“How can I learn to be queen stuck in here? I don’t even know what’s going on out there!” Victoria said in a high-pitched tone. “I need to know our people, Mother!”
“It’s far too dangerous,” the queen said dismissively.
“I’ll find someone to keep me safe!” Victoria snapped.
“Don’t be silly, Tori,” Isabelle admonished. “I doubt anyone can keep you completely safe.”
“Don’t call me that! You can’t call me Tori anymore!” she said, her fists clenched.
The queen shook her head in frustration, the weariness of parenting weighing heavily on her shoulders. She took a deep breath and straightened her back.
“I need to get out there now, Mother! We will need them someday, before things get bad!” Victoria pleaded.
“Bad would be another country kidnapping you, or even worse, assassinating you.” The queen shuddered.
The young teenager pressed fists against her temples and winced in pain. Her head cocked to one side and she shuddered. “No, bad will be all nations of Ehrde at war and no true queen for them to follow!” Victoria blurted out, her face twisting in pain.
Isabelle’s eyes went wide at the odd statement. She wanted to move away but instead moved closer to her daughter. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch Victoria’s shoulders, unsure how to comfort the young woman. Before her hands connected, the moment passed. Victoria stared at her mother in disbelief at the offered compassion, as though no strange words of forewarning had left her lips.
“What are you doing?” Victoria snapped. “Mother, just let me out with some guards.”
“You will do as you are told, or face the consequences,” the queen commanded.
“I’ll get out of here one day. I know it,” Victoria said. “Even if it kills me. Even if it kills both of us!”
Isabelle sat up in a panic. Sweat dripped from her forehead, and wet hair matted her brow. She looked around the empty room, feeling like she was being watched. The memories overwhelmed her. Isabelle had only learned of her daughter’s abilities when she reached adulthood. Had Victoria always known the future? The dreams were becoming hazy. What had her daughter said. War? All nations at war? That she would die and there would be no queen?
“Tyrell!” Isabelle screeched at the top of her lungs. “Tyrell!”
41
Angst’s room was spacious and opulent, with every amenity a visiting ambassador could desire—and it set his teeth on edge. The white marble walls covered with rich tapestries, the graymowl desk and tables, fresh flowers...in winter? It was too much, and he was antsy enough to pace. Instead, Angst restlessly fidgeted in an overstuffed nap-inducing cush-chair, fighting off exhaustion and listening to his friends banter.
“This is a nice prison,” Hector growled, pacing for himself and Angst.
Hector appeared uncomfortably squeezed into the light brown leather doublet he had worn for the dinner with King Gaarder. He seemed restrained by formality, trapped in leggings and boots and finery. Occasionally, he released his clenched hands from behind his back long enough to undo another clasp in the doublet before returning them to their resigned position. When he completed this bit of theatre, he would return to pacing, pausing only to blame Angst with long looks.
“They obviously aren’t worried about us causing trouble,” Tarness said as he played with a flower-embroidered doily that dripped off a nearby table. “It’s that armor. It must be. Is it anti-magic? I barely harmed Crloc when we fought.”
“I thought you were going easy on him,” Hector said in surprise.
“You’re kidding, right?” Tarness replied, cocking his head to the side ironically. “Would you go easy on that guy?”
“Crloc’s not that bad,” Victoria interjected.
“The armor isn’t anti-magic,” Dallow said quietly from the bed, rubbing his face with his right hand. “There’s no such thing. It’s merely enhanced to reject magic. Sort of like an air shield that deflects arrows.”
Victoria sat on the edge of the bed next to Dallow, watching over him like a worried mother. She placed her hand on his forehead, not once looking away from the sunken sockets where his eyes had been. His face was pale and damp, and she surreptitiously wiped her hand on the bed.
