by N M Zoltack
Edmund’s heart skipped a beat. Was she helping the guards and knights because she wished to help him, to save him?
Out of sisterly love and concern, of course. Nothing more
“I will not die,” he said firmly. “The Fates gave you your intelligence, just as they gave me everything I needed to become a knight. I have to believe I have a greater purpose in life than to be killed during the war.”
“Just as I have to believe that my skills as an alchemist do not doom me to become cruel and evil.” Tatum blinked rapidly.
“You are nothing of the sort,” he assured her, closing his hands into fists so he wouldn’t reach out and touch her.
“But all of the others—”
“Curses are meant to be broken,” he said firmly.
Tatum beamed. “Edmund, you always know just what to say.”
She left a few moments later, and Edmund hung his head. He might know what to say at times, but his heart most certainly did not know how to feel, at least not in a brotherly way.
36
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
Finding Ulric had been as much luck as anything else. Rosalynne had been ready to start screaming his name when she had noticed several children looking at her in awe. Inspiration had seized her, and she asked them to keep an eye out for her friend, that she wished to find and surprise him. Several had led her closer, but the little girl she had first noticed admiring her had been the one to bring her directly to Ulric.
It was preposterous, truly, but she missed the man already with his dark, brooding eyes. He had been such a comfort to her, even though they had not been able to speak in person as of late. Ulric had sent Vivian off to safety, and he had befriended Noll as well. That connection bonded them.
Now, Rosalynne could not even send the former servant letters, and that alone caused her anxiety. She never did learn if Ulric would stay in Atlan or if he would flee, and with him gone, she felt isolated and alone all the more. In a way, he had come to be her last tie to her siblings, and now, she felt the loss of Noll and Vivian that much more keenly. If the Fates were kind, Vivian lived yet, but where in Dragoona was she? Had she any food? Shelter? Was she scared? Rosalynne could hardly imagine how she would fare for months away from the castle, and Vivian had been gone for… Rosalynne didn’t even want to calculate how long.
Rosalynne stood with a groan. For an hour now, she had been kneeling and praying before the Fate of Peace. Trying to pray would be far more apt. Rosalynne’s thoughts could not focus on any one of the organized prayers, although she did not pray any of those religiously. Truth be told, she should pray and more often and to each of the Fates in turn, but Rosalynne felt so disconnected from all aspects of life that she could hardly know what to pray for and from whom.
Tabes nipped at her heels, and she bent down to pet the dog. Noll’s companion did not often leave the room, although he would depart each night and find his way to her bed to sleep with her. Perhaps Tabes felt Noll’s presence here, although if true, that was grim indeed as Noll had only spent time here after he had been killed.
Murdered.
Not by Ulric.
It plagued her terribly that the killer remained free, even more than the growing threat of war. This only served to increase her guilt, which already was soaring to unprecedented levels. Her grief overwhelmed her, and she could hardly think how she could fix herself let alone all of Tenoch Proper.
The time for peace with Vincana—had it passed? Rosalynne had written so many letters to send to Marcellus, but she never sent a single one. She did not know what to write to his father, whom she had learned had proclaimed himself king. To make matters worse, this Antonius Gallus sought to make himself king of Vincana Proper! It was preposterous in its audacity, and yet, hadn’t her father done the same thing? Why hadn’t her father just named himself King of Dragoona? His wish to elevate Tenoch, his homeland, above all the other now united kingdoms had been a sign of arrogance and elitism the other lands hadn’t appreciated, Rosalynne was sure. She hadn’t thought about any of this before, and the realization that her father had been the perfect picture of superiority churned her stomach. After all, he had called himself king and crowned his wife and children. That alone proved it.
Tabes barked softly and then licked Rosalynne’s nose. She giggled softly.
“I wish you wouldn’t stay here so much,” she said. “Being alone isn’t any good for you or me. Has the vicar been feeding you enough? Are you hungry?”
The dog barked again.
“Come on. I’m sure we can find something for us both to eat.”
She straightened and headed for the door. Tabes remained where she had been standing, and she patted her thigh.
“Let’s go, Tabes, please. For Noll?”
Tabes wagged his tail and promptly sat. Oh, no, was he waiting for Noll now?
Rosalynne opened the door. "I'll bring you food if you don't come, but I hope you will."
She stepped into the hallway and waited. After a moment, Tabes peeked his head out the door, and Rosalynne scooped him into her arms.
“Oomph. The vicar must be feeding you. You aren’t so light anymore.”
The queen had only taken a few steps when she spied a man marching toward her with a determined look on his face.
Aldus Perez.
Rosalynne stood there, waiting for his approach. To her surprise, Tabes rested comfortably in her arms instead of wriggling free.
“My Queen.” Aldus bowed deeply.
“My most incompetent advisor,” she said.
He stiffened, meeting her gaze. “My Queen, I—”
“Your plan to hide the true murderer has failed because Ulric Cooper was not guilty, was he?”
“Who would run but a guilty—”
"Even an innocent man would run if given a chance," she said. "If you were innocent, would you stick around on principle even if that meant you would be beheaded for a crime you did not commit?"
