“Yes, I noticed that happening as I made my way up to the palace. However, such measures will only go so far.” She folded her arms. “What else has he done?”
“We’ve tripled the number of royal guards in the palace. I assure you, we are quite safe from this infection.” He smiled smugly.
Why are most humans so thoughtless and unaware?
“May I speak freely with you?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. I’d expect no less from you.”
Morcinda searched for the right words that would convey her sentiment but not upset Prince Rictar. Such situations were often far more delicate than one might suspect.
She touched his arm, a gesture of kindness. “Your father is a kind and just ruler, but he doesn’t always see things the way they truly are.”
Prince Rictar stared at her hand on his arm. “How do you mean?”
She strolled away as she spoke. “Yes, there is a threat right here in Vallah, but its reaches far exceed the Three Kingdoms. The infected are spread all across the Ancient Realm, but they’ve begun to gather.” She returned to face him. “All indications suggest they are converging in The Plains, some distance south of Elatos.”
He rubbed his neck. She didn’t know if he had an itch or if it was a nervous tick, but he’d done it several times. “And why do you think they’ve begun to gather?”
She could think of no better way to express her thoughts on the situation than to be candid with him. “War is coming, my prince. There is no mistaking it.”
He shook his head and frowned. “I don’t understand. What do these infected people have to do with war?”
“If prophecy holds true, a dark force controls them. How well do you know your history?”
He scowled as though offended she even asked the question, but he still answered her. “Well enough.”
Even though they stood out in the open on the rooftop of the palace, she still felt a bit claustrophobic standing too close to him. She strode away again. “Then you know of the Great War and the mighty dragon named Cinolth?”
He chuckled. “Tales to scare young children, my father always said. I’d tend to agree.”
She turned and glared daggers at him. “I assure you that those tales are as real as you and I.” Her words came out with more anger than she’d hoped. She took a deep breath and calmed herself before continuing. “When Ūrdär Dhef Ƨäfn Dhä defeated Cinolth and Magus, Cinolth cursed the world and swore he’d return one day to destroy the human race. When Cinolth died, his scales broke apart and spread throughout the Ancient Realm. Those scales are the cause of the current infection.”
Prince Rictar laughed. “You never struck me as a madwoman, Lady Morcinda, but I stand corrected. You are as mad as the old wizard who came to us many weeks ago thinking he’d come with his brother. Utter lunacy.”
Morcinda fought the urge to tear into Prince Rictar. She rarely stood by and took insults, but she needed to gain his confidence. Otherwise, there’d be no hope for the Three Kingdoms.
She opened her pack and withdrew the dragon scale she’d taken from the dryte named Rayah. She held it up so he could see it. “Here’s your proof that what I’m saying is true.” She offered it to him.
Prince Rictar took the black dragon scale and examined it for several minutes. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” He looked up at her, his eyes full of wonder. “What is it?”
“That is one of those dragon scales I mentioned. As you can see, it is no fairy tale.”
“But… what you’re saying is impossible.” He scratched his neck. “Curses don’t exist and neither do dragons.”
Trouble and confusion swirled in his eyes. She touched his arm to ground him. “Don’t be like your father. See the truth for what it is. You’re holding it, for Ƨäʈūr’s sake.”
Prince Rictar moved over to a stone bench and sat down. He held the dragon scale in his hands and stared at it. “If what you say is true…”
She finished his thought, “Cinolth has risen from the dead and we’re all in grave danger.”
Princess Zelanora appeared at the top of the stairs that led down into the palace. Dark-brown bangs hung just above her thin eyebrows, framing the top of her heart-shaped face. One small braid with teal ribbon woven into it hugged the right side of her face, and the rest of her hair hung loose behind her back. The teal ribbon in her hair matched the colorful accents of her white, flowing dress and the sash around her waist.
“Morcinda!” Her face beamed as she rushed over and threw her arms around Morcinda.
Morcinda patted Princess Zelanora’s back lightly. “It’s good to see you, my princess.”
