War of the Realms Box Set

by Sarah J. Stone

  Between the weather and the past week’s events, Asphodul yawned quietly as she turned and walked from the throne room. Her footsteps echoed across the marble walls, and as she entered the halls, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was time for her to ready herself for the Celebration of Life, even though she didn’t want to attend. Becoming queen so quickly was a steep learning curve, but as her mother had shown her for many marks, the life of a fae queen is not an easy one. Tyriad was considered the king, but since his lineage was not that of the fae, but instead of the dragon shifters, she was left to run the kingdom, per tradition. They were long lonely hours, smiling vaguely at her people, and making decisions that in the current climate of war seemed frivolous and pointless.

  Asphodul glanced into the open room as she passed, noticing Leonetta standing alone at her window. The queen stopped and entered the chambers, hoping to have a few moments to reinvigorate her trust in her sister. Leonetta kept her eyes on the pouring rain as Asphodul approached.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Leonetta asked the question without turning around, knowing her sister had entered. “It is nearly that time.”

  “Yes, I was on my way there now, but I saw you standing and wanting to speak with you,” Asphodul replied. “You let Holland have his shifting ability back, I see. Should that not have been something we discussed first?”

  “I hardly think so,” Leonetta said harshly, still facing the window. “You can see his heart just as well as I can.”

  “You heard our conversation,” Asphodul said, realizing why her sister was so brash toward her. “Why did you eavesdrop?”

  “I knew your words were shallow when we arrived,” Leonetta responded coldly. “If you think I have forgotten my duties, you are wrong. But that does not take away the pain of losing the man I love while he still walks around me.”

  “I am sorry,” Asphodul responded, feeling bad for not thinking of her sister’s heart. “I get so caught up in what my responsibilities are, I forget that–”

  “You are a living, breathing creature?” Leonetta interrupted Asphodul and turned toward her. “Your decision to marry Tyriad was the right one; he is your mate. As queen, you have the right to make those decisions. But remember, you are not the only one that has been affected by them. Try to have some thoughtful realization, Asphodul.”

  “You are right, my dear sister,” Asphodul responded, ignoring her sister’s anger. “I do apologize for not showing you empathy. I will not make excuses, but you are right. In my youth and spell of love, I did not consider how my choice would affect others.”

  “But if you had, you would have still made that choice because you love Tyriad,” Leonetta said, softening her voice and stepping toward her sister. “Remember that love and how you would feel if you were unable to pursue it. That is all I ask when you are speaking with Holland. Remember, he is left without his mate as well.”

  Asphodul nodded and backed out of the room, not wanting to incite any more anger from Leonetta during these dark days. She sighed as she walked through the halls toward her chamber, feeling guilty for losing what she considered the best part of herself: the ability to think of others before herself. In reality, it was her job to produce an heir, not Leonetta’s, but when the decision had been made, it was passed down without thought or discussion. However, at the time, Holland was as good as dead to Leonetta, and her feelings toward finding an heir were as consequential as picking out the newest parchment for her letters. Little did Leonetta know, Asphodul knew better, but on her wedding day chose to keep her visions of Holland to herself, a betrayal she knew her sister would not recover easily from. It was a secret she kept locked very close to herself and would continue to do so until she died.

  Asphodul readied herself quickly, using her magic to change her attire instead of taking the time to stuff herself into one of her handmade gowns. When she arrived, the others were seated, waiting for her to come in. Everyone rose, bowing their heads as Asphodul moved through the tables, smiling at those that raised their heads before she passed. She still wasn’t used to everyone showing such reverence toward her and didn’t always believe that everyone who bowed believed her to be the true queen. Case in point: Holland.

  Leonetta smiled fakely as the two sisters took their seats. Tyriad leaned over and kissed Asphodul’s hand and watched as the festivities began. It was a custom in the Cascading Sea to have as much light at the celebration as possible. Asphodul watched as dragon shifter soldiers, still in human form, marched down the center of the hall with large, lit torches. They lined up against the walls and stood, holding the fire high. When they had found their positioning, a circus of performers entered, carrying torches, fire wands, and other such devices. They rolled and tumbled through the tables, gathering collective applause and gasps from the crowd.

