by Nathan Roden
Lamont looked down at the ground.
“I cannot reconcile myself to hearing such noble words from the mouth of a beast. They say that you take human form for one day—at the full moon.”
Simon said nothing.
Lamont stared up at him.
“I would very much like to look you in the eye when you are a man.”
“My heart is the same regardless of the skin I wear. And so is my mind.”
“I believe that,” Lamont said. He turned aside.
“I cannot help you. I would very much like to see the wretched curse broken, but there is much at stake. I have too much to risk.”
“I understand, My Lord,” Simon said.
“Thank you, again, Simon Morgen—Simon Smyth.”
“I hid her eyes from pain, My Lord. Nothing more.”
“No. You have given her the one thing that no one else can.
“Hope.”
“We have to go, Jaclyn,” Lamont said. “Others will be coming.”
“When will I see you again, Simon?” Jaclyn asked.
Nicolas Lamont grabbed the reins of his and Jaclyn’s horses. He waited to hear Simon’s answer.
“Your father is right. I…I should not have come here today. It is too danger—”
Jaclyn threw her arms around the dragon.
“I will never know another day without danger. I do not need an answer. I will see you again.”
“Yes, my Queen,” Simon bowed.
Lamont and Jaclyn mounted their horses and galloped up the King’s Road, back toward the village and the castle beyond.
Simon took to the sky in the opposite direction.
The woman craned her neck and watched Simon disappear over the forest.
“What an amazing day,” Magdalena whispered to herself.
She walked several paces toward the village. She saw a horse from the King’s stable grazing beside the road. She tied up its reins so that they could not become tangled in the branches.
And then she leaned over and placed her hands on the ground.
Lady Magdalena, in the body of a wolf, ran for home.
Twenty-Seven
“Boy!” Sterling growled.
“Yes, My Lord,” the servant boy bowed his head.
Sterling sat in the Council chamber of Morgenwraithe castle. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The chair was designated for the king during official assembly, but Sterling took great pleasure in making it his own. He dared anyone to object. Sterling had never dared to sit upon the actual throne, but many people noted the lustful look in his eye whenever he entered the throne room.
“Fetch the Captain of the Guard!” Sterling barked at the boy.
“Do not return without him—and no less than three flasks of good wine. And bring one more taster with you. Make haste!”
The boy scurried away.
Raynard walked into the Council room and fell into a chair. He winced and stood. He loosened his sword belt and let his sword clatter to the floor.
“You seem quite tired, my friend,” Sterling smirked.
“Tired? After overseeing the transport of a stubborn, old dragon for twenty miles? I should think so.”
Raynard snatched a flask of wine from the servant boy’s hand.
Sterling leaped up and grabbed it from Raynard’s hand.
“Do not allow fatigue to cloud good judgment, Captain. Boy! Taste the wine—both of you!”
The two servant boys poured small amounts of wine into cups. They sipped the wine.
“Empty them! Drink them down!” Sterling yelled. “Act as if you may actually become men one day!”
The boys emptied the cups and stood nervously as Sterling and Raynard observed them.
“Ah, it is a good day,” Sterling said. “Everyone lives. Now, get out!”
The boys were happy to do so.
“So, the Boy-King is now a ferocious dragon-slayer!” Raynard said as he massaged his temples. “That was not exactly your intended outcome, was it?”
Sterling leaned forward.
“Of course, not, you fool! And keep your voice down!”
Raynard dismissed Sterling’s concern with a wave of his hand.
“What or whom do you have to fear, Sterling?”
Sterling leaned back and took a drink.
“Two years. Two years until his seventeenth name day, and the dissolution of my position as Regent. That is not my fear. That is my immediate concern.”
Raynard picked up his sword from the floor. He pulled it from its scabbard and held it before him. He sighted its edge.
“If only there was a simple solution…” he said.
“Bah!" Sterling slapped the table. “He is the last of the bloodline. If he dies, the throne goes to Lamont. We certainly cannot allow that to happen.”
“Would that be so bad?” Raynard asked. “With Lamont here at Morgenwraithe, we could take complete control of Islemar. We could demand even more tariffs from the merchant captains. We could double our take! What choice would they have?”
“Your thinking is small—and short-sighted,” Sterling growled.
“You do not remain in power with mere riches. You must have the power to keep your riches, and that is done through the spread of fear. A rich man cannot protect his wealth from the poor masses by having more riches. He protects his wealth by controlling the King’s Guard and army.”
