“Once I am done, yes, I—”
“Gene,” Ed interrupted. “You’re in trouble, I can see that. What do you need?”
Gene turned up to the moon, the tiniest of sliver left before the new moon. “You can’t help me. I came here to tell you to stop looking for me. To forget about me. And to go your own way. …Please.”
Ed laughed. “You can’t be serious.”
“Very,” she answered. “Sil. …I’m sorry you became involved. You remember what Da’Kraven said about you last night? I’m not certain if he was right; he wasn’t fully himself. But, you must stay away. If you are indeed what he said, then he is playing a game we know none of the rules for—”
“No, shut up! I don’t want to hear it!”
“You have to, Sil,” Gene roared. “You’re not a baby anymore. You have to grow up and face—”
“They are all traitors,” Sil wept. “Traitors and murders, all of them…the priests. The Synod. The whole damn religion! They sent me to murder you! Sent people to kill me too. That knife, they lied to me…. Is…is Zandagor even real!”
“She must be.”
“Must be? Must be?”
“Remember what our parents used to say? That Ragnarok feared her the most? Maybe she doesn’t exist, maybe she does. Maybe neither does the Almighty’s, but I find it at least a little comforting that we, of all people, were given her gifts.”
“Given her gifts? Gene… tell me. That man last night. Da’Kraven. What are we?”
Gene turned her back. “Nothing you have to face if you ignore it—”
“How can I ignore what happened to that man! He was a dragon, Gene. A dragon! Like we used to see in our dreams. Our sisters’ secret. Like we used to pretend our parents were. You didn’t even come for that, either. I had to bury them myself!”
“I’m sorry I was angry at you about that,” Gene said. “I…I didn’t know what would happen to their bodies.” What would happen to their bodies? Their parents were dragons too; would their bodies revert somehow back into dragon bodies after death? How could that be and dragons still not be known? “Major,” Gene added. “Please look after my sister. Don’t let her follow me. Sil, live your life and forget about me. This will be the last either of you see me.”
“I’m not going to let you by me, Gene,” Ed answered, widening his stance for surer footing. “This ladder behind me is the only way down. Come back with me. We can figure this out. I’ll send word to Alecka and use Glen’s contacts. Hell, I’ll even send word to General Arishia Sune about this; we have special soldiers for this kind of work. For Almighty’s sake, Gene, let me help.”
Gene turned over her shoulder. “Glad you invoked his name,” she said, lifting herself onto the railing that encircled the platform. “But I have to get back before they realize I’m missing.”
“You’re not leaving,” Ed said with a chuckle. “We both know you hate heights. We’ve got to be almost a thousand feet high.”
She turned her head down. “Sooner or later,” she said with nervousness cracking her voice. “We have to face to our fears and either overcome or die.” She rose her foot into mid air—
“Wait, Gene,” Ed exclaimed. “At least tell me where you’re going?”
“Where the devil goes to die,” she answered before walking off and plummeting down.
Sil gasped as Ed raced over. Down below, she saw Gene’s shadowed figure glide harmlessly down before running off and becoming indistinguishable with the shadowed ground. “I see you have overcome,” he muttered.
“We have to go after her,” Sil shouted.
“No,” Ed said, turning away and walking back to the ladder. “We can’t help someone who doesn’t want it. And we’re in neither position to do that now. Brace yourself.” Ed let go of her legs and she winched, her pain and fatigue proving his point. Once he reached the bottom of the ladder, he grabbed her legs again to her relief.
“Do what you want then,” Sil cursed. This whole trek had been useless. She learned nothing about her sister’s motivates, but she wouldn’t let her get away. A day at most, all the rest she’d need before she’d go after her. ‘Nothing you have to face if you ignore it?’ How could she forget what she saw…and how she felt about it? And what did she mean by ‘you have to face’? “Just take me back to MaCathy!”
“MaCathy?”