  When the show was complete, Asphodul stood, ready to say a few words to officially begin the celebrations. She walked forward to the front of the platform, grasping Aralea’s hand and shaking it as she passed. However, before she could find her footing on the large stage, a massive explosion shook the floors, and Asphodul looked toward the front doors as the fire burned brightly in the gardens beyond the walls. Before anyone could move, the low rumbling laughter of the Dead King echoed through the air. Asphodul picked up the edges of her dress and ran through the hall toward the doors to the outside, her husband and the shifters following along after her.

  As Asphodul approached the deck, her stride slowed. Screams erupted from behind her, and as Leonetta caught up to the queen, she turned her face away from the sight that lay before them. Across the garden, large wooden stakes protruded high into the sky, each dangling a large, silver hook from the top. As if they were standing in a morbid fish market, the merpeople’s royal line and some of their peasants hung high, their faces frozen in death. Asphodul stood silently, no expression on her face, looking out at the mer-king and his people. The only two not included in the massacre seemed to be the queen and their now human son, Picarus.

  “Don’t hide your eyes,” Asphodul said to Leonetta. “Look out at what we have allowed to happen to our people.”

  Leonetta shook her head, not wanting to gaze upon the rotting bodies before them. Aralea stood with her hand over her mouth, realizing that the merpeople had not abandoned them during the war at Cascading; they had been captured. Asphodul turned toward the crowd of people all staring silently into the yard.

  “Do not close your eyes,” she shouted. “See what we have done to the very creatures that protect our homes and our lands. We were so self-absorbed in our own mourning that we left them to die, assuming they betrayed us, when in fact, we are the ones who have accomplished the betrayal. Dark times are here, my people. We must not continue these frivolous customs to satisfy our own desires and conscience. No one is immune.”

  As Asphodul turned back toward the gruesome scene, she watched quietly as Leonetta and Ardontis slipped off into the shadows.

  Chapter Three: As the Pen Hits the Paper

  Pike ran his hand across the wooden table as he waited for his food. The pub was full, but he managed to find a seat in the shadowy corners of the already sketchy establishment. Terragon was a merchant city, much like the others in the east realms, except its fruitfulness only belonged to the wealthy. The streets were dusty and laden with the poor begging on corners or selling their goods in the marketplace. Though they did not live the comfort of the Vale or the Cascading Seas, they found their own way of life in pubs and brothels.

  The sound of mugs pounding on tables and the deep laughter of the men scattered through the pub made it hard for Pike to concentrate. He wanted to hide his face, but he knew that, sitting invisible in the corner – the only things moving being the fork and food – might seem a bit more conspicuous. He pulled his bag in front of him and looked down at the bag of apples and loaf of bread he bought from the marketplace earlier. The prices were so cheap compared to the Cascading ports, and he felt bad taking change from the
woman who looked as if she hadn’t eaten in days. He had tossed the change back on the table before walking away, hoping the extra bit would help her and the dirty children behind her playing in the dust.

  Pike had paid the clerk at the local hostel coin to secure a room and then went straight to the pub to eat, wanting to get back to the chamber before darkness fell. Though he was more than capable of protecting himself against the thieves and beggars of the city, he didn’t feel that pulling the Dead Sword out was a good idea. The food smelled amazing as the scantily-dressed waitress with heaving bosoms sat the metal plate in front of Pike. He smiled and tossed her some coins before shoveling the braised meat and potatoes into his mouth. She curtsied and ran off, apparently not used to travelers tipping her for her services.

  When he was done, he downed his drink and stood up before walking through the drunken men and out into the dusty streets. The sun had gone down, and pike grasped the handle of his sword as he began walking toward the hostel. The sounds of barking dogs and crying children echoed through the city, and Pike wondered what it was like to grow up in a place like this. As his thoughts wandered to his own childhood, he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. With the sound of a struggle and a small, loud thump, Pike turned around quickly with his sword drawn. He looked down at the ground in front of him where a large man he recognized from the pub laid in a pile, unconscious. Pike looked to his left, and a tall, skinny blond man stood breathing heavily and holding a large rock. The man smiled at Pike and tossed the boulder to the side, wiping his hands on his pants.

  “You might want to put that away,” he said, smiling and glaring at the Dead Sword.

  “Oh,” Pike said, realizing he was in the middle of the street. “Sorry. What happened?”

