“Major?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, more harshly then he wanted to. He pulled open the door, then grumbled. The jail corridor was completely dark. “No lamps,” he asked.
“Nope,” came the replied as the medic reached up to unhook the lamp from the above the door. “Araa’s still sensitive to light so you should be careful not to blind her.”
Ed reached for the lamp, but the medic refused. “You know, I’ll like go with you,” he said, regarding Ed. “If you’re going to wake her, I’d like to check on her.” His tone was thick with suspicion, drawing anger out of Ed more than anything else. Had he been here earlier and overheard his conversation with her? No, that’s impossible. There was no one else here.
“I prefer to talk to her, alone, Mister...” Ed returned his gaze with a cold one of his own.
“Winters,” he said with a tight grin. “I just arrived a few days ago with my wife. But it’s quite alright if you want to go alone. Just yell if she needs anything.”
“I will, Mister Winters.” Ed reached again for the lamp and this time, Winters handed it over.
But before Ed could go in, Winters added, “Funny. Light sensitivity. I can’t imagine anything in a mine doing that.”
“Like I said, you weren’t there,” Ed replied, but he’d have to ask Doctor Alexander about this Mister Winters and his wife. He had to be approved to move to Ruby City, probably had close connections to one of the nobles in Landrie’s Court. He was implying too much. “Central Office will be releasing a report soon,” he added, softening his words. He didn’t have to make enemies if represented the nobles.
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said. “But suppose Doctor Alexander can’t help her? Will she be sent to the Holy City? They have some good healers there.”
“That’s not my call.” And before the medic could say anything more —or before Ed could say something he’d regret to some noble’s servant checking in on him— Ed marched into the jail. The air was damp and warm, and the ground rocks had become slick with dew. He didn’t try to be silent, hoping his steps would wake her instead of him having to do it himself.
But when he reached her cell, he found to his relief that she was already awake and sitting up against the cell wall with her arms crossed loosely on her lap. They trembled, and a wince of pain spread across her face. How Ed remembered that: the cramping of every muscle, even muscles he didn’t know he had, at the very thought of moving an arm or leg, or even a finger.
Those symptoms would get better, but then the voice would come, the illusions…the insanity.
“Morning,” Ed said, setting the lamp down as far from her as possible.
“I thought you changed your mind.” She didn’t move her head, facing forward with her eyes open.
“I gave you my word.”
She snorted. “I still can’t move. I can’t go home like this.”
Ed walked inside, the door still unrepaired from when he ripped it early. He reached into his pocket and revealed to her the stimulant.
Crouching down to her, he said, “This will undo the relaxants the Doctor gave you.”
“I’ll have my back strength?”
“And more pain,” he added. She eyed the bottle. “It still might be too difficult for you.”
“I’ll take those chances.” She broke her gaze on the bottle and looked at him. Like before, that look shocked him, an expression he’d never expected from an Islander. The way her eyes held his with a resolute determination –the kind that first convinced him to let her try to make it home. Yet, there was something else there he recognized in the way her lips couldn’t decide to grin or frown, her twitching brow. He’d seen it before on the battlefield when those under him were forced to kill for the first time. Remorse.
He stood, closing the bottle in his hand. “If you go, it may be more than you can bare. If you stay, your end may be quick and peaceful.” Will be, more exactly. “If you’re still unsure…”
“I want to die with my own,” she whispered.
Ed lowered back down and uncorked the bottled. She opened her mouth, and Ed helped her drink it down. When she had finished, he pocketed the bottle and watched her.
“Nothing,” she said.
“It’ll take a few moments,” he said, retrieving the lamp and hooking it to the loops on his shoulder. “Close your eyes. I’m going to carry you to the exit.”
“Won’t someone see you,” she objected, but then turned away, a look of disgust on her. What a strange woman. From the north or not, she had her own fight inside her. From the dream he heard earlier, he could only guess how hard her childhood was. “I…I mean you,” she whispered. “Won’t you get in trouble.”
