by N M Zoltack
That knight had no class or honor at all. Unfortunately, Edmund knew there were many like Cynbel. Honestly, it might be a good thing that no dragons still breathed fire as how many of those who lived and walked the earth would fall before their judgment?
In the end, Edmund advanced three rounds before falling to Sir Lothar Groves, a most admirable foe. Lothar was more experienced by far and had won a tournament before. Even Lothar did not win, however, as that honor went to Bjorn Ivano. Edmund wasn’t even certain if Bjorn was a knight. The young man hailed from up north somewhere.
What shocked Edmund the most was the man who had lost to Bjorn had been a squire. Radulf something or other. Edmund hadn’t learned the young man’s name.
Edmund had thought about attending the ball to celebrate Bjorn’s victory, but before the herald could announce him, Edmund spied Cynbel. Edmund had hoped the soured knight would be nursing his wounded ego far from the crowd.
The herald asked for Edmund’s name, but Edmund shook his head. He had done well enough during his first tournament, but he would have to do better next time. Instead of heading to the barracks to rest, Edmund made the trek over to the training grounds, a place he had not returned since being knighted. There, he trained despite his aching muscles. He should train a few times a week. The future was uncertain, and one could never be too prepared for whatever might occur.
43
Princess Vivian Rivera
After the tourney, there was a ball. Vivian was thrilled. She had always enjoyed dancing ever since she was a little girl. The gown she wore was a deep red color. She had not bothered with any necklaces that night. The queen wore them every day, even to break her morning fast, and even Vivian thought that ridiculous. There was no need to parade around like that.
Of course, there were no other royals within Tenoch Proper, only the Riveras. There were other rich families and nobles, and so Vivian danced with many of the sons.
Vivian knew better than to do more than dance and smile and talk some. She would not dare risk her heart. Her sister would have to wed first before Vivian could even think about taking a suitor.
At fifteen, Vivian wasn’t sure that she was ready to marry yet anyhow. She was more than happy with her life. Well, mostly happy. Every so often, she would think of Bates. The little boy had only been in her life for a few short months before he had departed the world, but he had still impacted her.
Noll, at least, seemed to be happier. She had noticed halfway through the tournament that he was no longer beside her, and she had feared he would be sullen and miserable or worse, that he would not even come to the ball. Here he was, talking to… who was that man he was talking to? If Vivian was correct, he was talking to a servant. Oh, well. As long as Noll was happy, Vivian was happy too.
A tall man with red hair, blue eyes, and a splattering of freckles approached Vivian. She did not know who he was.
“May I have this dance?” he asked.
She smiled at him. “May I know your name?”
His smile faltered. “Walter Harper,” he said in a rush.
A peasant. Her eyes widened in shock. Her gaze traveled over his appearance. He wore nice enough clothes that he could and clearly had passed as a lower nobleman’s son.
“You can leave,” she said curtly.
Walter hung his head. “I will. I’m sorry. It’s only that I wanted to see… The tourney is open to all, and I know the ball isn’t, but I just… I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
He backed up, bowed, backed up some more, bowed again, and backed up this time into a couple. Walter whirled around to apologize to them and fled the room.
Vivian shook her head. Maybe she should have given him one dance, but then he would have told his friends. They would have tried to infiltrate the next ball, and it would have been a disaster. No, this was the only way. It was not cruel. It was the way of the world. She was a princess. He was not near her level.
I’m only a princess because of what my father did.
The thought was most decidedly unbidden and unwelcome.
Although it was not exactly proper, Vivian approached a boy that she knew belonged to a rich family. He stammered when he saw her, his face turning a bright red shade from his embarrassment, and she guided him into a dance. The boy was so flustered that he did not even take the lead over.
Sighing, Vivian did not grant him a second dance. No. He did not deserve one, but at least that dance had helped to preoccupy her mind.
Next, she danced with Radulf, the fourteen-year-old squire. He was younger than her by a year, but at least he would be a knight and most likely soon. He had fallen to the champion of the tourney, Bjorn Ivano.
The squire was not quite as fluid on the dance floor as he had been on the battlefield, but he was charming enough. He was handsome with slicked-back black hair and dark eyes. He was about her height. His nose turned up at the end, and his smile was nice enough.
When the song ended, he asked, “Can we dance again?”
Vivian nodded, too breathless to voice an affirmative. They danced, and then she danced with several different noble sons. Her feet felt as if she were lighter than air.
Eventually, she made her way closer to where a second set of thrones had been added to the ballroom. The king’s grand throne was empty. Her father had not even come down to witness the tournament. Vivian did not understand that. The tournament was for him and Sabine.
The queen sat on her throne. Several men would approach her from time to time, but she declined all requests for dances. As Vivian had suspected, she wore not one but two necklaces, and her ear bobs were so heavy that they pulled down on her ears.
Vivian’s stomach felt rather empty. She had been dancing for hours, and she needed some food if she were to continue. Most certainly did she want to dance more. She was often the last one to be dancing at balls.
