The Wysterian delegation vessel was growing closer now. It seemed to be a re-purposed gondola of some kind. The center contained a covered structure, almost like a gazebo. Two men worked the sails and rudders, a single female guard stood at the front.
As they approached, Blair turned to The Admiral. “I should warn you, things are about to become quite colorful.”
“Colorful?” Admiral Roapes asked, tilting the brim of his hat up.
“I have orders too, you know. I am to bring a live Treesinger back to the Stone Council. It would seem that the Wysterians were kind enough to deliver one to me on a platter. It seems I shall be leaving sooner than expected.”
Nicole stepped forward from amongst the Admiral’s staff. “Pardon me, but surely you don’t mean to attack a diplomatic envoy under a white flag of...”
“Out!” Blair yelled harshly. Nicole was stunned, and looked to the Admiral for confirmation.
“Don’t look at him, I’m telling you to leave!” Blair hollered, even louder then before.
Admiral Roapes nodded and Nicole walked away in shock.
As the gondola came to a rest on the deck, the Admiral’s remaining staff helped secure it in place. The female guard stepped down and saluted, crossing her right arm across her chest. “I am Captain Tallia of the Royal Guard,” she said smartly. “I have been instructed to bring the chosen ambassador to negotiate with you.”
Blair said nothing, but appeared distressed as he stared at the bandaged stump that had once been Captain Tallia’s left arm.
“The Queen has not come herself?” Admiral Roapes asked.
“She was injured during your last unsuccessful invasion,” Captain Tallia explained, placing a lot of stress on the word ‘unsuccessful.’ “Her daughter Solanum reigns in her stead.”
Captain Tallia stepped to one side and the curtains were parted. Standing inside the gazebo was a cow. The cow was wearing a wreath of flowers around its neck, and had a royal tithe seal affixed to one horn.
“What is this?” Admiral Roapes demanded.
Captain Tallia’s eyebrow twitched angrily. “This is the ambassador chosen by the Queen’s daughter,” she responded steadily.
“Are you trying to mock us? This is outrageous!” Admiral Roapes blasted.
“I agree,” Blair added in disgust. “Are you not a Treesinger?”
“Not anymore,” Captain Tallia responded.
“Blast!” Blair complained, rubbing the side of his head.
“That is the part that bothers you?” Admiral Roapes wondered. “Not the cow?”
Blair looked up. “What? Oh, yes, quite. But...you were a Treesinger before?”
“Yes,” Captain Tallia answered through clenched teeth.
“But not anymore?”
“Yesssss,” Captain Tallia hissed.
“And how did that happen?”
Captain Tallia turned to him. “You people killed my Ma’iltri’ia, but that’s not really any of your business now, is it?”
“Quite.” Slowly Blair turned and walked away. “This is so typical of my luck lately,” he grumbled as he passed through the Admiral’s staff. “Oh, such frustration, such anger, I love how exquisite it is!”
“Are you leaving before the negotiations, Council Liaison?” Rachael asked as she walked up with a tray of refreshments.
“What? Oh, you can take it from here, Admiral,” Blair concluded as he walked away.
Admiral Roapes looked at the cow slowly chew on her cud.
“I can take it from...”
Admiral Roapes looked back at his staff, unsure what to do, then looked back at the cow.
“And how the blazes do I do that?”
Rachel took a step forward. “Is...is it, like, a magic cow or something? Does it, like, talk?”
Admiral Roapes looked back, but the cow only chewed its cud and flicked its tail lazily.
* * *
Spirea sat smugly in the chair of the little office they had given her back on Stretis, her legs crossed, a large potted flytrap on either side of her. It had felt like an eternity, but the Dirgina inside of her had finally managed to separate out the remains of this host, shoving them all into one dark corner of her mind. There they floated, slumbering, far less of an irritant than they had been.
The door was opened and the squat little Minisiter of Defense waddled in.
“Lord Aghael, thank you for seeing me,” Spirea said, scratching her flytrap under the chin.