With his arms, he scooped her up as gingerly as he could. Even though he could feel her muscles tightening into knots through her clothes, she didn’t complain, except for her face twisting with her eyes shut. She tried relaxing as if testing herself against some hidden pain.
“I’ll be fine, Araa,” he said, as he walked out of the cell and further into the jail. “Why wouldn’t they think you hadn’t escaped on your own? From what I’ve learned about your people, you can be very resourceful.”
She remained quiet, the flickering light casting shadows against her winching face.
When he reached the door at the far end of the jail, he set her down, unhooked the lamp from his shoulder and unlocked the door. He opened it to a wisp of cold mountain wind, fresh with a mixture of bitter minerals and sweet foliage. He couldn’t help but smile.
The sliver moon was high above, casting a white shine on the small dell the jail opened out to. Stones, undergrowth, fallen leaves, all reflected serenely in the night. A brook gurgled nearby.
Ed picked her up and laid her back down outside the door, her back against the rock wall of the jail. She still hadn’t said anything, her face so sullen, he could imagine tears.
“You don’t have to go,” he said, unsure what else to say. “If you stay here, they’ll find you quickly. And the Doctor will operate.”
“No,” her voice cracked. “I’ll die on that table, I know it.” More truth that she realized. “I have to try.”
“But not right now,” he said. “It’s still night. Rest while you can.”
Ed looked at her one last time. Tragedies happen, he knew. This one wasn’t his fault, he knew too, but maybe by letting her go, he could redeem himself from those that were. Maybe he could make it up to Ninn. A sense of peace came over him. Yes, this was the right thing to do.
Ed turned to go back inside—
“Wait,” Araa said. “I need to know why.”
“Why?”
“Why are you doing this to me? You don’t know me. You’ll lose everything if they find out.”
Ed grinned, remembering that determination in her. That conviction. She believed in something so dearly, she jumped at his offer to let her go. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
14
Princess Zana Ladress II: The Holy City of Zanf’r
“Is this really the only way? Almighty help us if you’re asking me to do what the Old Roz’s did.”
“Their methods did give us the best understanding—”
“No. Not here! Not here in my city. Not here near the Temple.”
“No, Your Highness. I’m not asking that I continue the Old Roz work. I only want them held for observation.”
“Why? Hundreds of infected have come through the Temple. The priests have observed all there is to observe.”
“When I was a novitiate, I devoted much of my studies to the Chills. It’s a popular, mysterious, and dark topic that presents a modest excitement to an often dull life of a priest. It’s a topic that suits me, I believe. But no one has ever recorded anything like this. Just be still, Your Highness, and listen carefully on the breaths of those dead down there and you’ll hear…”
“Waking dust, dust, dust. The Almighty returns. He is with us. He played a dirge, but no one mourned. Wak
ing dust, dust, dust. Patience for a thousand of years. Patience for a little more. Waking dust, dust, dust. Give up your warding stones. Give up your flesh.”
“My…Goddess…what does it mean?”
“Your Highness, it means, the Old Rozes were wrong. We moderns were wrong. And the cultists of Ragnarok were right. The Chills are sentient.”
-Conversation between Princess Zana II and Gene Casmarus
Zana paused outside her bed chamber and smiled, taking in the quiet of the early morning. Dying honey-colored topazes lit the empty hall with a soft glow as she leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes. She was back home, back in the Holy City, back inside her family’s palace where she and her brothers grew up —and grew apart.
But standing there, she knew sooner or later someone would find her, adding to her long list of endless tasks even before the day began. So, with a short sigh, she started her slow way down the hall to her Reception Office where she could have a bit of privacy and catch up on everything she missed during her visit to her brothers. Hopefully, she’d shovel through most of what assuredly was a mountain of paperwork waiting for her before the palace hustled with life.
