Keepers of the Flames (In the Eye of the Dragon Book 3)

by N M Zoltack

  "When the time comes, I suppose I will find out."

  Vivian's stomach twisted with disgust. What was she saying? Would these women truly kill another? The very notion of war left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her father had killed, yes, to prevent a war. Why couldn't the Vincanans be happy with being a part of Tenoch Proper? If they declared themselves a free island once more, wouldn't the other isles follow suit? It would be back to every country for themselves, and some of the small ones truly did need assistance. Zola, in particular, was home mostly to birds because there wasn't enough vegetation to support life, which meant birds and birds alone were the only animals to flourish there. Vivian supposed that if one were desperate enough, they might be willing to eat a bird. She did not think the native birds were similar to the likes of chicken or turkeys, but perhaps she was wrong on that account.

  Perhaps she was wrong on several accounts.

  "You suppose you will find out? No. Either you will be trained and be determined capable, or you will be sent back to your small village as a disgrace. You can cook and clean and care for the children under five."

  "Under five," she murmured. Were girls as young as five here for the training? To fight? To kill? Impossible!

  Yet, as she glanced around, she saw that there were several young girls. Most had been separated from their mothers as they had different weapons. Not one of the girls were looking around for the mothers. They stood still, in their positions, waiting for instructions like miniature soldiers.

  Not like miniature soldiers. Like true soldiers.

  The warrior smirked. "I think that one," she said, pointing to a girl of about eight in the row in front of Vivian's, "will outlast you."

  Vivian grabbed back her spear. "I hate to dissuade you, but your lack of faith in me is misplaced."

  She was fuming. No one could tell her that she could not do anything. Not her father, not her sister, not that horrid queen, and not this miserable warrior.

  "Time will tell."

  "I am up for the challenge."

  The warrior snorted at the same time as her horse. Vivian ducked her head to hide her smile. Noll would have found that hilarious, while Rosalynne would have rolled her eyes.

  Vivian sighed. She missed her siblings terribly.

  This warrior, of course, held the largest spear out of all of the mounted ones, so she was the one to lead them through their exercises. She started with a couple of thrusts, which were easy enough, although Vivian felt awkward in the motion. The princess lacked any true power behind her thrusts, and already, the bark of the branch was biting into the tender flesh of her palms. Noll had been the one to climb trees. Vivian never had. She wouldn't risk tearing her dresses and gowns.

  Whenever the warrior would correct someone by telling them to keep their back straighter or to bend the knees or to pivot their hips for more power, Vivian tried to utilize her instructions and emulate her technique. By now, the warrior had dismounted and was making the rounds.

  She bypassed Vivian, and the princess suspected that was more because she thought Vivian a waste of time than because her technique was proper.

  Gradually, the exercises the warrior demonstrated became increasingly complicated. As much as Vivian attempted to follow, her body, her hips, her arms would not do as her mind demanded. Even some of the women struggled to keep up.

  For hours, they continued, drill after drill, with hardly a break in between. Vivian was not dewy. No. She was covered in sweat. There was no other term for it. Her cheeks felt flushed, and she could hardly catch her breath.

  The woman beside her wasn't struggling quite as much. She nodded to Vivian and then whispered, "Breathe out your mouth, in your nose."

  Exhausted, Vivian nodded. It took a moment for the words and their meaning to sink in. She was that exhausted, but when she tried that technique, her breathing did improve, her lungs inflated more than when she had tried to gulp down air.

  At long last, the sun began to sink lower and lower into the horizon. The warrior dismissed them, telling them to sleep and expect an even harder session tomorrow. Vivian suppressed a groan, but none of the others seemed worried or alarmed.

  The women and girls began to leave the field. Vivian hesitated, uncertain where to go.

  The warrior, mounted once more, holding her helm in the crook of her arm, rode over. "You are completely untrained."

  "I have one day of training now," Vivian said, lifting her chin in defiance.

