by N M Zoltack
"If not, maybe you could find another building for sale near the first one."
"I don't know," Dudley grumbled. "I'm trying so hard to make my dream come true, and so far, I'm failing."
Edmund swallowed hard. He had been able to make his dreams come true, but that was the funny thing about dreams. Now, he had a different one, not that he was certain how exactly he could obtain his new goal.
"Tatum will help you," Edmund said. "Work with her."
"Yes, yes," Dudley said impatiently. "I don't want to have to rely on her. I want to do this myself. You understand."
No, actually, Edmund didn't understand. Shouldn't a husband and a wife work together for their mutual goals? After all, their parents owned the shoe store together. They worked together. They were happy.
Then again, Edmund had never even been in a relationship with a woman, so how could he pretend to know what his brother should do? He had no advice for Dudley.
"I hope everything works out for you," Edmund said.
"I'm sure it will," Dudley murmured.
Edmund nodded. It shouldn't be too long before Tatum arrived. The crowd was talking softly, and Edmund nodded to the vicar who moved to stand before Dudley. The front doors to the Church of the Four Fates were open, but no one appeared to be inside praying before one of the statues. Everyone was gathered in front of the church for the wedding.
Without warning, the crowd immediately hushed. Edmund swallowed hard. A wave of anxiety and nervousness washed over him. Why did he feel so uneasy? For some strange reason, he felt as if this was his wedding day.
The crowd parted, and then Edmund could see Tatum. Her emerald green dress was in the same style as the noblewomen wore, but hers was cotton instead of silk or satin or velvet. The long, form-fitting gown had a wide neckline with a damask pattern.
The vicar began to address the crowd the moment Tatum reached her place to stand to the left of the groom. Edmund could hardly concentrate on any words at all. Tatum made the most beautiful of brides. Not even one of the queens could look as radiant as the alchemist.
Edmund forced himself to shift his gaze to his brother. It would hardly do for anyone to notice that the groom's brother was staring at the bride.
Edmund dutifully gave his brothers the rings, and the happy couple exchanged their vows. Within minutes, the two were wed, and it was time for the feast.
Wine, food, merriment… Minstrels and troubadours entertained with love songs and stories and poems. Unsweetened wheat bread was passed out, but Edmund discovered he had no appetite at the same moment he recalled leaving behind his basket at the church. It made far more sense to give the present here, at the feast, but Edmund could hardly do that. How could he have forgotten to get his brother a gift?
Still, he had spent so much time and effort on Tatum's gift that Edmund slipped away from the festivities and returned to the church. The doors were shut, but the vicar remained outside, and he nodded to Edmund.
"I wonder if I might wed you to a young lady soon, Sir Edmund," he said.
"I wonder too," Edmund said, perhaps a bit sour. The fact that he could not recall the vicar's name only added to his discomfort.
"Do not fret. The Fate of Life works in mysterious ways."
"I would rather think that Chaos guides most if not all knights."
"Do you now? But knights fight for the living."
"Yes," Edmund conceded, "but the nature of fighting itself is chaos."
"I suppose so, but then, maybe aspects of our lives do not fit neatly into one Fate or the other. Just as the Fates are intertwined, so, too, are our daily aspects, every event, every glance. Tell me, if I may be so bold, why are you not celebrating the union of your brother and his new wife?"
"I forgot something," Edmund explained.
The vicar nodded wisely. "Have a care, good knight."
"I will."
The vicar turned toward the front doors of his church and then pivoted back around. "I know you subscribe to the notion that Chaos rules your life more than the others, but know that you do not have to actively worship at the altar."
"Are you telling me to turn my back on one of the Fates?"
"I am warning you that if you continue to covet your brother's wife, you will end up rueing your choices."
"I do not—"
The vicar just gave Edmund a look that spoke volumes. With a grunt, he opened the heavy doors of his church and then shut them behind him. The clang of the doors closing snapped Edmund from his trance of disillusionment.