“Blackbrook or whatever that loaf’s name.” She cursed again. ‘Live your life and forget about me.’ That self-righteous —Did Gene think she was protecting her? Her! She was twenty years old! Not a ‘baby.’ A woman now! A priest who could bring down fire like the apocalypse. No, Gene couldn’t treat her like a family pet anymore. Go live your life? How dare she. She couldn’t tell her what to do anymore! But Sil was badly injured…and the cultist were very dangerous, not to mention the Coming Shadows after her. She’d need help, but where? She cursed again. She couldn’t go back to the Temple for all the good that would do.
“Are you planning to follow her,” Ed asked. Of course, he’d ask that; he’d probably try to stop her out some stupid loyalty.
“The answer is obvious, isn’t it? I’m too old to be taking orders from my older sister.”
“Good.”
“Good?” She repeated with surprise.
“I don’t make a habit of taking orders from my former subordinates either.” He then grumbled, “for better or worse. When we get back, I’m going to send word to a friend of mine to join us. Is that all right?”
“Uh, yes. Are they capable?”
“Yes, he is, but he’s a bit of an eccentric man. Don’t know if I can reach him. But first, Celeste. I heard what you said up there. I need you to tell me everything you know about Ragnarok.” Sil bit her tongue. Damn, she had said more than she wanted. “I can disappear easily, Sil. I’m well-trained with a long military career, and you don’t have the resources to save your sister.”
“Save her,” she snickered. “I… oh alright, but I want to know something about you too. How were you exposed and which Shard was it?” Do not trust this man. Because you say so, I will.
Princess Zana II Ladress
Zana collapsed onto the couch inside the family’s private library adjacent to her bed chamber. Next to her sat Mother’s journal, but she didn’t immediately pick it up. Instead, she closed her eyes and faced the fireplace, allowing the warmth to sooth the tension from her face. Warm lavender scents filled the room and a quiet settled in, tempting her to fall asleep. And why not? ‘Because it’s been a week since you’ve postponed dinner with Lord Marq,’ Lady Fiora Cortess would remind her.
Zana opened her eyes and grimaced. The fire had died down bathing her in a warm orange glow that begged her to close her eyes again. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t postpone the Count any longer because tomorrow, she had to leave for Mak’s Green Farm Estate, cure in hand.
Sig had sent her a surprisingly generous fifteen liters of his blue remedy with intravenous and oral instructions. An unsealed letter accompanied it, reading something along the lines of family favors shouldn’t cost a thing and that he was happy she reached out to him for help. The indignation was feigned, she knew. Without a wax seal, anyone could have read the letter —including Landrie, Advin and Makim. Now the whole damn kingdom knew she asked him for a favor. Her eye twitched. Well played, idiot. Thankfully, his reply was vague on the nature and reason of the favor. Mak would asked her. She was not looking forward to lying to him again.
Zana curled her mother’s journal into the crook of her elbow and sighed. “Let’s try again,” she whispered to it as if it was as fatigued as she was searching through for clues. In between brief moments of her busy week, she had poured over her mother’s journal looking for clues to her murder —the one thing she and her brothers agreed upon— and found nothing. Even less then nothing. Blank pages would have been suspicious enough, but all she found were daily logs of clerical reviews, event preparations, audience dates but no feelings on the matter. Her mother didn’t even comment on how the weather ma
de her feel. It seemed so out character for her. Zana remembered her mother being very zealous, passionate, and severe. A biased impression, Fiora would have her admit, but her mother had to be those things and more after her father died. By all rights, Siga should have been made king, but her father gave ruling Regency to her mother until Zana was of marriage age. She died only a few months before her fifteen birthday —another reason she didn’t believe Sig could have done the murder. If he had waiting only months, he would have sat on the throne himself. And their mother would finally get the rest she needed. Of course that meant Sig would’ve had to pry himself out of that island for more than a few weeks out of the year.
Zana couldn’t imagine how difficult her mother’s rule was. Who would have followed the first foreign Queen from the region of the Impossible Tower as the ruler of Ladress? A foreigner not even blessed by the Golden Lady? Added to that was the influx of nobles escaping the brutal Demos revolution, and after her father’s death, some said it was a subtle invasion. How she quelled those fears, Zana was too young to remember.