“The hour is late,” he excused. “I must be getting home to my...”
“...Your Tomani mistress.”
Lord Aghael’s eyes grew wide in fear.
“Yes, I know,” she confirmed.
“But how could you...?”
She held up the necklace she wore.
“Right.”
Spirea leaned forward. “Inter-racial marriages are banned on this island, but I think that law is archaic, wouldn’t you agree?”
Lord Aghael wiped his cheek with his sleeve. “You know I do.”
“And if a Queen were to abolish that law, no one could stop you and your mistress from being together.”
Lord Aghael raised an eyebrow. “If only there were such a Queen.”
“On the other hand, if your relationship with this woman were exposed, your political career would be destroyed, your family shamed, your lands seized.”
Through the necklace, she could sense his fear radiate off of him.
“So which will you do?” Lord Aghael asked.
Spirea raised an eyebrow. “Well, that depends entirely on you, now doesn’t it?”
“I suppose it does.”
With a bow, the short man took his leave. Spirea watched him. Through the necklace, she could sense him slowly come to the realization that this was the last free decision he would ever make.
Everyone has pressure points. Things that are important to them. All you have to do if find them, and then grab hold tight.
A few minutes later, there was another knock at the door. Spirea pulled a chunk of something out of a leather bag and fed it to one of the flytraps.
“The door works.”
The Minister of Agriculture walked in and looked at the gobbling plant nervously.
“I was told you wanted to speak with me, Duchess,” Lord Ilsacv said.
“No,” Spirea said lazily.
“No?”
“No, I wanted to give you something.” As he sat down, Spirea tossed the sack over to him.
“What is this?” Ilsacv asked.
“Up until recently it was Willis Bucknum, head of the potters union. I believe they were quite a source of agitation for you.”
“To say the least,” Lord Ilsacv said, picking up the sack. He moved to open it, but then thought better on it. “I don’t want to look in here, do I?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it in mixed company, no.”
Lord Ilsacv sat back, scrutinizing her with beady eyes below a thick brow. “So, I see two messages here. Firstly, that you have done me a favor, and there will be more to come should I do what you ask. Secondly, a warning that this is what happens to those who displease you. Am I right so far?”
Spirea smiled. “Nearly, yes. There are three messages. The third is that in this game, I am willing to go farther and get my hands far dirtier than you ever will be, and that gives me an ineluctable advantage over you. I have no children to protect, no spouse to look out for, no family reputation to guard. You would do well to keep that in mind as you decide which side you are on.”
Lord Ilsacv thought for a moment, then his thick eyebrows came up. “You know, my Nanu had an old saying, ‘it is better to stand by the dragon than to stand in its way.’”
“Your Nanu sounds like a wise woman.”
Spirea petted the head of a flytrap as Lord Ilsacv walked out of the room, carrying the sack. Through the necklace, she knew that he now belonged to her.
Some people use the carrot, other people use the stick. It is far better to use
both at the same time.
A few minutes later, the door was opened and the aged Minister of Commerce walked in.
He has the posture of a brine shrimp.
“Lord Erryk, thank you for seeing me,” Spirea greeted. Fingering the Eye of the Storm necklace around her neck, his intentions became clear.
“I do not like to meet this way,” Lord Erryk protested as he sat down painfully. “It stinks of collusion. People will say things.”
Spirea bit on a fingernail. “Good, I want them to say things. I want them to spread rumors.”
He stared at her curiously. “Why would you want that?”
“Because, Minister, if everyone assumes that you are working with me, then it will not surprise them when I name you to a cushy position. That is, after all, how these things work, is it not?”
Lord Erryk rested his wrinkled hands on his walking stick. “I’m listening.”
“You're the oldest Minister of the Council. You've grown tired of these games. When I am Queen, I will be appointing you as ambassador to another island. Perhaps somewhere warm, far away from the fighting. Somewhere you and your family can enjoy your golden years together.”