Along either of the side walls were tables filled with food and drink. Servants were bringing around appetizers as well. Vivian helped herself to some fruits, breads, and cheeses and munched daintily as she eyed the crowd.
So many happy, smiling faces. So many conversations and laughs. This was the peace her father had fought for. This was exactly what the kingdom needed.
The more Vivian watched, the more she realized something. None of the other islanders had come. No one from Vincana or Xalac or Zola or Tiapan. Why not? Had they declined the invitations? Had they not been invited in the first place? Why not?
Vivian scanned the masses again, this time searching for her sister. She would know the answer. Eventually, she located Rosalynne. She was dancing with a tall, muscular man. When he turned around so Vivian could see her face, she gasped. Her sister was dancing with the tourney winner Bjorn Ivano!
Before Vivian could approach the couple, Rosalynne excused herself and walked away. How curious. The song had not finished. No matter. Vivian would see if the tourney winner would care to dance with the younger princess instead.
44
Princess Rosalynne Rivera
Rosalynne’s head had been everywhere. She could not stop thinking about what was to come next. Hopefully the people were not eating too much. The feast in Bjorn Ivano’s honor would take place in an hour, and she had to make certain that all of the preparations were ready for the feast.
As luck would have it, she was dancing with none other than Bjorn Ivano himself when she realized her father had not come down for the ball. Hopefully the man from Maloyan would not see this as a slight as she excused herself. He was both strong and valiant. Hopefully, he would be willing to dance with her later if she could return to the ball before the feast. If not, she would see him there. The champion was to sit with the royals after all.
Princess Rosalynne darted out of the ballroom and made her way up the stairs and to her father’s quarters. The guards immediately bowed to her and opened the door. She nodded to them. Whenever she remembered, Rosalynne tried to be courteous to the guards and servants and maids. They were all paid wor
kers, but that did not mean they did not deserve her respect and appreciation.
Her father was resting in bed, and she suppressed a groan. If he had not even moved to his settee, what made her think he would be willing to move down to the dining hall for the feast?
Still, she would do her best to convince him to come.
“Hello, Father,” she said warmly. “The tourney is over. The ball nearly is as well. A man from Maloyan won. I do believe you would have been impressed with his skill. He was rather fierce. One of Atlan’s own squires was the last to fall. Atlan nearly won! Isn’t that wonderful.”
Her father eyed her and sighed. “Wonderful,” he repeated dully.
She grimaced. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
“I always am,” he said. “I could go for some cheese and bread actually.”
“Certainly, there will be cheese and bread and much more down below at the feast. You will come, won’t you?”
“I do not think—”
“I do not think it would be a good look if the king does not congratulate the winner of his tournament,” Rosalynne said critically. She could not help her frustration and her anger. He was the king. She was not the ruler. When would he realize that Tenoch Proper needed him? That his family needed him?
The king flared his nostrils but said nothing.
“It is bad enough that the king did not witness his tournament,” Rosalynne said through gritted teeth.
Her father sighed and waved his hand. “I suppose I will come down.”
Rosalynne clapped her hands. “Wonderful!”
“You and Noll.” He shook his head.
“Forgive my ignorance,” she said, confused. “Noll and I have done what exactly?”
“Do not worry about it. Go on. Return to the ball. Dance and enjoy yourself.”
Rosalynne turned to the door but hesitated before she could leave. “Do you promise you will come down?”
“I will be there. I won’t be smiling, but I will be there.”
She giggled. “I did not ask for a smile.”
“Wise girl.”
Smiling broadly, Rosalynne returned to the ball. It had ended earlier than she expected, and she made her way to the dining hall. Already, most of the seats had been claimed, and she smiled and nodded and waved as she crossed over to the head table where the royals sat on a dais.
Her siblings were already there as was the queen. Bjorn Ivano joined them a moment later. All of them turned to the sole vacant seat.
Just then, a guard shouted for all to hear, above the din and chatter and laughs of those gathered, “I am pleased to say the King of Tenoch Proper is on his way!”
Everyone turned to the front most doors. Six guards carried a litter that held the king. With their aid, they brought him to the table. Slowly, they lowered the litter to the ground and helped the king to his feet. Slowly, the king sat in his seat beside his wife.
Rosalynne almost clapped again. Several of the nobles did, cheering for their king. The rarer his appearances, the more the people embraced him.
The king cleared his throat. A silence rolled over the crowd faster than storms came in the spring.
Although it would have been better if the king had done so while standing, he addressed the crowd from his seat.
“The tournament has ended, but the festivities have not. Tonight, we feast. Let us eat.”
Rosalynne grimaced and shot Bjorn a sympathetic look. With his short dark-brown hair, sharp nose, piercing eyes, thick lips, and strong jawline, he looked very stoic as he nodded to her.
The king was served first choice of every morsel of food. Once his plate was filled, the others were given options. The king ate as the others were claiming food. Once he had consumed half of his meal, the king once again silenced the crowd.
“We are gathered to celebrate not only my wedding to Sabine but also for the tournament winner.”