But she knew her mother to be careful too —deliberate, would best describe how she carried herself. Those ‘zealous’, ‘passionate,’ and ‘severe,’ qualities seemed always measured out. She had a large crown to fill, especially since everyone revered the first Queen of Ladress, the Mage Queen Alicia Ladress, who with her husband, Frederick, fought the Ragnars during the Reclaiming Campaigns and later led a group of battle mages into the Old Rozes den of monsters. No, her mother had to be something she wasn’t —perfect. And she paid for it. But if the Golden Lady had blessed her mother with magic, maybe she wouldn’t have— ”No, that doesn’t help,” she told herself.
Zana turned the page. Zansday, 21, Month of the Red Mountain, 1492, began an entry one month before she died. Zansday, the first day of the week in honor of Zandagor who rested inside the Golden Lady. Her brothers —though at this point, Sig hardly came— would travel to the Holy City for a family rest day. Her mother would make them breakfast and talk about kingdom affairs in the morning. Then, if there wasn’t some reception or festival to attend, the family would go to the country outside the Holy City to enjoy some privacy. Before dinner, they would visit their father’s resting place among the Noble Gardens, the center piece being the King’s Home, a great mausoleum housing her father’s body until the next king’s turn. Now, it held both her father and mother. How little she remembered of him, a vague figure of masculinity, more a caricature than a real person. He built, he worried, he worked, he died. That was all.
When Zana and her brothers were younger, the family would spent evenings together, but in that final year, her mother wanted her nights alone. Her brothers thought it was because of Sig never coming, and she remembered hating that she agreed with them.
Instead, her brothers would go off to their own mischiefs while she would attend some noble’s hosted dance with other girls her age. Being so young, Lady Fiora and at least a couple of Knights shadowed her everywhere. “Really, what were they afraid of,” she whispered. Then she remembered.
Sig appeared one night. Zana didn’t know at the time, but he was already falling into his illness, this time manifesting as a mania. The dance had ended early on account of one of the Rushnik’s boast on a new breed of racing horses. The race track was readied; the auditorium full of people. Zana had joined her brothers up on the Nobles’ Seats, waiting for what Rushnik promised to be the fastest horse in all Gen Shemver.
She remembered feeling a familiar presence in her mind. It wasn’t her brother, not completely, more like seeing a familiar face in crowd only to realize it was a stranger afterwards. Zana quickly closed her mind off, remembering Sig’s warning of how dangerous memorizers could be.
She then made the mistake of telling Landrie, who shot to his feet hissing about Sig being somewhere near by. Sig was nearby —on the race track. His clothes were muddied and his hair a long tangled mess. At first, Zana thought he had drunk himself into a stupor, but then he began shouting profanities, cursing the Seven, and other blasphemies. His words were too lucid for a drunk as he tried making his case before the present noble families to prepare for another Catastrophe by trusting in themselves alone —not much different than today.
The Knights rushed him, of course, and quickly brought him inside where he tried convincing the same thing to Landrie, Advin and Mak, spouting his nonsense. Apparently, their mother had refused to see him, so he demanded she and her brothers bring him to her —Zana flinched, remembering the angry words that were exchanged …from her too. He hadn’t showed up in months and then curses the Seven in public? What did he expect? Zana grimaced at the memory. Idiot. But Sig soon left, muttering about doing everything himself. They had denied him the last chance he would have had to see their mother alive. “I’m sorry,” Zana whispered.
She continued reading, Overcast with drizzle, shadowed morning. Dawn devotional time with beloved. Zana paused; she must mean her father. 7:00 kingdom business with advisers. 8:00 prepared breakfast for Za’nina and the boys. Zana smiled. Spent day with family. There was no mention of how she spent her evening, nor of Sig asking to see her.
Zana pressed her lips together. “What kind of journal was this?” More of a task list than journal, maybe this was why Landrie never looked through it. Going through a few pages herself had already exhausted her patience —and brought up memories she’d rather keep forgotten.
