by Frank Morin
Shona marveled at the queen’s amazing and seemingly casual mastery over the elements. She wielded higher forms of power, available only to those who had ascended, with terrifying ease.
No Spitter Shona knew could boil a man’s blood. The human body shielded its liquid too well. The thought of her own blood beginning to boil terrified her more than most other ways of dying. Such a death would deny her the ability to fight to defend herself. She would have to suffer like that poor fool, helpless and without hope.
The queen’s unrivaled power drove home the fact that they were now enslaved to a being much more powerful than any of them. Shona could not imagine how anyone could ever hope to be free again.
One of the other courtiers, a pretty young woman who had been standing close to the fat lady who just plummeted to her death, suddenly took an angry step forward. Her face was blotchy from tears and terror, her long, black hair disheveled.
“You’re insane! You—” Her angry shriek cut off abruptly and she fell to her knees, eyes wide with horror.
“Silence!” Queen Dreokt leaped to her feet, her expression rabid with fury. She snatched up a short, curved knife from the rack at her side and took a step toward the woman who just dared insult her.
“You unworthy cur!” she shrieked, raising the knife as if to throw it.
Nobles and courtiers alike scrambled away from the woman. Every face reflected the same terror that Shona felt. But Queen Dreokt did not throw the dagger. Instead she crumpled it into a twisted mass of steel in one hand. The idle gesture spoke volumes about her strength. Shona herself could twist a sword into a knot, but not one-handed.
The queen tossed the mangled knife back onto the rack and King Turriff himself rushed over to snatch it up and replace it with his own belt dagger. His expression remained perfectly neutral, as if he was serving desserts at banquet instead of watching murder in his own throne room.
The queen’s expression changed to one of parental concern and she spoke in a tender voice. “But you can become worthy. I will grant you forgiveness and show you the way.”
The woman screamed again, a high-pitched wail of suffering, as if her innards were getting ripped apart. The scream cut off as quickly as if the queen had slashed her throat. The woman convulsed off the ground, climbing to a kneeling position, her expression of horror melting away into a look of ecstatic joy.
She looked like she was remembering her happiest memory. Shona frowned as the woman’s hands fell to her side and she knelt for a moment in perfect stillness. Then she rose smoothly to her feet and declared in a joyous voice, “All hail the queen of glory!”
The woman raised worshipful hands and rushed to the queen, dropping to her knees before her. When Queen Dreokt extended one hand in blessing, the woman kissed it with desperate thanksgiving. Shona felt sick. The woman was clearly not acting. She was eagerly, almost desperately, worshiping the queen.
“Rise, my worthy servant,” Queen Dreokt said, and the woman glided to her feet and joined the royal family standing to the queen’s left.
Gone was her terror and anger. She looked perfectly calm, perfectly content, her eyes empty of intelligence. She looked like a different person. No, she looked like a person devoid of personality.
Horror chilled Shona’s heart. What had the queen just done? She was starting to understand what Ailsa had said about the lucky people getting executed.
A soft voice spoke in a whisper close beside Shona. “The queen shows great favor for one so unworthy.”
She spun to find an elegant young woman standing beside her. The girl had to be about her same age, but she didn’t recognize her.
“Pardon me?” Shona asked, pitching her voice low enough that the constant rumble of the nearby waterfall would drown out her words before they reached anyone else. The distraction helped her regain her calm. She couldn’t afford to dwell on the horror of what she’d just witnessed.
The girl made a brief curtsy. “I apologize for startling you, Lady Shona, but I am sent to inform you that the queen’s afternoon audiences start at the second bell and usually end by the fourth.”
“Thank you,” Shona said cautiously, frowning at the girl. There was something familiar about her after all.
“You have been chosen to attend her every afternoon, so it is important you arrive promptly ten minutes early.”
Recognition struck like a hammer-blow, and Shona’s legs suddenly felt weak. “Catriona?”
The princess made another little curtsy. “I am honored that you know my name.”
“Catriona, don’t you remember me?” Shona whispered, peering closer, trying to match the pudgy, dumpy, unremarkable princess she remembered with the tall, graceful, beautiful young woman speaking with her.
Wait, this woman was taller. She glanced down to make sure the princess wasn’t wearing extra-high heels. No, Catriona had simply grown several inches and now rivaled Shona’s height. Her figure looked exquisite, and her features delicate and regal. Her hair hung to her waist in thick, loose curls. No wonder Shona hadn’t recognized her. Her own mother might not.
“My memory isn’t what is used to be,” Catriona admitted demurely, ducking her chin a bit in embarrassment. “Thankfully, everything I need to remember to serve our lady queen is still in place.” Her smile revealed perfect teeth. “Those found worthy to serve are granted wonderful blessings by the queen’s patronage. She possesses the healing powers of a goddess. She can even correct deformities of birth.”
Shona had never considered Catriona deformed. Uninspiring for sure, but not deformed. Her sense of horror deepened and she barely kept from running screaming from the room. The queen had rebuilt Catriona into someone new.
Into a worthy servant.
Shona glanced at the rest of the royal family. They had not undergone such dramatic physical transformation, but she didn’t doubt that the queen had scrambled their brains too, leaving them empty puppets, good for nothing but serving her.