“No man is truly innocent.”
“Should you be charged with a crime then?” Her scowl caused her teeth to ache.
“Not all men know when they should stop,” he said.
“With their words?”
“Or with eating.”
Rosalynne bristled, the hair on the back of her neck rising. Was he referring to her father and his large girth?
“True enough, I suppose,” she said slowly.
Her mind raced, and she struggled to think, to remember… When had her father started to overindulge?
After Vivian had been born. After her mother had died.
After he had named Aldus Perez his main advisor. Aldus had not been his counselor at first. Another had, a man Rosalynne could not recall. All she could remember was that he had white hair, so perhaps the first advisor had died from old age.
“All men and women have vices, weaknesses,” Rosalynne said.
“That is true enough.
Her anger grew. How had she been so ignorant and foolish? For a time, she had thought Aldus Perez lacking ambition, as he had seemed loyal enough, but he had merely been playing her and most likely Sabine as well.
“And it takes a man with no heart or soul to encourage a man to repeatedly give into his vice,” she said through clenched teeth, unable to hide her growing fury.
“My Queen, I do not know what you mean to suggest—”
“Do not play me, Aldus. Admit what you did now, or else I will have my guards…” She nodded to Wilfrid and Bernard, who remained lingering by the doors of the chapel. Rosalynne had asked them to remain there so she might pray in peace. Had she continued on her way to the kitchens as originally planned, they would have fallen into step behind her. “They will help to loosen your tongue.”
“My Queen—”
“You have the tongue of a viper,” she said.
“You seem to think I am guilty—”
“As you are or do you deny that you were the one who pushed my father to eat and eat and eat and caused
him to become a glutton?”
“He was the one to eat the food. I never forced it down his throat.”
“No, but you make certain food was available in every room he was in, did you not? Until he eventually he was so used to his gluttonous ways that he no longer required your prompting.”
Aldus was silent.
“Do you deny the charge?” she spat out.
“I may have—”
“There is no may or may not. You did this.”
Aldus, who always was talking, was silent for once, which was most telling.
“For your crimes, you will take Ulric Cooper’s cell—”
“My Queen!” Vicar Albert Leeson rushed toward them as swiftly as his stooped back would allow. “My Queen! I have been looking for you and the other.”
“What is it?” Rosalynne asked a tad bit sharper than the vicar deserved.
“Ships have been spotted.”
He did not have to distinguish them as Vincanan as that detail was understood.
“Where are the ships?” she asked.
“Far off yet but closing in fast.”
Rosalynne nodded. “Thank you.” She turned to her former advisor. “Do not think this absolves you. We will speak more of this later.”
She took one step, and Tabes wiggled out of her arms and fled back to the safety of the chapel. The queen was never more envious of that dog than she was in that precise moment.
37
Queen Sabine Grantham
The council room was filled with one discernable absence. Aldus Perez was missing, a fact that irked Sabine greatly. Was he speaking with the other queen? Concerning what? No, it would be best for Sabine to ignore the man if he insisted on truly advising Rosalynne as well as herself. He could not serve them both, and Sabine’s faith in the man was waning some. Why exactly she could not say, and perhaps it was her own insecurities coming out, but something had changed, whether deserved or not.
Cricket Woodham was eyeing the cheese rolls filled with nuts, honey, or vegetables. He already had several, but he never turned down an opportunity to eat even though he remained rail-thin. Perhaps he did not eat often enough at home? But then again, he was a wealthy, self-made man who never had to worry about purchasing his meals. He was her treasurer.
Beside him was Emerson Fenne, a muscular man, the constable who lorded over the knights. His shoulders were so broad he took up the space of one and a half chairs.
Wystan Bartone was in charge of the peasants. After Crickey Woodham, Wystan was the most influential of all of the peasants. He was a craftsman who had garnered the respect of his peers and even the crown.
Although unconventional, Sabine had appointed a woman, Brid Donocani, to be her justiciar, the one who presided over the court and any judiciary matters.
The only other woman beside Sabine’s mother was Irmela Fiedlerg, the duchess in charge of the nobles. Most duchesses were named such because of their husbands, but that was not the case for Irmela.
Sabine shifted her gaze back to Emerson Fenne. “How ready are the knights?”
“As ready as they can be, My Queen.”
“Hmm.” She did not quite like the sound of that. “Have we enough arrows?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Have the barrels we will use to light the tips of the arrows been placed all along the coastline as I directed?”
“Yes.”
“Have more barrels laid out and order more arrows. We will need them not only for the beach but also back here at the castle.”
“They will not reach the castle,” Emerson Fenne protested.
“It would be foolish to assume that we are safe here,” she said wearily.
“But of course.”
“What of barrels filled with oil here in the castle?” Greta cut in smoothly.
Sabine winced. Her mother did not truly have a position on the council, no title as such, and more times than not, Sabine called the council without first notifying her mother.
“Heated oil poured over the side of the castle walls will—”
Sabine grinned as Emerson cut off her mother. “It will be done. You do not have to fret.”