  "Only today?" The warrior tilted her head to the side. "I suppose you were not absolutely terrible giving your surprising lack of training. Most mothers begin to teach their children how to accurately use slingshots at the age of three. Have you ever held a blunted sword?"

  "I've held a true sword," Vivian said honestly, "but I never wielded one."

  "Holding is not the same as using. I suppose I will train you a second day. If you do not continue to improve…"

  The warrior twisted her horse around and rode off, leaving her threat hanging in the air.

  Vivian did not care to be intimidated. All she had to do was blend in until she could board a ship. Until able to do so, training was most likely a smart endeavor. It was possible she would need to defend herself before she could return to Atlan and the castle.

  But if she needed to defend herself from a Vincanan, she might as well let them kill her. Unless she trained for many months, even years, she would not be able to hold her own against them, a thought that worried her far more than the warrior's threat.

  15

  Rase Ainsley

  For so many days now, Rase hadn't been keeping track, he stole coin pouches here and there. He never returned to a tavern where he had successfully swiped a pouch. Once he stole from most of the taverns—avoiding the one where Darwin's pa worked as a troubadour and the one where he and Pa had been banned after the confrontation with Linton—Rase had to move on to other establishments.

  Most inns themselves had bars, and Rase frequented them. To his surprise, he realized several regularly hosted gambling, too. Honestly, Rase hating gambling. He would never ever play the cards or roll the dice. It just wasn't for him. Too many angry people gambled. Too many desperate people. Too many people willing to put everything on the line. Desperation made people do stupid, reckless things, and while Rase understood that well enough, he didn't want to risk having to deal with other people and their potential to make poor choices.

  Not that Rase only ever made good decisions. He knew he had made some foolish ones before, and he couldn't entirely be certain that what he was doing now was smart, but he couldn't deny the results. If he were only able to steal enough, he could save a little instead of spending it all, and maybe then he could earn enough to hire an expert to train him as an apprentice after all.

  Then, he could be legitimate. Then, he could plan for the future, take care of his sister and her friend. Rase was twelve. That wasn't too young to think about getting married. He would have to apprentice for years, but if he studied hard and practiced, maybe he could become a master swifter than normal. He had no designs on picking which specialty he would like to study. The first master who would accept him as an apprentice would determine his area of future expertise.

  Inns were trickier, though. The area for drinking and entertaining was much smaller, and Rase caught the attention of the bar wenches more than he would like. He thought they worried he was there to pick at leftover scraps or to steal food, but he wasn't hungry. He had eaten well earlier that day, having been able to bring home a large haul.

  This particular inn, the Woody Fairy, was busier than most. Rase kept an eye out for the wenches who bustled to and from the tables. None of them paid him any heed, and he shifted his focus to the men there. For the most part, men seemed to carry more on them, but they also spent more too, so stealing from one meant he had to leave the place immediately. On a few occasions, Rase managed to swipe pouches or even loose coins from several women before he felt the need to hurry off and be on
his way.

  Tonight, though, no one caught Rase's eye. He was starting to recognize who were the drinkers, who weren't, who were more aware of their surroundings at all times, who was easily distracted, who might be a hard mark versus an easy one. Maybe the ale here wasn't the strongest because most everyone there seemed to be more aware than drunk.

  A newcomer walked in and glanced around. His clothes seemed a little higher class than most everyone there, but he didn't have the pompous aura that Linton, son of a baron, had.

  Rase couldn't help wondering about the man and followed him over to a table. He ordered some food and ale and sat alone.

  The boy hesitated. He should move on. People who were alone were more vigilant than those distracted by their companions. In a bit, though, a woman came over, sitting across from the man.

  As they conversed, Rase shifted a bit to see where exactly the man's coin pouch was. Off to the side, along the man's left hip.

  Rase eased closer. The woman was getting up, however. Leaving? Was the man?

  The boy backed away. The man did stand, and Rase swiftly walked on by, grabbed the coin pouch, and kept on going, turning around the table and heading for the door. The coin pouch was heavy, by far the heaviest he had swiped yet, and Rase hoped and hoped and hoped that he could finally set some aside so he could study.