Next page, Lairsday, 22, Month of the Red Mountain, 1492, it began. Clear morning. Dawn devotional time with beloved, shadowed mausoleum. Zana paused again. The word ‘shadowed’ popped out to her like it was out of place. As she shifted back through the entries, she found more instances of the adjective ‘shadowed’ describing people, places, things, and actions. Shadowed walk. Shadowed lunch. Shadowed night. Shadowed journaling. A favorite word? Zana never remembered her mother using it so often in speech. What could it mean? Perhaps a sadness in her? Her mother certainty had reason to be with Sig’s flakiness.
She flipped back until finding the first time it appeared, about four months before her death: Ransday, 2, Month of the King-Maker, 1492 Meeting with advisers. Invited Siga, but shadowed appearance. Shadowed appearance? Did she mean Sig looked disheveled?
Zana flipped back one page —Evensday? “But what happened to the day in between, Bleksday?” A page was missing pertaining to that day, the day before Sig arrived for a meeting with the kingdom advisers. Judging by the poor shape of the book, Zana wasn’t surprised. Or maybe someone had taken it. …Mak?
Back at the Red Rock, he was running around between the halls as if he had lost something. How many days had he been there before she arrived? Before the Night Lady stole the book for her? Had he read it and then the book was stolen? “More of Mother’s secrets,” she whispered, letting out an exasperated sigh. “What’s the real reason you want to see Mother, Mak?” Another question she’d have to ask him when she arrives—
A knock came at the door. “It is I,” said Fiora’s voice. “The Count in waiting.”
Zana let her head droop forward in front of the fireplace, its soft glow warming her head and circlet. “One last thing to do.”
She readied herself as best she could, though probably not as well as Lord Marqs expected. He wouldn’t care; the man’s way of woo her was like a hunting dog told to hunt a clay pigeon: just going through the motions. It was for his son, she reminded herself. We all have our family burdens.
Fiora scanned Zana from head to toe before raising an eyebrow. Zana wore a simple ankle-length white gown with a woolen mantle about her shoulders for the evening’s cooler air; after a long day, it was much more comfortable than the layers of ‘regal’ clothes, no matter how silky.
But before Fiora could scold her on her tired look, Zana asked, “how long has he been waiting?”
“You’re lucky he’s dressed just as casually,” Fiora answered before leading her toward one of the smaller dinning halls on this floor of the palace. “If he’s interes
ted in your hand, then you both should have dressed more properly.”
“I think we both know he’s not,” Zana answered.
Fiora turned over her shoulder to give her a fleeting smile. “I’m pleased you noticed that.”
Zana fought back a snicker. After so many had been ‘interested in her hand,’ she grew very keen in deciphering their intentions. One day she’d have to decide —especially if those other three idiots don’t marry. But judging by her experience so far, it wasn’t a decision she was looking forward to.
Fiora stopped before the doors to the dinning room her family used in those last days. Not here. Sensing what she felt, Fiora said, “this is your home now,” before adjusting Zana’s circlet and putting invisible hairs back to their place on her head. “The Knight, Erald, will be behind you at the door. The Count will sit across from you. I will sit to your left and his son—”
“His son,” Zana jerked her head away from Fiora’s hands. “I didn’t agree to that.” Now, she’d have to reject him and his plea for his son’s education with his son there. She didn’t want that.
“Yes Maylin will be there. Sometimes, you have to do uncomfortable things.”
“I do uncomfortable things all day. Tell him, I’ll see him when I get back—”
“Princess,” Fiora’s voice rose, those angry currents rising to the surface before submerging into her practice calm expression. “You must realize you are not your mother. She was a queen of a kingdom. You are a princess of a city, a city your brother is trying to take from you without war, your other brothers are pushing toward war, and some of your subjects —the Rushniks— are hoping to capitalize off of war. Have you seen his demonstrations outside the city with those refugees? Your brothers dump their poor here and expect you to absorb the strife. Here, the city that is the very symbol of Ladress.”
“They wouldn’t dare.”
“I would,” Fiora cut into Zana’s heart. “As a matter of politics you have left yourself open. You’ve been occupying your time with past matters that don’t effect the present. You have been out of the city for far too long, and yet you plan to leave tomorrow again. You shouldn’t go.”
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 71