Princess Zelanora stood back and inspected her. “You haven’t aged a day. In fact, I think you might look younger than you did a few years back.”
Heat rose in Morcinda’s cheeks. “You’re too kind. I’d say the same of you, but you’ve become quite the beautiful woman.”
Princess Zelanora curtsied. “Thanks!” Her forehead wrinkled and her lips puckered. “Why are you here? I’m sure it’s not a social call.”
“War is coming,” said Prince Rictar, his eyes still glued to the dragon scale in his hands.
“You’re jok—” Princess Zelanora’s face turned ghostly-white. She settled on the bench next to her brother, removed the glove on her right hand, and reached for the dragon scale. “Let me see that.” Prince Rictar relinquished his hold on it.
Princess Zelanora’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, leaving nothing visible but the whites of her eyes. After several moments, she blinked rapidly several times and then her eyes rolled forward once more. “I know what this is.”
Morcinda and Prince Rictar said, “You do?”
“Yes…” Princess Zelanora rubbed the dragon scale with her fingers. “It’s a dragon scale.”
Prince Rictar frowned at his sister. “And how would you know that?”
“Because it told me so,” she said.
Is it possible?
Morcinda eyed the young girl intently. A feeling in her gut told her that Princess Zelanora shared more than just looks with Queen Lanara, her late mother.
“That makes no sense,” said Prince Rictar. “Inanimate objects don’t speak.”
Morcinda knelt in front of Princess Zelanora. “Do things often talk to you?”
Princess Zelanora glanced at Prince Rictar and then nodded. “For some time now.”
“Since your sixteenth name day?” asked Morcinda. She already knew the answer.
Princess Zelanora nodded, and her gaze fell to her lap. She still wore a long, white glove on her left hand that rose to her elbow.
“May I see your left wrist?” asked Morcinda.
Fear flashed in her eyes, and her cheeks burst with hues of red. “I… it’s not appropriate for a princess to remove her gloves. I shouldn’t have removed the first one.”
Prince Rictar snatched the dragon scale from Princess Zelanora’s hand. “Don’t be a foolish girl. Just do what she asks.”
Tears swelled in Princess Zelanora’s eyes. “If I do so, you and father will hate me forever.”
Morcinda took Princess Zelanora’s left hand in hers. “People only hate what they don’t understand, but minds can be changed.”
“I… I don’t know.” A tear ran down Princess Zelanora’s cheek. “There will be no going back.”
Morcinda looked at Princess Zelanora’s gloved hand and then into her lavender eyes. She couldn’t look more like Lanara without being her. “There will be no need to go back. May I remove it?”
Princess Zelanora nodded.
Morcinda slid the glove off the girl’s hand. Her long, slender fingers trembled but not from the cool air.
“Turn your hand over,” said Morcinda.
Prince Rictar slid from the bench and knelt next to Morcinda. He smiled at Princess Zelanora. “No matter what, I could never hate you.”
She nodded and turned
her hand over, exposing the inside of her wrist and the grayish mark upon it.
Prince Rictar gasped and fell back on his buttocks, dropping the dragon scale in the process. “I know what that is. I’ve seen it before. You’re… you’re… a sorceress.”
“Indeed she is.” Morcinda held Princess Zelanora’s hand and smiled. “As was your mother.”
† † †
Morcinda sat on the plush couch in the receiving room outside King Zaridus’s bedchamber, her mind focused not on how the king would react to the news of war but of his daughter’s abilities. Prince Rictar paced back and forth in an apparent attempt to wear down one length of the teal-and-black rug he trampled. Princess Zelanora stood in the far corner, as close to the shadows as possible, and chewed on her fingernails. She spat them into the fire.
From the moment she’d arrived in Vallah Harbor that morning, events had twisted in ways Morcinda never would’ve contemplated. Growing up on the seas, she’d accustomed herself to handle unforeseen situations and circumstances. In fact, she’d thrived on them and relished the exhilaration of living in the moment without knowing what might happen or come next. Those who sailed with her had called her The Fearless One, and she’d lived up to her reputation, but something about the current situation set her on edge. Fear crept into the corners of her mind and spun webs of uncertainty.