Spirea leaned forward, her eyes dark and augural. “Or perhaps somewhere cold and hostile, where people disappear in the night all the time, no questions asked.”
Lord Erryk chuckled. “You're not the first person to threaten me, you know.”
“But I am the last one who will,” Spirea replied gravely.
He scratched his neck and studied her. The flytraps on either side of her opened and closed their mouths ominously.
“I will think about it,” he said.
“See that you do.”
A wicked grin crossed Spirea’s lips as she watched him amble away. He was too proud to admit it, but he knew, as did she, that his career was over. He was now nothing more than a rubber stamp for her to use.
Those that you cannot easily manipulate, you insulate. Send them far away where they cannot oppose you and replace them with someone more malleable.
As the door closed, Spirea chuckled.
With the Eye of The Storm, this is all too easy. In the past, it took years to amass this much influence and power. Or, perhaps I've just gotten better at it.
There was another knock at the door. One of the palace guards opened it and saluted. “Duchess, a stallion trainer has asked to speak with you.”
“Really?”
The man introduced himself as Tigera. He had a slim build for a man.
“Thank you so much for granting me this audience,” he said, kneeling down on one knee in an overdramatic fashion. “I have been seeking you out for some time now.”
He had a tanned complexion and toned body that came from working outside most of his life. His longish black hair was pulled back over his ears, and he kept his beard trimmed into a stylish goatee. Spirea could not shake the impression that she knew him from somewhere, but she could not guess where from.
“You have my attention, please don’t waste it.”
The flytraps grew long, slithering around his feet on the floor like snakes.
“Of course, Duchess,” he said, watching one coil around his leg. “As heir to the scepter of Stretis, you will go riding often with other royals. However, I notice that you do not yet have any Y’darni stallions of your own.”
“So, I'll rent some.”
One flytrap wrapped around his waist and snapped at his elbow.
“Oh, no, Duchess,” he said, pulling his arm away. “Y’darni stallions must be trained specifically for their owner and for no one else. Tailoring their gait, behavior, and scent to your individual needs is absolutely essential.”
A flytrap wrapped around his arm and took a snap at his head. Tigera grabbed it by the stem and tried to pull it back away from his face.
Fingering her necklace, she could sense that he had no intention of stealing The Eye of the Storm from her. That alone was enough to pique her interest. Most everybody she came into contact was after it on some level. A kind of vague fleeting ambition, only dangerous if an opportunity presented itself. This man, however, clearly knew what it was, but didn’t want it. It was hard to tell why, exactly.
“And so I have come to offer my services as a Beastmaster,” Tigera said, trying to ignore the teeth hovering inches from his nose. “You will find that my price is fair, my results are quick. In fact, if I may say so, I cannot believe I am so fortunate as to be the first person of my trade to approach you. It is not every day a future Queen requires a stallion trainer, after all. One flytrap wrapped itself around his neck, hissing into his ear.
His mind seemed blurred to her, mixed in with other minds somehow, making him hard to read.
He’s a Beastmaster, perhaps his communion with the animals is obstructing the necklace somehow.
The two flytraps opened their dripping maws, ready to kill. Tigera was all but powerless against their strength.
Spirea sat back and thought. The Dirgina inside of her was about to have him eaten, but something else made her pause. This man was compelling in a way that was hard to explain. Perhaps it was the way he kept a cool head even when he was about to be eaten alive. There certainly weren’t many men like that these days.
The Dirgina’s needs were very simple. She wanted to establish a power base, and then prepare a new shell to transfer into when this one died. Immortality for the sake of immortality. Her only purpose was to ensure her continued existence, and this man was irrelevant to that equation. Yet, at the same time he wasn’t a threat either, or at least he didn’t appear to be one. Something inside of her wanted to accept his offer.
The flytraps released Tigera and retreated back into their pots.
“Fine,” Spirea said. “You caught me in a good mood. I will have you set up in the stables. Tomorrow, you will advise me in the purchase of a Y’darni and will begin training it immediately.”