“I don’t feel a fever,” she said.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Dallow said, his voice thick with melancholy. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Tori looked at Angst, reaching out to him with her eyes. Angst could see her staring from the edge of his vision, but continued looking straight ahead. He completely avoided that side of the room. Still bitter at what he had learned about her constant earthspeak communication with Jaden, he didn’t want to deal with Victoria right now. But worse than that was poor Dallow. With enough light from candles and the fire, Angst could clearly see the rough graffiti of scarring across his face from temple to temple. Even Dallow’s blond bangs were gone, as were his eyebrows, completely burned away by fire. Angst’s guilt was like the quick paws of a wild animal, relentlessly digging at the edges of emptiness already consuming him.
“They’ve made a lot of those weapons and armor,” Tarness said, looking back and forth between Angst and Victoria.
“But how?” Dallow questioned. “You can crush bone with magic, Angst, or you could when you were healthy. Could you manipulate the dragonbone?”
“I didn’t try, but I doubt it,” Angst said softly. “It felt like nothing...like a void.”
“If you couldn’t,” Tarness asked. “How could they?”
“Dulgirgraut,” Angst said. “It’s the only thing powerful enough.”
“That seems...plausible,” Dallow said thoughtfully. “Though I don’t understand how.”
“I don’t understand why Melkier is suddenly against the use of magic,” Victoria added. “They used to walk a fine line of tolerance, like Unsel.”
“That’s a fine line?” Tarness snapped, making everyone’s heads turn in surprise. “How many of your friends went to jail for doing what they do naturally—”
“Not now, Tarness,” Angst said, instantly defending the princess then sneering at himself for doing so. “I agree with Tori.”
“Of course you do,” Hector said, rolling his eyes.
“This isn’t the time to argue the rights and wrongs of Unsel laws. It’s a fact that Melkier allowed the use of magic,” Angst said. “Look, I met Gaarder at the party when I first wielded Chryslaenor. He didn’t hate magic. He even told me about the sword. Something has changed.”
“Nicadilia being named Queen Regent is odd,” Victoria added.
“Are you sure you aren’t just being critical?” Hector asked.
“That’s usually done only when someone has to step in,” she observed. “Maybe if Gaarder were incapable of ruling due to health or age.”
“He looked at Crloc or Nicadilia every time he had to make a decision,” Hector added without breaking stride. “He even surrounded himself with them at dinner.”
“There was something very off about Gaarder, about all of them,” Victoria said, staring at Angst and hoping he would pick up her cue. “It just didn’t feel right.”
“At this point Gaarder’s never going to give up my sword,” Angst interjected, still ignoring the princess. “We need to take matters into our own hands.”
“We have to handle this carefully, Angst,” Victoria warned. “Melkier is a friend to Unsel.”
“What I need to do...” Angst began to explain his plan, as he rocked back and forth to launch himself from the chair. His teeth chattered with exhaustion.
Hector turned about suddenly and walked over to him, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and keeping him from leaving his seat. “What do you need us to do, Angst?”
Angst’s arms shook from the gentle pressure of Hector’s hand, and he flopped back into the chair with a frustrated grunt. Angst suddenly hated this chair, and blamed its comfort for sapping every ounce of energy from his body.
“We need to find Dulg
irgraut,” Angst said.
“I can do that,” Hector offered with a sly grin. “Sounds like fun. It’s been a while since my spying days. Any idea where it is?”
“It’s definitely here, in the castle. Gaarder confirmed it, I can feel it, but that’s all I know,” Angst said apologetically. “I’d check the ground floor first.”
“Why the ground floor?” Hector asked.
“Who could move it?” Angst offered.
Hector nodded in acknowledgement.
“I could go to town and dig up something on Crloc and the queen regent,” Tarness offered with a big grin.
“You mean dig up a draft or seven of mead?” Angst asked with a smirk.
“A good brothel is where the best rumors are,” Tarness said, feigning great wisdom.
“Brothel?” Victoria asked, judiciously lowering her eyes.
“I meant pub, Your Majesty,” Tarness said innocently, though his smile said otherwise.
“I’m jealous,” Angst lamented.