The vicar was wrong, though, because Edmund did not love Tatum. He would never do that to Dudley. Yes, he thought Tatum was lovely, kind, compassionate… a credit to her profession when all other females did indeed seem to be curse toward corruption and deceit.
But even Edmund could not lie to himself. A fire had started to burn within him once he became better acquainted with Tatum. For the moment, although wrongly, she was indeed the keeper of the flames of his heart.
The knight retrieved the basket, gripping the handle tightly enough that had it been constructed of wood instead of ribbon, it might have crumbled or even splintered apart.
The sound of revelry and merriment greeted Edmund as he rejoined the feast. It was such a lovely day that Dudley and their parents had opted to have the feast outdoors. There weren't enough tables for everyone to sit down and eat, only to hold the food. One small section was devoted to presents for the bride and groom.
Edmund spied Dudley and Tatum dancing, but he could not even bring himself to even look upon the bride. His feelings were not love. No. Merely jealousy. Yes, that was all. He longed for the closeness and companionship Dudley had found in his wife. It wasn't so much Tatum Edmund loved as the desire to love a woman such as she.
Still, a feeling of great shame filled Edmund, and in the end, he never did give Tatum the basket. He would feel like a fool to give her something handcrafted, something so special and meaningful. It would look out of place, and especially when Tatum gave Edmund the extraordinary potion she had made from the rare herb she and Edmund had sought from the Stokeford Swamp, and Dudley had no gift to give her in return. Tatum merely laughed and said his love was a treasure enough and all she needed. As she leaned over to kiss her husband, Edmund departed. None had noticed when he had left the feast the first time, and none would pay him any mind on this occasion either.
When Edmund climbed into bed that night, Jurian Hansen rolled over, opened his mouth, took in Edmund’s expression, and wisely shut his mouth without saying a word. The guard tended to speak almost far too much, his every thought voiced aloud for all to hear, but for once, Jurian was silent.
Good. Edmund had no desire to speak to anyone that night, and he hoped he would not dream any either. The knight could not recall a time when he felt more despondent, not even when he had been struggling to realize his dream of becoming a knight or when he had to suffer through harassment and maltreatment from his fellow squires.
All in all, he had risen above and gained his shield. Perhaps he need not worry. Mayhap one day soon, he would accomplish his new goal and gain the attention and heart of a loving woman.
A landless knight was not the most attractive of options, though, for a lady, and Edmund's despair only grew. He tossed and shifted his position in bed all night and hardly slept at all. While that meant he had no mares during the night, he also was exhausted, and his fatigue only severed for foul his mood all the more.
Would the sun rise over the course of his life, or was she already setting?
26
Garsea
The unease Garsea felt day and night plagued him terribly. All he wished for was that they could do their duty and return the dragons three to their full power. The Keepers of the Flames needed to fulfill this duty, or else the Keepers would all die out, and none could possibly bring back the dragons except for the secret, sacred order.
“Without all of the bones, the dragons cannot return to existence,” he muttered to himself.
But even if they were to reclaim and realign the bones perfectly, knowing which belonged to each dragon without mixing them, how could they be certain that the dragons would return? The dragons three had never been perished before, not all at the same time. Before, when they had died here or there, they had been able to rejuvenate themselves, resurrect themselves. Was the answer to their return merely locating all of their bones, or was that merely the first step? The dragons were magical creatures. It stood to reason that the dragons could very well need magic in order to resurrect this time.
The Keepers had known magic back when the dragons lived, but far too much of their lore and doctrine had been last despite their best efforts to keep meticulous records of every detail of the dragons’ lives and their required upkeep and attention.