How will Zaridus react?
She couldn’t be sure, but Zelanora was his daughter, and he seemed to care deeply for her. However, after the strange circumstances and events surrounding Queen Lanara’s death, she had to wonder if love alone would keep her safe.
Her left hand rested on her dagger’s ivory handle. She had no plans of using it, especially against King Zaridus, but she’d do everything in her power to keep Princess Zelanora safe. It was the least she could do for Lanara after failing to save her so many years ago.
One day I will get to the truth of your death, Lanara.
The bedchamber doors creaked as they swung outward. Two handmaids backed away from the doorway, continually bowing to the man who stood just inside the two doors.
King Zaridus.
Princess Zelanora stuck to the shadows but ceased ravishing her fingernails. She slipped her gloves back on. Prince Rictar continued to pace, seemingly unaware of his father’s presence.
Like Prince Rictar, King Zaridus wore a tunic as well, but his was teal instead of white. A similar silver belt cinched the tunic at his waist, and silver sandals hugged his feet. A turquoise-dyed fur cape rested on his broad shoulders, and turquoise, silver, and black necklaces hung from his thick neck. The man was well muscled but held a bit of extra weight around his waist and in his face. Silver locks, full of curls, draped his shoulders. A silver crown with many peaks sat atop his head, a bit off-kilter, and held his hair away from his clean-shaven face. Turquoise jewels lined the crown, each centered beneath a corresponding peak.
He held a silver scepter in his beefy left hand but didn’t lean upon it for support as he walked into the receiving room. His deep-set, icy-blue gaze locked onto Morcinda, and a smile curled his lips.
“Lady Morcinda.” His tone chilled her.
She rose to greet him as he crossed the room. He moved his scepter to his right hand and proffered his left. She took it and kissed the silver insignia ring on his middle finger. Her lips touched more skin than ring, and the lavender scent of his flesh appealed to her senses.
She straightened and looked him in the eye. “My king, it’s been far too long.”
“I’m certain you’ve not traveled all this way to exchange pleasantries.” King Zaridus gestured toward the long couch with his hand. “Have a seat.”
Morcinda took a seat on the left end of the couch, and King Zaridus took up residence on the far right. Four abled bodies could sit comfortably in the space between them.
King Zaridus scanned the room briefly, his eyes never taking an extra moment on any particular sight, including Princess Zelanora hiding in the corner. “I see you’ve riled up my children already. Your news must be of some grave importance. Tell it to me now so that I might be riled up as well.”
Morcinda knew King Zaridus had little patience for circling a bush, so she dove right into the heart of the issue at hand. “Despite what you’ve heard and might believe to be true, an infection isn’t what ails so many people in the Ancient Realm.”
“I’ve not only heard it but have seen it first-hand.” Condescension dripped from his words. “Are you implying that my eyes cannot be trusted? Are there not four of us in this room?”
Prince Rictar stopped pacing and knelt before his father. “Father, I urge you to listen to what Lady Morcinda has to say before making any sort of judgments.”
King Zaridus slammed his scepter into the floor, but the rug muffled the sound. “Sit down and keep silent unless you’ve been addressed.” Prince Rictar nodded and sat down on the couch next to King Zaridus.
“Your royal highness, I have direct knowledge that those who are infected are actually under the control of a…” She found it difficult to say the word “dragon” in his presence and looked for a better way to convey the same thing without setting him off. She thought she’d found the right description. “Dark presence.”
“By the gods, what does that even mean? A dark presence,” he scoffed. “Absurdity.”
“She means they’re controlled by a dragon.” Princess Zelanora stepped out of the corner and came around the front of the couch.
King Zaridus’s face blossomed in shades of red. He shot to his feet and shook his fist at Morcinda. “How dare you come into my palace spewing such blasphemy and corrupting the minds of my precious children!” Spittle peppered the air and drool ran from the corner of his mouth.
