. I’m Romilda. Romilda Grieves, and before you start to think I’m lonely because I’m a widow, you’re wrong. My husband has gone off to—”
She stopped abruptly and stood. Her hand yanked out the dagger from within the rope belt around her waist, and she threw a dagger. It whizzed through the air, but it would have missed the animal if the blade hadn’t altered its course impossibly.
Romilda shrugged as she stood and crossed over to capture the small woodland animal. She yanked her blade free and returned to her perch.
“I have magic,” she said unnecessarily. “The dragon died and saw fit to. I wish I could learn how to use it to heal, to save… but that might just be my wishing for that.”
“It would be wonderful if you could heal,” Olympia said. “How did you discover you could do that?”
“Two liogars came at me. I killed one.” She mimed stabbing herself in the throat. “He was on top of me, and have you seen one? They’re as long as I am! And the other came for me, while I was pinned yet, so I yanked the dagger free and threw it, but I was on my back, the angle, the throw was terrible, and I… I just… I suppose you could say I willed it to turn and strike the liogar in the forehead, and it did.”
“That is truly a wonder.”
Olympia meant it. Liogars were massive feline creatures, larger than wolves and some bears, fierce as could be. Most were spotted or mottled beige with black, although some were brown. Their claws were as sharp as daggers. The same was true for their teeth.
Romilda smiled wanly. "Yes, well, it's helping me well enough to survive. I think the lack of people in Atlan has caused more and more of the predators to roll in." She wiped her blade clean on the grass and tucked it within her rope belt again. "Where was I before the hare… Oh, yes. I'm married. Alfwin is my husband. He's an apothecary, and he’s been helping the crown. I moved into the castle for a time with him.”
“Why did you leave?”
“He requested that I did after the first attack by the dragons, and I listened to him. That’s marriage. You both have to listen, though. Can’t just be the man doing all the ordering or the woman doing it all. Respect, that’s what it boils down to even more than love. But listen to me ramble. All I know is that I refuse to be a coward, and I wish to be of service to the crown. I’ve been trying to see if I can do anything else with my magic, but so far, nothing at all. Maybe I should still go and see Queen Rosalynne. It might be a good idea for her to know all those who have magic.”
“If you think that prudent,” Olympia murmured.
“You’re welcome to spend the night with me if you like. I don’t know your destination, and you’re free to go about your way if you prefer. I just thought I would offer.”
“Thank you,” Olympia said. “I… I’ll stay the night.”
“Wonderful!”
Yes, she would spend the night here, but then in the early morning, she would go to the spot where Bjorn would have gone. If he were not there, then she would turn back around and return to the castle. She would not leave her twin, not for long, not just yet.
46
Valkyrie Horatia Ramagi
The dragon was gone for a time, and the Valkyries spoke not a word to each other. They did not offer each other condolences. They had all taken part in that massacre, and Horatia wondered if it had been the same for the oth
ers, if they had also been forced to commit those atrocities or if they had likewise been forced to by the dragon’s sheer force of will.
But she could not think badly of the dragon even as she strove to. The dragon must have had a purpose to that demand of them. Even if it had merely been so that the Valkyries would learn to listen and obey blindly, that was for the dragon to decide and allow.
The dragon knew best what the world needed.
Or perhaps what the world deserved.
Eventually, the dragon returned. The other Valkyries were all lying down, resting if not sleeping, while Horatia kept a lookout, and she approached the dragon who hovered above the ground without having to flap his massive wings.
“I hope we have appeased you,” Horatia stated.
The dragon roared softly. Hope. Do not speak to me of hope.
Horatia’s eyes widened even as she winced at the overly loud voice of the dragon ringing in her mind. She knew, as all Valkyries did, that Hope, Faith, and Love had been the dragons three.
Hope. Bah. Votum is dead.
Horatia was confused.
So are Fides and Amo.
Votum. Was that Hope? The name of the dragon of Hope? And Fides Faith and Amo Love…
If that was the case, who were the dragons that had returned? The same dragons only transformed or reincarnated?
Desperatio died first, the dragon continued, his words an assault on her mind, and then Aporiatio.
“Desperatio,” she repeated. “Desperation?”
Are you an ignoramus! Despair! And Aporiatio is something you feel right now.
Horatia swallowed hard. “Doubt,” she murmured.
So, then, who am I?
Desperatio and Votum. Despair and Hope.
Aporiatio and Fides. Doubt and Faith.
Something and Amo. Something and Love.
“Hate,” she murmured.
The dragon belched a flame high into the darkening sky. I am Odium, he hissed in her mind with so much hatred Horatia knew she had guessed correctly.