“Just trying to do my part,” Tarness said in mock earnest as he fought his way out of his own cush-chair.
“I suppose I’ll rest in my room,” Dallow said pathetically, a slight catch in his voice. “If someone would give me a hand...”
“Actually, Dallow, you need to find out how they made the armor,” Victoria commanded. “Maybe the library?”
“What?” Tarness and Hector both looked at her with offended frowns.
“Why would you say such a thing?” Dallow asked, his voice cracking.
Victoria looked pleadingly at Angst. He could guess her intent and reluctantly sought her eyes for confirmation. She hadn’t been checking Dallow’s temperature—she’d been attempting to see his future. In spite of how upset he was, this is exactly why he loved the princess so much.
Angst smiled and nodded. “She’s right,” he said loudly. “Dallow, when have you ever needed your eyes to read?”
“I...well, I...” Dallow took several deep breaths. He reached up to brush away tears that weren’t there and sighed. “I’ll try,” he said after swallowing hard, regaining some composure.
“I think you’ll be surprised, Dallow,” Victoria said.
“Really?” Dallow said hopefully.
“Believe her,” Angst encouraged.
“You know, it just may work,” he finally said in rising excitement.
Hector eyed her curiously but said nothing. Dallow sat up and gave the young princess a hug, pulling back suddenly when he remembered who he was hugging. Victoria clapped and giggled at Dallow’s reaction.
“My apologies, Your Highness,” he said worriedly.
“Shush,” Victoria replied, still beaming. She guided his hands to her arm so he could follow her as they stood.
There was a knock at the door, silencing the room.
Victoria’s eyes went wide, and she looked at Angst.
He returned her surprised gaze knowingly. “I’ve got this,” Angst said with a cat-like grin.
“When have I heard that before?” Hector said with a sigh.
Angst stood shakily, pushing away Hector’s offer to help, and straightened his tunic before walking to the door.
“What are you doing?” Victoria asked.
“Just like you,” he said with mock-sincerity and raised eyebrow, “I’m doing my job.”
Angst opened the door to reveal Queen Regent Nicadilia and a young page.
42
“My father asked me to make certain your accommodations are acceptable,” Nicadilia said, her gaze flitting around the room. “I can come back la—”
“Please come in,” Angst said with a flourishing bow, waving her into the room. “My friends were just leaving.”
“Oh. Um, thank you.” She glided into the room, the young squire following closely behind.
“Would you mind terribly if your man escorted Dallow to the library?” Angst requested.
“It isn’t necessarily proper for a queen to be alone with a man in a room,” Nicadilia said nervously, looking for judgment in everyone’s eyes.
Hector smirked at Tarness, who smiled and winked back. Victoria refrained from scoffing at the self-appointed title and rolled her eyes at the boys.
“You have no need to be concerned, Your Majesty,” Victoria said in mock-defense of Angst. “He’s married and completely harmless.”
“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Thank you, Princess. Then, by all means, please take my boy.”
The squire looked at Dallow’s sunken eye sockets with great concern and didn’t move—his legs apparently unwilling to commit to leaving the queen regent’s side. Victoria pulled a light blue kerchief from her pocket, rolled it up, and tied it around Dallow’s head. She tugged the edges down to cover most of the scarring.
Dallow touched the kerchief thoughtfully and bowed his head. “I’m honored, Your Majesty,” he stated serenely.
“Good luck, Mr. Dallow,” Victoria said, squeezing his shoulder.
Dallow reached out for the squire. The boy put Dallow’s hand on his shoulder and left the room slowly, followed closely by a watchful Hector. Tarness winked at Angst from behind Nicadilia before exiting the room. Victoria stopped at the doorway, whipping her head about and peering at Angst through cold, slitted eyes. She crossed her arms as if making a stand to stay. Angst stared back. He needed her to leave, and openly wondered if she would tantrum like a child.
Victoria seemed hurt and upset at his thoughts then abruptly chose anger. “Fine!” she said, stomping her foot.