Morcinda withdrew the dragon scale from her pack and held it up. “Here’s your proof, my king.”
King Zaridus glared daggers at her. “You brought a black seashell as proof of the existence of a dragon? You’re as mad as Lanara was!”
“Shut up, sit down, and listen!” screamed Princess Zelanora.
King Zaridus’s scepter whipped around with lightning speed, and the crack of impact boomed like thunder in the large room. Morcinda leapt off the couch to catch Princess Zelanora’s limp body, but she didn’t fall. In fact, she still stood tall.
What just happened?
She stepped back and assessed the scene.
King Zaridus stood petrified, his mouth agape. Half a scepter remained in his clutched hand. The other half lay on the floor in pieces, and the crystal stone from its bulbous top shattered into dust.
An aura of light surrounded Princess Zelanora and slowly faded. She gasped for air as the last of it disappeared.
Prince Rictar sat on the couch, laughing without restraint. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “The look on your face,” he exclaimed and laughed harder.
Princess Zelanora removed her gloves and threw them in King Zaridus’s face. She held up her left arm and pointed to the mark on the inside of her wrist. “Look at this, Father! Do you see the mark? I am a sorceress, and there’s nothing you can do to change it.”
King Zaridus stumbled and collapsed back onto the couch, narrowly avoiding missing its edge. He grabbed at the left side of his chest and cried out, “Why have you afflicted me so, Ƨäʈūr?”
“Afflicted you? Listen to yourself.” Morcinda fumed as her fingers tickled the handle of her dagger. One swift move and she could end him, but she wouldn’t dare. She fought to preserve his rule, not end it. “You should be so lucky to have such a daughter.” Venom laced her words.
Princess Zelanora knelt next to her father and touched his hand, but he snatched it away from her. “Can we set our differences aside for now and do what’s right for the kingdom? Sometimes, I can see and hear things when I touch objects. I can assure you that ‘seashell’ as you call it spoke to me. As Morcinda said, it is truly a dragon scale. Never have I felt such unbridled evil and hatred than when I touch
ed it. War is coming, whether you believe it or not.” She stood, turned to Price Rictar, and kicked him square in the shin.
He yelped and rubbed it with the back of his other leg. “What was that for?”
“This isn’t a game, Rictar. Get off your rump and raise the alarm. We must warn Borza and Elatos.”
“Only Father has the authority to do such a thing.”
King Zaridus stood and cinched his belt tighter. Some color had returned to his cheeks, but he still looked pale. “Do what your sister has requested of you.” He walked back into his bedchamber and grabbed both doors.
“But she has no—”
“On my authority,” thundered King Zaridus. He slammed the doors shut behind himself.
Prince Rictar stood, bade Morcinda farewell with a curt nod, and stormed out of the receiving room.
Princess Zelanora slumped on the couch next to Morcinda. “Now what will happen?”
Morcinda leaned back and put her arm around Princess Zelanora. “We will prepare for war.”
She closed her eyes and let her mind carry her far into the past. To Vallah and the Great War.
Ƨäʈūr, don’t let the past repeat itself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Seven days had passed since Aria had backhanded him, but Alderan still felt the sting. Not physically, of course, but physical wounds always healed faster than the ones aimed at the heart. Somehow, the two of them had become so misaligned. The idea of such an occurrence would’ve been laughable less than a year ago. However, they’d exchanged less than a dozen words since she struck him, and not only because she worked incessantly on the large wall that had been erected north of Galondu Castle. The two of them simply had nothing to say to each other that hadn’t already been said.
Alderan touched his cheek. I still love you, sister.
Despite living under the same roof again, a fissure the size of the universe lay between them. A divide seemingly impossible to cross. Now, Alderan lay on a bed inside a room deep within the cold castle, his left hand clinging to his mother’s brass ring while his heart mourned the loss of his dead sister.
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