“Thank you, Duchess. You are too kind,” Tigera said, picking himself up off the ground and breathing a sigh of relief. He reached underneath his tunic and pulled out a necklace he was wearing. It was simple in design, a leather band holding carved bits of bone and teeth. “This is Afetona’to, it serves as a contract between us...oh, but I see, you already have one prepared.”
Spirea looked up and blinked. “I do?”
“Yes,” he smiled roguishly. “It is right there around your neck.”
Spirea lifted up The Eye of the Storm and noticed something she hadn’t before. A second necklace, almost identical to his.
How long have I had this?
Spirea’s eyes darted back and forth as she tried to make sense of it.
“May I?” Tigera offered.
“Hm? Yeah, I suppose,” she answered, taking it off and handing it to him, her eyes distant and concerned.
Why have I not noticed it?
Tigera untied the knot and moved around some of the golden teeth and bone pieces. “Ah, you see here, these are the letters of my people, by moving this here and that over here, it spells out my name, you see?”
Spirea didn’t answer, didn’t look at him. She was lost in thought. Faint traces of silver swirled in her eyes.
Something is wrong here. I shouldn’t have gaps in my memory. Is this host waking up somehow?
There was a snap of smoke as Tigera retied the necklace. Spirea’s eyes became empty for a moment. She sat motionless as he placed it back around her neck.
Spirea shook her head and looked up at him. Her eyes darkened. “Who are you? What are you doing?” The two flytraps sprung to life, grabbing Tigera by the arms and pinning him against the wall.
“Duchess, my name is Tigera Hissledorf, I am a Beastmaster from Hoeun. You just hired me to train your Y’darni.”
Spirea shook her head. “Yes...of course, I remember now.” She rubbed her temple as the flytraps released him. “Please, speak to Mr. Brinley, he will set you up in the stables.”
“Thank you,” he said, straightening h
is clothes. Until tomorrow, Duchess.”
He bowed and strode out of the room.
Spirea looked at her hands. For some reason, they were shaking. Faint lines of energy traced along her skin, flickering weaker.
What is happening to me?
* * *
Later that day, Solanum pumped her body back and forth, swinging upside down from a chandelier, running her dirty fingers through her now short brown hair. Her eyes were unfocused, distant. The wood parted and Captain Tallia walked in indignantly, leading the cow by a rope tied around its neck.
Captain Tallia looked down at the pile of cut hair lying on the floor.
“I see you cut your hair, my Lady.”
“Don’t touch it!” Solanum yelled. “If we leave it there, it will be good luck.”
Captain Tallia distastefully walked around the pile of hair and held out a crumpled piece of parchment.
“What is this?” Solanum asked, snatching it up.
“This are the terms of surrender the Federal Navy gave to your...” Captain Tallia looked back at the cow. “...ambassador.”
Solanum jerked her head to one side, as if a loud noise had startled her. Turning her attention back, she scanned the document. At the bottom of the parchment there was an ink smear in the shape of a cow hoof. “What is this?”
“This is where your ambassador signed it. You have one week to add your counter-signature.”
Solanum stepped backwards as if something had hit her in the chest. She tore up the parchment and pointed a broken fingernail at the cow sternly. “How dare you surrender! You are a coward! Do you hear me? A coward!”
The cow only chewed its cud slowly.
Solanum’s face changed from enraged to amused. “Cow-ard,” she laughed. “Cow...ard!” She fell backwards into the pile of her shorn hair, laughing maniacally as she rolled around. “So, they actually rolled ink on the bottom of her hoof and had her step on the treaty?”
Captain Tallia could contain herself no longer. “my Lady, in one week the Navy attacks, shouldn’t we prepare?”
Solanum stopped rolling and looked around fearfully, as if something were circling over her. She stood up and brought her hands up to her face and smelled them. “Smell my hands,” she bade, her eyes delighted.
Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen Page 41