No wonder King Turriff hadn’t tried any crafty double-cross. He was dead. What remained was not a man, but a vacant shell.
The queen’s voice startled her out of her reverie, and she actually jumped. Queen Dreokt again sat on her throne, a look of regal displeasure on her face.
“Does no one here understand basic courtesy? Must I teach even such fundamentals? Apparently so.” She sighed in a long-suffering way and declared, “Be it known to all that no one is allowed to stand higher than their queen. Not in this palace. Not on the cliffs. Not anywhere! On penalty of death.”
She rose and continued, “If I deign to descend into the city, all must descend lower than I.” She glanced around the room and her mood darkened. “I read your confusion, as if you consider such basic signs of respect some great thing. Have no fear, my children, I will mold you into worthy servants.”
Shona only barely kept from gaping, and was grateful her father’s shoulder blocked her from the queen’s direct gaze. She wasn’t sure if the queen could read her mind from across the room, but she had definitely lost focus for a moment.
The proclamation was awe-inspiringly insane.
The queen’s voice changed to a pleasant, conversational tone. “Do any of you have a problem with this, or wish to contest my will?”
The only people stupid enough to pick up that challenge must have already died.
“Dougal, you will see that all understand this decree. I will be seriously displeased if I must make another example out of anyone.” She idly crushed the beautiful flower and dropped it beside the throne.
High Lord Dougal bowed and stepped closer to the throne. “I will see it done, my queen.” He hesitated and added, “May I ask a point of clarification?”
Shona nearly gasped. How could he dare tempt her wrath?
“What is it, Dougal,” Queen Dreokt asked, her tone bored and impatient. “You know I prefer you deal with the minutia.”
“I am happy to,” he assured her quickly. “With this new edict, I must point out that
at times our servants are assigned tasks that might require them to ascend to all levels of the palace at any time. Delaying their duties might adversely impact your own schedule.”
Queen Dreokt turned thoughtful. “I see your point. The palace functions must not be hindered. Very well, any servants assigned official duties that take them higher in the castle must bow in the direction of the throne room and apologize three times.”
“Thank you for your gracious consideration,” Dougal stated and began to withdraw, but Queen Dreokt raised her hand to forestall him.
She glanced around the room. “It is imperative that our nobility always possess greater privileges than our servants.”
“Indeed,” Dougal said.
Many of the assembled appeared to relax, clearly expecting her to rescind the ridiculous decree. Shona did not allow herself to hope for so much. She had already learned not to make any assumptions around the queen.
Queen Dreokt nodded to herself, as if coming to a decision. “Therefore it is my will that any nobility who wear an eoin feather, plucked fresh daily from a live a bird, are worthy to stand anywhere in the castle, should their duties require it.”
Shona caught many looks of confusion and annoyance, but they all faded quickly. Such a bizarre command might be strange, but they could make it work. No doubt eoin farmers were about to earn unexpected fortunes.
Queen Dreokt added, “It is imperative that the feathers be harvested by your own hand. Furthermore you must arise from your beds in the morning before I do, or your laziness proclaims to all your slothful and unworthy state. None such are worthy to wear the feather.”
She then waved a hand and declared, “Dismissed.”
As Shona hurried away with her father, she wondered how long she could handle standing daily for hours in the presence of that madwoman.
The day her concentration broke, would the queen execute her or break her mind and make her a worthy puppet?
16
Chocolate Pudding Simmering Over an Open Flame
Hamish banked the Storm wide around the town of Faulenrost to pass over the snow-covered field of Schwinkendorf valley where the Builder compound used to be. The deep snows from the recent blizzard had already been cleared from the work sites and rebuilding was again under way. From that height it was easy to see the layout of the new town taking shape. He recognized Jean’s ordered mind in the regular streets already marked out on the frozen turf.
The skeletal frameworks of two large buildings were already nearly complete. The first was positioned near the center of town and he hoped it was the new dining hall. It was huge enough that Jean probably incorporated his recommendations for expanded kitchens.
He did not linger, but banked back toward Faulenrost and opened wide the rear thrusters. The fast little craft could cover a lot of distance. Its unrivaled speed helped ease the lingering ache at the loss of his flying suit.
Hamish hoped Jean was ready to help him build a new and better one. She’d expressed interest in helping him test and fine-tune his last suit. He had big plans for the new one. He couldn’t wait to discuss them with her.
The Storm was packed with power stones and supplies. The tiny supply bed at the back was stuffed to bursting, and the other eight seats were piled high. He’d crammed his personal gear into the storage boxes underneath. Hamish loved flying the Storm, but nothing could really replace his suit. He felt naked without it. Even if Jean hadn’t gotten around to preparing a workroom for him, he’d brought along enough supplies to build several from scratch, if needed.
Despite the bitter cold of the high altitudes, Hamish was only dressed in linen trousers and a cotton shirt under his many-pocketed leather jacket. He’d applied Verena’s trick of using a shieldstone to create a protective canopy over the Storm. He’d even added a little piece of marble in a metal pot. The tiny flame created enough heat to warm the space and make the trip through the wintry landscape downright pleasant.