  But a bunch of people stood, blocking his way, and by the time he reached the door, the man stood there, arms crossed, gaze firmly fixed on Rase.

  Wordlessly, he held out his hand.

  Rase was dumbfounded. It had been a clean, smooth swipe, one of his best. The man shouldn't have felt a thing! Then again, the weight of the pouch would be noticeable when gone. Rase cursed himself his greed. He should've released the pouch the moment he realized how heavy it was.

  "Now, boy," the man snapped.

  Rase considered playing the part of the fool for only a moment. One look at the man's steely gray eyes and harsh expression and Rase sighed and removed the pouch from inside his shirt where he had stashed it.

  "You were good, but not good enough," the man said.

  The boy slumped his shoulders and shuffled his feet. "I best be leaving."

  "Not so fast." The man leaned down to drape his arm around Rase's shoulders. "My name is Bucca Reizel. Yours?"

  Rase hesitated.

  "Don't lie, boy." The man's easygoing tone while introducing himself disappeared.

  "Rase Ainsley," Rase mumbled, staring at his bare feet. It was a shame he hadn't stolen enough to get him and his family shoes, but that might have to wait until he did land the apprenticeship. Were apprentices paid at all? Or did you have to become a journeyman first?

  "Rase, come with me."

  It wasn't as if Rase had a choice in the matter. Bucca Reizel was much stronger than Rase, and his arm and stride dictated Rase rush to keep up with him.

  Instead of his previous perch, the man brought Rase to the corner farthest away from the door. It was also the spot where they wouldn't be easily seen.

  Or overheard.

  "I have to warn you," Rase said coldly. "I have a healthy pair of lungs. I can scream so loud—"

  "Boy, I don't think you want any more attention than I do," Bucca said, his tone dry.

  Rase lifted his chin. "What do you want from me?"

  "Well, now, the way I see it, you tried to steal from me. I would be well within my right to let everyone and anyone in all of Atlan know about you and your thieving ways. You'll be liable to get a hand chopped off."

  Rase gritted his teeth. "You're bluffing," he said.

  "Not about the hand, boy."

  "Not about that," Rase agreed. "About telling everyone and anyone."

  "Do you know who I am?"

  "Bucca Reizel, unless you lied," Rase challenged.

  The man said nothing.

  "You aren't a nobleman," Rase said slowly.

  "Is that a question?"

  "You didn't say lord or sir or anything like that, and no nobleman I've ever met has introduced himself without mentioning his title."

  "Have many noblemen introduced themselves to you?" Bucca demanded.

  "Possibly." Rase grinned. "But you didn't bring me over here for no reason. What do you want?"

  "My fine clothes, though…"

  Rase just shook his head. "Why would a nobleman need to come to an inn?"

  "Most of these people here aren't going to grab themselves a room for the night," Bucca muttered.

  Rase just gave the man a look.

  Bucca sighed. "Yes, well, it all comes down to coins, does it not? And that's where you come in. You're going to help me make coin, not lose it."

  Rase gaped at him. "How?"

  "Cards, boy. I play cards. I win a lot, but I want to win more."

  Rase shrugged and crossed his arms. "I don't know if I can help you, really."

  "You don't know cards. I'm not surprised. You look a little young to play, but that'll only help me when it comes to playing."

  "I don't know…" Rase hedged.

  "You don't have a choice," Bucca growled.

  Rase thought it quite comical that Bucca then secured a room for the night. There, away from prying eyes, Bucca taught Rase how to play Legendary Dragons. The point of the game was to get rid of your cards and to gain as many dragons as possible. There were only five dragons in the entire deck. You must have five cards in your hand at all times. Whenever a player called out, "Legend!" you had to reveal a card to everyone. It could not be a card you reveal previously or else you forfeited. The dealer was to keep track. It was possible to steal cards from another player, but if you did not steal a dragon and you already had a dragon in your hand, you had to give that player the dragon.

  "It's all about luck," Rase said. "Not skill."