Some of that was because of the Great Fire. The very first occasion when a dragon died for the first time caused the dragon, upon his resurrection, to incinerate the Keepers’ Library. Many scrolls were lost, their contents rewritten but not entirely. The first Keepers had memorized every bit of their lore as they documented for posterity. The next several generations memorized the details as well as expanded on the wealth of knowledge. Over time, however, as humans were wont to do, the Keepers began to rely on the texts far too much instead of committing them to memory, and when there had been a second Great Fire after two of the dragons had been killed in short succession, well, they had not been able to recover as much information as they should have been. Unfortunately, any details and specifics concerning what exactly happened before, during, and immediately after a dragon resurrected him or herself had been lost forever.
“Unless we can somehow help the dragons to resurrect themselves one last time.”
Garsea was in his room, and he crossed over to the window, peering out without truly seeing anything. Lately, the walls of the monastery had grown to feel like a prison, one from which Garsea could never hope to escape.
The moon had risen, and Garsea should have retired for the night long ago. Lately, his rest had been troubled. He woke every morning feeling terribly anxious, though he could not recall any dreams.
Or nightmares.
Although he knew he would wake feeling as if he had not rested at all, Garsea stripped out of his robes and into a light tunic for sleeping. He washed his face and leisurely meandered to his bed. For a long while, he stared at the ceiling until eventually, his eyelids grew heavy, and he succumbed to sleep after all.
A faint mist rolled into Garsea’s room. As the minutes passed, the mist grew thicker and thicker until Garsea could hardly see. He could hear nothing at all save for the beating of his hearting, and he struggled to breathe slowly, to hear anything else. If something were coming for him, he would rather be prepared.
Why would he worry that something should come for him here? The monastery was perhaps the safest building in all of Dragoona. Was he even in the monastery, though? He was standing, no longer in the bed, and as he glanced around, although he could not see more clearly, he could now hear the faint symphony of nocturnal insects.
Somehow, he was out of doors. Still in the city of Olac? In Kiamur Jungle? Somewhere else entirely?
A faint voice sounded from the sky. “The Lady will change the realm. Dragoona will be forever altered once she ascends to her destiny. The Lady will come and soon. The time is near.”
The ground Garsea stood on parted beneath his feet, giving way, and he fell. Although he should be terrified, worried he would not survive the freefall, if the plummet indeed had an end, but he felt only great joy.
For if the Lady were to come soon, then all would change.
Garsea woke with a start and, with a groan, sat up. The dragons three used to speak of a lady who would change the realm, perhaps for the better, perhaps for the worse. The dragons did not always speak plainly. In truth, the Lady’s full title was Lady of Light and Darkness.
The Keeper hoped and prayed that she would not be like her predecessor, and he, in truth, could not see how she could be. The Lord of Light and Darkness had proved to be the one to orchestrate the killing of the first dragon while his allies handled the second and the third simultaneously. Because of their actions, the realm had been doomed, blighted by war, battles, bloodshed, disease, death.
The Lady surely would bring about balance to the realm, right the wrongs of her predecessor.
And if the Lady came soon, as the dragon voiced in Garsea’s dream, well, then, the Keeper was all the more certain that the return of the dragons three must be nearly at hand.
No matter what the other Keepers said, one of them must journey through the Black Forest to Cilla, and Garsea vowed he would be the one to go.
27
Cateline Locke
The former princess of Tenoch Proper glowered at the guards from behind a bush. No matter the time of day or night that she sneaked away, guards were also there, ensuring none had access to the messenger birds, the birds Vivian so desperately needed. Rosalynne might already know that Marcellus Gallus considered himself a prince and his father Antonius fancied himself a king, but in case she did not… And that they planned on launching war against Tenoch!
All of her fury and rage, Vivian poured into her training, but she alone knew that she was striving to protect her homeland, that of Tenoch, rather than to fight alongside these females she trained with. In fact, if she could, Vivian would face them on the battlefield herself. At one time, Vivian had been jealous of her sister, wishing to have the crown. Now, all Vivian cared about was keeping the crown on the head of a Rivera.