He planned to drag Jean away from her work long enough to slip away in the Storm with a nice meal. Maybe they could watch the sunset from five thousand feet. It would be nice to get a little quiet time together.
Hamish passed once over Faulenrost. The picturesque Grandurian town looked even prettier in the wintry landscape. He activated his long-vision goggles and scanned the crowds of waving people. He recognized many, both locals and refugees from the Builder compound who had settled there until New Schwinkendorf was built.
Most windriders landed on the outskirts of town in a field of packed earth set aside for them, but Hamish spotted Jean emerging from the manor house near the town square. He very nearly leaped out of the Storm to fly down to her, but bumped his head on the shieldstone canopy and remembered he was not wearing his flying suit. So he slowed and dropped the Storm straight down into the town square.
He deactivated the shieldstone and leaped out to meet Jean without bothering to don his heavy coat. The air was chilly but not brutally cold, and Jean rushed up and jumped into his arms. His heart sang with the joy reserved for her alone and he spun her around once, loving the feel of her in his arms.
She wore a long, downy jacket, but no hat. Her long, blond hair was braided, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with joy.
He drew her close and kissed her passionately, exulting in the fact that she kissed him back just as enthusiastically. She smelled like herbs and winter skies, and somehow of flowers.
When she finally let him breathe again she gushed, “Welcome home!”
“It’s good to be back.”
He grabbed his jacket, then followed her into the inn where he spent a few minutes greeting old friends and chatting with people about the rebuilding efforts and the schedule for more supplies. He confirmed that the peace treaty had been signed, which elicited a round of cheering and calls for drinks.
Jean spent a moment speaking with Liesa, the plump, jolly old woman who ran the inn with her husband. Hamish joined them and Liesa gave him a hug.
“Welcome back, Builder. Food is ready.”
“You’re my favorite person,” he told her warmly.
“I doubt that,” she laughed, pushing him and Jean toward a small back room where they could talk while he ate. It wasn’t yet time for dinner, but Liesa herself brought in a large platter for him. She knew him so well.
“How is the work going?” Hamish asked between bites of the inn’s famous roasted pork. “I saw the construction out in the valley.”
“The blizzard slowed us down, but we’re making progress. We have some workrooms already functioning here in town. The Althing scientists arrived yesterday to help with the school, and they’re amazing.”
Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she told him about all the progress they had already made in so many areas of study. She’d accomplished so much in the days since he’d last seen her that his mind whirled.
“We should go fly together,” he said when she took a breath.
She nodded eagerly. “As soon as I show you your new suit.”
Hamish dropped his fork. “What? As in it’s finished already?”
She laughed and kissed him, looking so excited she could barely contain herself. He trusted Jean completely, but could she and Dierk really have rebuilt his suit to the same level of craft as the original?
She rose and took his hand. “Come on. I’ll take you to the workroom. On the way, you can tell me how everyone is doing at Emmerich. How is Gran?”
He stuffed the rest of the food into a sack he kept in a pocket for exactly those occasions. While they walked through town, Hamish told her about the efforts to settle the folks from Alasdair in Emmerich, the challenges of communication and rebuilding, the mistrust slowly changing to cautious acceptance, and the surprising budding courtship between Stuart and Stefanie.
Jean laughed when she heard about it. “I can’t imagine Stuart courting a Grandurian!”
“She’s pretty, and she cooks great. I think Stuart almost had a he
art-stomp when he realized she was a Petralist. She lifted him right off the ground when he asked her to dance at the festival Lord Wenzel proclaimed to celebrate the end of the blizzard.”
Jean laughed. “Is her family okay with it?”
Hamish grimaced. “I don’t think they believed it at first, but the two of them seem seriously interested in each other. Hopefully I’ll get back before her brother decides to beat Stuart to a pulp. They take the brother honor responsibility very seriously.”
“As they should.” She gave him a mischievous grin. “You know, Gran still has a special tonic for you. Since I don’t have any brothers, she’s going to stand in and make you take the challenge.”
Hamish shuddered. Mhairi made the most disgusting tonics on a good day. She knew he’d built up his resistance to them through sheer stubbornness. He could only imagine what she might come up with for a special occasion.
“Your grandmother is doing great. Not many communities in Granadure have non-Petralist healers so she fascinates them. She took a page right out of one of your notebooks and started a healing school. She has half a dozen of the local girls already enrolled. She’s extremely busy, and she looks very happy.”
Jean looked relieved. “I’m so glad. I was worried she would miss me too much.”
“Everyone misses you, but she’s found a way to keep busy.”
They chatted as they walked through town hand in hand, and everything felt right in the world. By the time they reached the large barn at the outskirts of town, converted into a Builder workshop, he felt like he had never left. He never wanted to leave her side again, and hated that he would have to.
The inside of the workroom was filled with piles of stone, partially constructed mechanicals, crates full of supplies, work tables covered with tools, and a brand-new smashpack machine. It smelled like broken stone, grease, and fresh-baked cookies.
It felt like home. Hamish took a deep breath and broke into a wide grin. Stepping into a Builder workroom was a special joy.