“We may have to use that army, if the rumors of malcontent in the Southlands continue to reach my ears,” Raynard said. “We have sent nothing there from the ships for most of a year. I do not feel bound to honor our treaty with those heathens any more than you do, but I do fear an uprising. Perhaps if we demand ten percent more from the merchants, we could appease the South—”
“Are you really that stupid?” Sterling said. “Lamont knows nothing about what we take from his merchant ships. The captains hold their tongues because I threaten to cut them out. Lamont is held in high regard—perhaps the most respected man in the realm. If he were King, I would be arrested and beheaded. And you would be next.
“Lucien must live. For now.”
“Lucien fears you,” Raynard said. “So, in two years, you are no longer Regent. Why does anything change after that day?”
“Let me ask you, Captain of the Guard.” Sterling said.
“If two years from today, your seventeen-year-old King tells you to plunge your sword into my heart, what will you do?”
Raynard stared at Sterling.
Sterling slapped the table again.
“That—is precisely what will change two years from now!”
“Then what is the solution?” Raynard asked.
Sterling stood and paced the floor.
“Yes, there have been reports of grumblings from the south. But none of the spies I have sent there report any talk of a revolt. And for the most part, the different villages do not even trust each other. This is no environment in which to organize an army! I have sent word to them that we have suffered losses from storms and such.”
“They will only believe these stories for so long,” Raynard said.
“You said it yourself—they are heathens,” Sterling said. “What would they use to attack us? Their women and children—armed with sticks and rocks? They would not get past the first line at our border! I have stationed a line of archers there, and the passage is lined with snares. I lose no sleep over the Southlands or its people.”
“But you lose sleep over the King’s seventeenth name day,” Raynard said.
“The solution to that would be simple indeed,” Sterling said. “Except that the womb of the Queen remains empty.”
“Why does that matter?” Raynard asked.
Sterling smiled. A wicked smile.
And Raynard understood what Sterling meant.
“If Lucien has an heir. A living heir…”
Sterling smiled.
“The Kingdom could have need of its Regent for seventeen more years.”
Twenty-
Eight
Magdalena stopped when she neared her front door. She sniffed the air.
There was someone inside her home.
She transformed back into human form and pushed her door open. She stepped inside.
“Your Grace,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Lucien stood up from the chair. Magdalena looked around the room.
“Surely, you are not alone. You have never been alone in any room other than a privy in your entire life!”
“It is time for that to change,” Lucien said.
“Ah, the ever-important fifteenth name day! How silly of me to forget. I am not so certain that Lord Sterling will be thrilled by this new development.”
“Sterling need not know everything, My Lady. And he cannot be everywhere.”
“But, unfortunately, his eyes and ears can be,” Magdalena said.
“Does this include yours?”
“It does not.”
“Where have you been?”
“That is none of your concern,” Magdalena said.
“I am only the King. Please, tell me more about the things that are not my concern.”
Magdalena stepped across the room. She filled a cup from a pitcher of water.
“Would you care for a drink, Your Grace?”
“No.”
“You were present, my King, at my inquisition before the Royal Council. You must know the futility of threatening me.”
“I have been told my entire life, that no magic can be used against the throne of Morgenwraithe,” Lucien said. “Is this true?”
“It has been true since—”
Lucien gripped his heavy gloves in his right hand. He swung them hard against Magdalena’s cheek.
She stared at the floor and watched her blood drip at her feet.
“Lord Sterling has taught you well—”
Lucien dropped the gloves and grabbed Magdalena by the throat.
“If your magic would work against me,” Lucien said, “I dare say my sleeve would be on fire right now.”
Lucien continued to squeeze until the color drained from Magdalena’s face. Her eyelids fluttered. Lucien let go.
Magdalena fell against the wall, gasping for air. She coughed.
“What do you want from me?” she croaked.
“It is not a matter of what I want. It is what I demand!” Lucien said.
“An ally.”
“Ally?” Magdalena laughed. “How could I be more of an ally than I have already been? I cursed your brother and made you King! At what time have I failed to be your—”
“Whoever said I wished to be King?” Lucien screamed. “The people do not love me. They do not respect me. They only fear me—because my uncle is the spawn of hell!
The room fell silent.
“Lucien,” Magdalena said, “what do you want from me?”
Lucien blew out a breath.
“I will never be a warrior. I will never lead my armies into battle. And I most assuredly cannot fight on two fronts.”
“I do not understand,” Magdalena said.
Lucien looked away.
“The law respects the authority of the King’s regent until the King’s seventeenth name day. Two more long years I remain under Sterling’s thumb.”
“Why does this concern you?” Magdalena asked.
“Perhaps it is only a feeling,” Lucien said. “But I can think of little else of late.”
“What does the dragon have to do with—?”
“Is it true?” Lucien asked. “What you said before the Council? That there is no way to know what would become of the dragon should you be…should you…die?”
Magdalena glared at Lucien, and then she dropped her eyes.