But, for now, her palace hummed with the soft sound of topazes dying out their last bit of stored magic, the chilly air enlivening her with a sweetly cinnamon fragrance, and more importantly, no one seemed to be awake this early, save for the Palace Guard who she hadn’t seen yet. In a little while, her day would begin, but right now, this moment, she could be at peace. The past month had been…exhausting to say the least. Preparations for the Offering Festival, her unexpected journey to Landrie’s, her visit to Sig. Balancing the suspicions of both. Alleviating the fears of neither. Solved nothing. One side always prepared for war, the other side already at war.
But at least, she was home now, nearing her Reception Office, a small room she would use for privacy between audiences, would have lunch and refresh herself. Being away for so long meant a very busy schedule ahead, and knowing Fiora, she probably scheduled all her work for one day. Sometimes, Zana wondered how Father did it. Of course, he had Mother, but even after he passed, Mother alone kept the kingdom running smoothly. Smoothly? She was killed, Zana thought, and the kingdom broken apart. Not smoothly.
Her eyelids drooped, and she yawned, fighting off drowsiness. She should have slept more, but she wanted to have a few moments to herself in her Office, a moment more of peace before the frenzy. Besides, she had left her Office in a mess before leaving for Landrie’s, and in her absence it could only have gotten worse.
When she rounded the last corner, she was relieved to find only a guard, the knight Erald, upright beside her Office door in his padded leather, a sword by his hip and a row of runic daggers fastened to his belt.
As soon as he noticed her, he bowed but thankfully said nothing. It was too early for conversations. Maybe everyone was as tired as she was. She wouldn’t mind a late start to the day, though, a later start meant a later end. Can’t have that, can we, Fiora?
Once inside, she closed the door. A dimming blue sapphire hung from a lamp on her cluttered desk, casting a cold blue winter-like scene on everything inside. Looking at the cluttered mess of papers and books, she scolded herself for not trying to organize it before she left. But she couldn’t ignore Landrie’s strange letter and so left this mess for her return. Now her return came, and the pile only got bigger. Responsibilities, her mother taught her, weren’t supposed to be ‘fun’ in the doing of them but in the having them done. Surely, Zana found out exactly what her mother meant when she turned fifteen and those responsibilities fell on her shoulders. Before then, sitting on the throne meant listening, learning, and getting to know her people. Afterwards, everyone had to go through her to get things done and at first it made her feel empowered, regal like a fully grown Ladress woman should be…until everyone did go through her to get everything done. Never a moment to herself, and so many mistakes made in those early years…
“And so exhausting too,” she said, picking up the sapphire from the lantern housing and closing her hands around it. The room plunged into darkness while warming her hand with a gentle vibration. Mak hated the darkness when they were little; he was always afraid of it. Mak…maybe that was the last time she’d see him alive—
“No,” she told herself. She’ll see him again; she’ll make sure of it. Late last night, Mak’s courier appeared at the palace to give her the news of Gene’s prognosis. There was nothing she could do. The tumor was too far grown. Mak even paid for his courier’s stay in the City and to stalk the palace —the poor man was harassed by her guards more than once. All to make sure she received his message —even before Gene had a chance to tell her. So, as per her agreement, he’ll be contacting her in a few weeks to go over his visit with Mother. She’d have to write a letter to Sig too, tell him, herself. She dreaded the idea of Sig finding out in secret during one of his manic phases. Even if she did tell him, what he would do, she had no idea. He would probably want to visit himself, definitely want to visit himself. Her blood ran cold. The thought of the “apostate” emperor walking into the Holy City with his legion of so-called ‘attendants’ —army of spies, more like it— would set her city on a knife’s edge. No, her people wouldn’t like it at all, let alone the priests, pilgrims, and their host nations living under Sig’s Shadow. What would the refugees outside her City think? What would her court think seeing them together? Oh, just the rumors alone could span volumes. And that idiot would use it to his advantage, playing up his ‘eldest brother’ role, and maybe even calling her by that horrible ‘archduchess’ title. Zana huffed. It would all be…be… “A mess,” she groaned, bringing the warm gem up to her face. “That’s what it’ll be, a great big mess.”