  "You'll be my skill, Rase. You'll be my skill. Just linger behind the players who have dragons. That's all I need you to do."

  "But if you don't steal the right card—"

  "Left ear for the leftmost card. Right ear for the rightmost. You do know left from right?"

  Rase flicked the man's right ear. "Right?"

  Bucca swatted him away. "Nose for the center. Rub your left cheek for the second to left and—"

  "Right cheek for second to the right." Rase sighed. "East enough. What if we get caught?"

  "Don't be foolish, boy, and we won't."

  Rase nodded.

  "Don't look so glum. Come on. There should be a game going on tonight. You ready? Or does the little boy need to go to bed?"

  Suppressing a grin, Rase yawned. "I might need some food to keep me away," he said.

  "Fine. Let us eat and play."

  And that was what they did. They ate and played.

  And won.

  Long after the game finished, Bucca gave a slight bit of the profits to Rase. It wasn't anything close to what he had stolen from the man, but Rase wasn't going to complain. It was just enough for food for the day with a little bit of coins leftover.

  It was a start. Maybe one day, Rase could be honorable again. For now, he was just too poor to be moral.

  16

  Queen Rosalynne Rivera

  After the catastrophe that had been the murder of a man whose misfortunes caused him to turn to thievery, Rosalynne had not had the heart or the desire to hold another assembly. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she was too afraid and worried that the people would blame her for the death. Indeed, they should, as she had been the one to accept Bjorn's help, although she never would have sanctified such an act. How could the people know that, though? Bjorn had been right in one aspect. She had commissioned executions. That they had been for her father most likely made zero difference in the minds of the people, and their opinion was what mattered most.

  Now, however, with Bjorn long gone and the Vincanans as well, perhaps now, the nation could try to come to a kind of peace. The hunt for Rufus's killer remained very much open. In Rosalynne's mind, the investigation into Noll's murder also remained
unsolved. Perhaps the two were related. Perhaps not. Unfortunately, she felt as if she lacked the resources to properly locate the killer of her brother. As much as she wished that to be her main and sole objective, alas, that could not be the case.

  With great dread and worry growing in her heart like a festering illness, Rosalynne demanded Advisor Aldus Perez to gather as many people as he could into the courtyard for another assembly. She had not had much luck with this in the past, but that did not matter. All she could do was to look forward and move on.

  If she wished to one day be the true ruler of Tenoch Proper, she must already act the part.

  Two days hence from when she instructed the advisor to prepare the assembly, Rosalynne once more stood on the balcony, overlooking the persons below. Fewer of the lords and ladies had come than she anticipated. Nearly all of those gathered were poor persons, and when she spied the family of the man Bjorn had murdered, she had to close her eyes to prevent tears from falling. Her fears only multiplied, transforming into serpents that squeezed her heart so tightly she could not breathe.

  Frantically, Rosalynne glanced around the crowd to try to locate at least one familiar face. Other than the nobles, of who all appeared miserable, Rosalynne spied no smiles, no looks of encouragement.

  To steel herself, she turned toward Wilfrid Frye. The guard nodded to her, and finally, in him, she found an ally. Absurdly, she found herself thinking fleetingly of Ulric Cooper, most likely because he was the closest person to her that connected her to Noll. During another assembly a lifetime ago, her brother and sister had stood with her. Now, she was all alone.

  Rosalynne stepped forward. Her skirts rustled. She had opted to wear a more modest gown because she thought more commoners might come, and she did not wish to lord above them. The sight of their scowls and the whispers of their muttering convinced her that her effort was not appreciated in the slightest.

  "As you are all away, there was a most unfortunate incident in the marketplace. A man unfortunately felt as if he could not come to me when he desperately needed assistance for his family. I had no way to know of his plight. That man turned to thievery. A crime, yes, but another, Bjorn Ivano, who was our champion, took it upon himself to execute this man. Bjorn did this of his own volition and without my knowledge or consent. Allow me to assure you all that I would have handled the situation differently."