The king gestured for Bjorn to stand. The man did so. Even that movement was fluid and graceful. He reminded Rosalynne of a cat.
“Congratulations…” Her father paused.
Oh, no. Had he forgotten his name? Rosalynne tried to mouth it when she realized something terrible.
Just as with Bates, her father’s chest was not rising and falling. Given his size, his every breath was exaggerated, and the absence was profound.
Her father was not breathing. Rosalynne could hardly think or react at all. It was Sabine who screamed first. A rush of people swarmed their table, trying to help him, and all Rosalynne could do was sit there.
Noll reached over and held her hand. She barely held his, too confused and shocked by these events to react to anything.
No. By the Fates, no. No! Not her father too!
45
Prince Noll Rivera
Noll hadn’t eaten one morsel at the feast before his father had stopped breathing. The same guards from earlier dragged the king back onto the litter, and they lifted him away. Noll and his siblings followed, although Sabine led their entourage.
Only the queen was permitted entry. Rosalynne’s face had turned almost purple when the guards refused to allow her entry.
One of the apothecaries approached and explained they could not have too many persons inside.
“Why her then?” Rosalynne snapped, her eyes flashing with anger.
“She is his wife.”
“She is not truly,” Rosalynne declared.
If the apothecary was shocked by her words, he did not react. “Be that as it may, she is allowed in, and I am afraid you are not.”
Rosalynne whirled around. “Come on, Vivian. We must try to salvage the feast.”
“But the feast is for them,” Vivian protested.
“And for Bjorn,” Rosalynne said. “Besides, we have way too much food prepared that would otherwise go to waste.”
“But, Father…”
“There is nothing we can do for him,” Rosalynne said softly. “I wish to be here too, but we can’t, and so, we must attend our duty.”
Vivian nodded.
Noll coughed to get their attention. “I’ll stay. Let me go get Tabes. We’ll wait here. As soon as I learn anything, I’ll find you.”
Vivian flung herself into his arms and hugged him tightly. He had only just started to return her hug when Rosalynne embraced them both. Noll could almost cry. He felt how scared they were. He was scared too. He felt how much they loved him. He loved them too. It was a powerful hug, and he wished they could hug their father like this.
But the hug was already over, and his sisters were walking away.
Noll dashed to his room, fetched his puppy, who had been gnawing on one of Noll’s shoes, and brought him back to the king’s quarters. The guards there gave Noll a sympathetic nod.
Noll hated that look. He wanted his father to be all right. Noll wanted to see smiles and hear laughs. He wanted to return to the feast and smell and taste all of the food. Instead, all he could do was feel his puppy’s soft fur as he tried to calm both Tabes and himself.
Minutes trickled by. Maybe even an hour. Maybe it only felt that long. Noll wasn’t sure. He had been pacing most of the time because he couldn’t handle sitting still. The floor was so cold and hard beneath his rump.
A thought came to Noll, and he nearly cried. He hated himself for thinking it, but he couldn’t help himself. The king had wanted nothing to do with Bates, and Bates had died. Now, the king might well be dying himself.
Noll wept then. He was a terrible, horrible son. How could he think such things?
Just then, the door opened. The apothecary who had spoken to them earlier stood there. He shook his head and appraised Noll.
Noll hung his head and cried that much harder. The king had died. His father was dead. His mother. His brother Bates. So much death. So much heartache. So much pain.
What had happened to peace? This was not peace. This was madness.
No. This was chaos.
46
Queen Sabine Grantham
> Sabine had not thought this day would come, not this soon, not like this. The king’s heart had stopped beating. The apothecaries had tried to massage his legs. They had given him tonics to drink that never went down his throat. He never swallowed them. They pressed on his chest and blew into his mouth, but the king did not take another breath. He could not be saved.
The king was dead. Her husband was dead.
Sabine had known the king’s days were numbered. He could barely walk. All he did was eat. He was not a happy man. He was not even a good man. She had overheard him more than once belittle and humiliate his son. Yes, there was something wrong with the prince, but that did not mean the king should treat him as if he was less than. Noll was actually rather sweet. He was innocent. He almost reminded her of a young boy instead of a fifteen-year-old.
Plain and simple, the king’s body had failed him. His mind had been there, although he had seemed at times to be stuck in the past. That was how she had recognized that he was in mourning and whom he mourned. Honestly, that he still pined for his first dead wife had bothered Sabine, which had surprised her. She had not married the king out of love. All along, she had known that he had not loved her, so why would this knowledge trouble her?
Because she wished to be respected. She didn’t merely wish to be wife number three. She wished to have an impact on all of Tenoch Proper and also in the royal family and especially with her husband.
Clearly, that had never been and would never be. The king was dead. He was gone to her and the rest of Tenoch Proper.
Numbly, Sabine had meeting after meeting the Advisor Aldus Perez concerning the funeral arrangements. Soon enough, a week later, the day of the funeral was at hand.
Wearing her blackest dress and garnet jewelry in lieu of black onyxes, Sabine waited impatiently for her maids to finish with her hair. She had a king to mourn and a kingdom to reassure.