But maybe if Mak and Sig could visit mother together, at the same time …something could change. Mother’s spirit, two of her brothers. Mak for his last time, Sig for his first. “Would that be OK, Mother,” she whispered. She’d happily deal with gossip fallout if it meant uniting the family. Could it be that easy?
“Hope, Zana. Hope.” She opened a drawer in her desk and dropped the blue sapphire inside. Choosing a purer yellow topaz, she closed her palm around it and casted an initiating spell. The gem happily absorbed it, and upon opening her palm, the gem lit the room with a bright golden white light. She fastened it inside the lamp, and now that her Office was ready—”
A knock came at the door.
“Already,” she grumbled. “Who is it?”
“It’s Erald, Your Highness. Annacia should be here soon to make her rounds. Would like me to send her away?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “And ask her to bring some tea.” She rubbed the fatigue from her forehead. Damn, forgot my circlet. “And something strong to keep me awake,” she added.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
With that settled, she sat onto her seat and scanned her desk. Too bad she forbade the maids to clean in here. Though lost papers made for bad excuses, they would give her peace of mind.
“Now, now, Zana. Be responsible,” she said, riffling through a large stack in front of her. Most were festival business, long over do. Forbearance requests for loan repayments, leniency for public drunkenness and festive excesses, compensations for damaged properties, and the like. Boring dull administrative things. She stacked those on the right, near the fireplace. Too bad it wasn’t blazing; one accident and she’d save her hand from signing so many signatures.
On the left stacked more papers and packages, some rolled up and sealed with wax, correspondences while she was away. Most were handled through Fiora and her helpers and thankfully so. Now that she had been ruling the Holy City for so long, there were no shortage of young women wanting patronage, businesses wanting loans, and causes wanting…straight-out charity.
One caught her eye, and no wonder, it was a metal cylinder with a seal of wax on both ends, a figure of three interlocking rings. “Gene.” Her prognosis of Mak, she guessed, though she already kne
w what it was.
Zana took out from her desk a sheet of paper and holding the cylinder vertically, she heated the bottom slightly with her magic. Wax dripped and soon, a rolled-up paper fell. She unrolled it.
“Diagnosis: Not Natural. More than half diseased. Prolonged Mild Exposer. Remedy: the apostate.” Confused she turned the paper around. “Dust. Dust. Dust. I didn’t tell the King’s farmer of the cure to the blight in his crops, but his dreams fit into my nightmares. I am committed now. Do not contact me again. Farmer’s prognosis: Should be dead.” Zana plopped her head on her hand, studying the words again. “Don’t be too straightforward with me, Gene.” Prolonged mild exposer? That couldn’t be right. Mak hadn’t been to the Golden Lady for more than ten years. But what other Shard could he have been exposed too? That one in Landrie’s mountains, on the opposite side of the kingdom from Mak? No, she would have been able to tease that stupidity out of them back at the Red Rock. Absolutely not the King-Maker with all of their country’s upheavals, and the Veiled Goddess —if it was found— was locked up in the One-King’s country. And the Black Monolith was lost on one of the Islander’s Islands. “That leaves the Impossible Tower northwest of Mak’s princedom.”
“Mother’s home,” she gasped. “Mak….” Did he visit Mother’s home? He kept going on about knowing ‘Mother’s secret’ and being faithful to her. Had he been doing his own investigation? “Remedy: the apostate.” That was what many people called Sig now— “Sig’s remedy,” she shouted. Of course, that damn blue concoction Sig’s doctors gave to that young man. Would it really cure Mak? “It had to.”
The rest of the letter made little sense to her except that Gene didn’t tell Mak about Sig’s cure. Thank the Almighty. The Night Lady had stolen plenty of Sig’s remedy for the Temple priests in case of accidental exposure, but they always supplied it on an ‘immediate-need’ basis. Kept them dependent on her, Zana believed.
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 36