“Fine,” he replied coldly.
Tori’s eyes were dangerous as she stormed out the room, slamming the door behind her. Angst closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He hated this, hated what their relationship was becoming. She had always been his escape, and now acted more like his wife. When he opened his eyes, he saw Nicadilia looking at him in surprise.
He shrugged. “It’s complicated,” he explained.
“She’s a princess,” Nicadilia said knowingly. “It’s supposed to be.”
“You changed out of that ugly dress.” Angst smirked, trying to change the subject. “You look better.”
Nicadilia wore a long, light-gray dress of a sheer fabric that clung tightly to her svelte figure. She held her arms high enough to keep draping sleeves from brushing the marble floor. Angst could not see her feet—the meticulously tailored hemline was a mere hair’s width over the tile—and she seemed to glide with every step. Jeweled golden bracelets stacked from Nicadilia’s left wrist to her forearm, complementing her thick gold necklace and heavy gold tiara. The crown, and title, wore Nicadilia with great comfort.
“I’m not ugly!” Nicadilia said defensively, now looking over him to avoid eye contact.
“It was hard to tell in that dress,” Angst said. “At least this is a little better. I think...”
“You are a rude little man.” Nicadilia tried to match his insults. “If your room is acceptable, I will take my leave.”
“I didn’t say the room was acceptable,” Angst said coolly.
He took several steps toward the queen regent, looking directly at her. Her back straightened, and she turned her chin slightly away. She obviously didn’t approve of anything about him—what he said, what he did, who he was, or what he could do—but still remained in place despite her growing discomfort.
“I...well...I,” Nicadilia said, trapped by her commitment to ensure the room was acceptable. “Wielders are not to look directly at royalty.”
“Then make my room better, and I’ll stop looking at you,” Angst said firmly, still making his way toward her.
“Wielders cannot make demands of royalty in Melkier,” she stated haughtily.
Angst did not enjoy this game. He took a deep breath, debating on opening a hole in the tile and dropping her several floors. The others were risking their lives, right now, to save his. Hector thought Angst could get information from the queen regent that they would find useful. Despite feeling absolutely no connection
to her whatsoever, he would keep trying.
Angst smiled at Nicadilia through gritted teeth. “That’s nonsense. If I’m not supposed to make demands, or even look at you, then why are you here?”
“You are not to question me—”
“What?” Angst wanted to press his wrist to his forehead and relieve the pressure of her crazy splitting his brain in two. “That’s why you’re here? To tell me not to make demands or look at you? You’re crazy.”
With a loud scoff, Nicadilia’s eyes narrowed. She floated to the door and pulled at the handle. Just as the door cracked open, Angst willed it shut, wielding just enough magic to push gently against the metal handle.
“Was...was that magic?” She yanked her hand from the handle and spun about. “In my presence?” She crossed her arms and seemed to be shaking slightly.
Angst carefully made his way to the queen regent, using each piece of furniture between them as a crutch to lean on. “Your Majesty?”
Her face was filled with worry. She seemed to struggle with Angst’s very presence, but when he stood too close for everyday conversation, she made eye contact. Nicadilia’s eyes were pretty and filled with wanting for everything she couldn’t have. She looked at him and her lips thinned. Angst felt like Nicadilia needed something from him, but had a hard time reading her. The queen regent was the model of restraint, a chrysalis that would never open, and above all else, Angst wanted to avoid what could be inside.
“Why are you really here, Nicadilia?” Angst asked.
She looked ready to strike but, at the very last moment, buried her face in his shoulder instead. Angst stood very still, momentarily stunned by this sudden trust from a woman he was certain hated him. He was mostly certain he disliked her too, but here she was, crying in his arms, and what else could he do? He reached around the queen regent to comfort her, which opened a dam of tears she must have held in since birth. With every ounce of patience and courtesy he could muster, Angst inched back toward the nearby cushioned chair—pulling the still-sobbing Nicadilia along with him.
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