How long had Vivian been here in Vincana, training, working hard? Her body shape was changing. Before, she had soft curves, decent weight, enough to show that she had wealth and never went without a solid meal, a figure men admired. Now, she had leaned out, the extra weight gone, replaced by muscles, and Vivian preferred her new shape. The stronger she became, the more she felt as if she could take on the world, take on Vincana, and save Tenoch all by herself.
Which was, of course, foolhardy and reckless thinking. Vivian only ever fancied these notions at night, as it was now. She had been certain that, by the light of the silvery moon, she could sneak away to the aviary. Whether or not any parchment and ink and quills were kept in the enclosure with the birds was another matter. Vivian had yet to see any scrolls in all of her time here.
She stood, but the guards did not look her way. Why would they? Vivian wore the same knee-length tunic or chilton that all Vincanans wore. The fabric hardly whispered at all, which made sneaking up on a person rather easy, especially since nearly all of Vincana was covered in sand rather than gravel or dirt.
While training, Vivian wore a linen undergarment beneath the chilton. Only recently had some of the newer female would-be warriors been granted leave to wear metal-stripped armor, including Vivian and her friend Caelia Buca. Aurelia Lupus had long since stopped telling Vivian that she might or might not continue to train her. Instead, her remarks were far more cutting, far more biting, borderline abuse, but Vivian did not mind. Aurelia was merely trying to train Vivian, to correct her. Vivian knew she was at a distinct disadvantage. The others had been raised around weapons since they could walk. Vivian had been a princess. She had held a bow before, so very long ago, when she had reprimanded Ulric Cooper for trying to train her brother. Now, she wished she could beg Ulric to forgive her. He had given Noll something she and so many others had failed to give her brother. Ulric had seen Noll as the prince and treated him as such regardless of his mental abilities. Ulric had allowed Noll to feel important and special.
Oh, Noll, if you can see me, if you have been watching me, are you proud of me? Or are you jealous and angry with me? I would not blame you in the slightest. I never wished for you to come to harm. I had been worried and fearful for your safety, but if you learn how to properly wield a blade, one is far safer when armed versus not.
The princess owed Ulric her very life, and if she did ever return to Tenoch, she would see to it that U
lric was properly trained and elevated to being one of Rosalynne’s guards. He deserved that and so much more.
Yet I owe him an apology as well. I might even be able to teach him a few pointers if he would be willing to learn from me.
Vivian blinked back tears as she slowly headed back toward the sandy shack where she and Caelia lived. Caelia was more convinced than ever that they both would one day become Valkyries. Vivian had learned to keep her doubts to herself. After all, her friend was so very pleased with their progress. Why should Vivian steal that away from her? But Vivian had heard nothing about the Valkyries or when the Vincanans would be sailing for war. This alone gave Vivian some measure of hope yet. Would it be ideal for her to attempt to join the ranks of the Valkyries and so be assured a place on a ship back to Tenoch? What if she could not find a means to escape? What if one of the women she trained with speared her in the back for deserting before Vivian could come close to her castle? What if…
Vivian hesitated a few sand dunes away from the shack. Someone or someones were out and about at this late hour. She wasn’t the only one.
The former princess slipped behind the nearest Cypress tree and inhaled deeply, holding her breath, listening hard.
“It does not matter if she lives or not,” a female said. “She has no army, and we have the best in all of the land.”
She who? Rosalynne? Surely nothing had happened to Vivian’s sister! She could scarcely believe that the populous at large on Vincana would be kept ignorant of the fact that their enemy had been killed. They must be speaking of another.
“Are we even certain that there was a princess?” another female asked.
“Not many know this, Aurelia, but Jankin Rivera wasn’t the only one who thought the Lis had no business being the royal family. Vincana had our own spies there. We thought about trying to take over then, but Jankin’s brute force in having the royal family slaughtered… We didn’t dare rise up against him. What kind of man would kill a woman so shortly after giving birth?”