“So it hasn’t already been prepared,” Greta said, eyeing Sabine. She pursed her lips, causing faint lines to appear deeper, and shook her head.
Sabine fumed. “Emerson, what of the claim from some of the knights that the weapons—”
The door burst open, and Sabine was even more incensed to see Rosalynne there. The younger queen’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with alarm.
“Have you not heard?” she asked breathlessly. “Ships have been sighted. We are not certain how long until they reach the shore, but the archers must be moved into position.”
Sabine rose swiftly, irritated all the more that her council had dissolved into a group of chattering men and women. “Please, everyone,” Sabine said firmly. “We suspected this moment would happen. Have we not prepared for this?”
“We’ve certainly spent the coin for our preparations,” Cricket Woodham muttered.
“We are ready,” Emerson Fenne said. “I should go—”
“Wait,” Sabine snipped. “I asked you all here for a reason, and I have not finished discussing one matter that now needs to be decided immediately. Will everyone sit a moment?”
She waited until Emerson, the only one standing, reclaimed his seat.
“Thank you. Now, I know of an alchemist who has a store near the marketplace. Would it not be prudent to make use of any and all enhancements that our archers and knights can take from her elixirs and potions?”
“Her?” Irmela Fiedlerg asked.
“A female alchemist?” Brid Donocani inquired. “Why was I not informed of this?”
“Has she committed a crime?” Sabine asked haughtily. “Not that any of us is aware of, and she can help us, or so I believe. Does anyone else concur?”
“I-I suppose,” Cricket Woodham said.
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Emerson Fenne cut in.
Sabine sighed and closed her eyes briefly.
“Waiting here is killing time,” Emerson added. “I must go before we are the ones to be killed next.”
The queen’s eyes opened, and her gaze landed on Rosalynne. The younger queen wasn’t saying a word, deferring to Sabine.
The one time when our showing a united front would be preferable to this.
Because chaos had descended once again.
“Please, can we not discuss this matter?” Sabine tried.
But they would not listen.
“First, we need to line up the archers, or… Should we prepare some of the ships? Would the privateers be a better line of defense? Emerson, please, listen to me. We must act now and quickly or else…”
Sabine longed to scream, to lash out, to wail. These fools were going to cause them all to die. Although she had summoned her council numerous times before now to try to formulate a plan of action for once the enemy arrived, none of them seemed overly concerned. They hadn’t seen the hatred in Marcellus’s dark eyes.
For a long, terse moment, Sabine tried to silence her council members, but they would not listen, perhaps unable to hear her above their own frantic speeches.
Greta slammed her palms against the table and stood. Immediately, a hush fell over the room. “Enough! We each of us have our roles. Let us fulfill them with honor, dignity, and grace.”
And that was all she had to say. The council members nodded to her, even deferred to her.
“Cricket, go and gather whatever coin we will need to purchase from the alchemist,” Greta continued. “Emerson, you will have whichever of your men who abide magic to drink. Wystan, handle the peasants—”
“No,” Sabine said. “Purchase every last potion that the alchemist has on her shelves. Give them to every knight you have—”
“The ones who do not wish for the elixirs will revolt,” Greta argued. “Do not give them that option. Their lives will be threatened
as it is. We should not take—”
“We need them to survive, to fight, to live. Their best chance is to have their own natural abilities enhanced,” Sabine countered.
Greta ignored her. “Irmela, keep the nobles out of the way, and Brid—if need be, arrest and even execute any traitors on the spot.”
To Sabine’s horror, her council stood, intend on filing out of the room to do as the queen’s mother said instead of the queen herself.
Sabine cleared her throat. “The privateers should be sent out first—”
“They should have been already in their ships and on the waters if you had wished to go that route,” Greta snapped. “How incompetent are you?”
Sabine ground her teeth and merely waved on her councilmen and women.
But her mother, her mother… Greta had just sat on her last council meeting. Clashes behind doors were one matter, but for her mother to dare call Sabine incompetent and in front of her own council! Rosalynne too. That was unforgivable.
38
Garsea
Clothes, some books, as much food as he could carry… Was there anything else he might need for this trek?
Besides his fellow Keepers’ approval? Which he most certainly was not going to gain.
With a sigh, Garsea adjusted his robe and departed his chambers. He located Ximeno pouring over some scrolls and waved the younger Keeper to follow him. In another area of the monastery, another library of sorts, they found Velasco.
The youngest Keeper curled his lips downward into a tight frown. “If you’re gathering us all together,” Velasco said, “you can’t possibly have anything good to say.”
“Perhaps not,” Ximeno argued. “Let him speak his mind.”
“He will regardless of whether we wish to hear his thoughts vocalized or not,” Velasco grumbled.
“Why are you always so bothered by everything?” Ximeno demanded.
“Why? Why not? We have devoted our entire lives to the dragons three, and they have been dead for nearly fifteen hundred years. Why are we clinging to the belief that the dragons will return? If they could have, they would have resurrected themselves already.”