“After your mother proposed her plan to avenge herself, I sought the help of an old and half-mad potion-master. Two days after I invoked the curse, the old man fell dead.”
“You never thought to inquire about the possibility of the curse being broken?” Lucien snapped.
“I was halfway mad with rage myself at the time! I did not expect to live for long after what we had done.”
“And yet, you have not only lived—but you are the only person in the realm that Sterling holds no power over!”
“Why do you concern yourself with your brother? With each passing year, he becomes less human, and more animal. Why do you not simply ignore him?”
“Do you think I am not aware of the peoples’ whispers? Of how I am nothing more than Sterling’s puppet? And that many people wonder if your curse cheated them out of their true King?”
“You heard the true thoughts of the people today—inside the arena,” Magdalena said. “Few people have forgotten the days of terror—when dragons filled our skies. Their legend grows even more terrible in their absence! A young mother may have never seen a dragon in her lifetime, but when she hears the tales of a dragon stealing babies from their mother’s arms, they carry that fear with them always. Tales of burned homes and destroyed crops become even more terrifying when told by the light of a fire.
“Your mother devised the near perfect curse, Lucien. Who might have guessed that she could become so intensely jealous of your father’s love for your brother—?”
“Be silent!” Lucien screamed. “What makes you think I wish to hear your interpretation of our past?”
Magdalena bowed her head.
“Forgive me. I thought we were speaking in confidence.”
Lucien stared out the window.
“I fear him.”
“There is no shame in fearing such a deadly beast,” Magdalena said.
“I am not afraid of death—even by talon or fire,” Lucien said. “I fear Sterling because he has owned me since I was far too young to do anything about it. He has used his position as Regent to amass more power than I will ever have.”
“Then what is there to fear from Simon?” Magdalena asked.
Lucien turned to look at her.
“I fear him because of his goodness. I fear him because…because whatever happened to strip the madness from our bloodline began with him.”
Lucien turned away again.
“Simon was remarkable at an early age—but so was I. I was also a miserable child. I remember…hurting. My head always hurt. And my neck. But I was too young to tell anyone.
“I can remember as early as my third year—listening to the maids and servants as they whispered to one another. It never occurred to them I was listening and understanding their words. They spoke of Simon as though he was a god. Intelligent. Witty. Brilliant. Kind. Thoughtful. Delightful.
“They adored him. How could I ever convince myself that the people would not have loved him as their King?”
Lucien glared at Magdalena.
“But your splendid curse took care of that!”
“The curse gave you the throne.”
“I did not want it!”
Magdalena clutched at her heart. The words sounded like they came from a frightened child.
Because they had.
“Nevertheless, my King,” Magdalena whispered. “It is your fate, now. Perhaps Simon will accept his fate and stay far away from here. He can live to a ripe old—”
“He has to die,” Lucien said.
“You said yourself—he is intelligent,” Magdalena said. “He knows that—”
“He recently had his hand around your throat, if I remember your words correctly,” Lucien said. “He has a friend—an ally. One does not need an ally to hide in mountain caves.”
“Perhaps he—”
“Your speculation means nothing! He shadows the Kingdom because he seeks to break the damned curse!”
Magdalena reached out. She touched Lucien’s sleeve.
“You do not want the throne. What if…what if the curse was broken—?”
Lucien jerked his arm away.
“Are you mad? Your treachery cannot be undone, Witch! Even if the curse was broken and every citizen of the realm called for Simon to take
the throne—where would that leave me? Sterling would cut me into pieces!”
Magdalena shook her head.
“Simon cannot have any realistic hope of taking the throne, Your Grace. It is impossible. The sensible thing for him to do is what I have said. To stay far away.”
“He will not stay away,” Lucien said. “And he will never give up. Never.”
“How can you know such a thing?”
“Because I wouldn’t.”
Twenty-Nine
Boone watched as Simon approached the small clearing near their cave. Boone ran to meet him.
“I thought you would be fast asleep,” Simon said.
“Surely, you jest,” Boone said. “What happened? Did you see the Queen?”
“The Queen—and her father,” Simon said.
“Her fath—I swear that you have a death wish. Please, tell me you did not speak to them!”
“Well, her father and another soldier under his command held arrows pointed at my eyes, so I felt it the appropriate thing to do.”
“Is this story true?” Boone asked.
“Partially. The ‘arrows at the eyes’ part is most definitely true.”
“If I know you at all, that is the only reason you did not land here with the Queen on your back,” Boone said.
“The Queen did save my life today. It would only be fair of me to return the favor.”
“I was not aware that the Queen was in need of saving. Have they drastically limited her number of servants? Is the cushion on her throne too hard to bear?”
Simon snorted.