  “Well, this bloke right here was gonna rob ya,” the man said, straightening his dirty and tattered shirt. “Figured you being noble and all, I should probably help you out.”

  “Noble?” Pike asked, trying to hide his lie.

  “Not everyone would notice,” the man said, leaning in and whispering. “But unless you’re royal or noble, you ain’t leavin’ extra coin for the merchants or tippin’ the waitress.”

  “Oh,” Pike replied, feeling sheepish. “I didn’t much think of it in that manner.”

  “I’m Drue,” he said, sticking out his hand and standing up straight.

  “Nice to meet you Drue. I’m Pike,” he replied, shaking his hand. “Do you live here?”

  “From time to time,” the man said, pulling out a flask. “I am a merchant of sorts.”

  “I see. And what do you sell?” Pike asked, taking a swig from the flask and wincing.

  “Well, I’m an artist, but I also make these,” Drue said, pulling a small leather-bound book from his bag. “They’re real leather, and you can use them for sketchin’ or writin’ stories, or really whatever. Sort of a journal, I guess.”

  “Wow,” Pike said, impressed with the craftsmanship and etching along the sides. “My wife would love this. How much?”

  “Awe, you can have that one,” Drue said, waving his hand. “Think of it as payment for being kind to these locals.”

  “Are you sure?” Pike said, handing some coins toward Drue.

  “Yes, yes. Take it. I have a suspicion you gots a lot going on up there in yer brain,” Drue said, pointing at his head. “Write some good stories down in there.”

  “Thank you,” Pike said, smiling.

  “Say, you wanna get a drink? I know a different pub around the corner, not so many shady characters there,” Drue asked.

  “Sure,” Pike said, realizing he wasn’t too tired. “Let’s get a drink. First round’s on me.”

  “Deal,” Drue said with an affirmative nod.

  The second pub, though just as dingy and dirty, had a much better feel to it. The people laughed and smiled as they downed their brews, and a loud cheer erupted when Drue walked through the door. He seemed to be a pretty popular guy in Terragon. Pike smiled at how at home everyone felt and how he felt like one of them as soon as he walked in the door. Pike grabbed a drink and sat down on the creaky barstool, watching Drue as he greeted the patrons and jumped up on the stage to sing along with the performers. He laughed to himself, thinking about how different town life was compared to royal living. It was happy, calm, and most of all, cheerful, something Pike wasn’t used to being around. The castle was always so formal, and speaking out of turn or dancing to a good tune was definitely not something they did.

  As the night wore on, Pike began to get tired, and he raised his glass across the bar to Drue. Drue smiled and bowed slightly before continuing his dance with a young woman in the crowd. Pike pushed back through to the outside and walked across the street to the hostel. It was quiet and dimly lit, and Pike locked the door as soon as he was inside of his room.

  The bed looked comfortable, with fur lined blankets and a fireplace with wood already inside of it. There was a small desk to the left and a dresser to the right. Pike took his boots and cloak off, hiding his sword beneath the cloak, and plopped down on the bed. He pulled an apple out of the bag and grabbed the pen and ink from the desk next to him. He opened the journal to the first page and took a moment to think before beginning to write.

  Dearest Shayla,

  It has been nearly a moon’s cycle since you were taken from me. I have started this journal in hopes that one day you will read it and know of my journey to the Dead King’s castle. My love for you knows no bounds, my sweet bride, but my love for this land has begun to grow leaps and bounds. I met a lovely couple who took me in during a storm. They were simple folk with two wild children and plenty of jolly laughter. Sadly, before I could react, the ogres took them, searching for the sword.

  As I sit here in the city of Terragon, listening to the jolly music from the streets, I think of you and our plans for a calm and simple life. We could befriend others like the young man, Drue, who, after saving me from a thief, showed me the comforts and joy the peasants of this city have created. Humans are truly an exceptional breed, always finding joy in the midst of impoverishment. You would be proud of me, my love. I am seeing the truth more clearly now than ever.

  On these cold nights, I wonder where you are and what you are doing, hoping your mind lingers on me for strength. When you have returned, we will build our home in the country and…

  Pike looked down as the floor shook ever so slightly. His nerves began to rise at the thought of ogres on the hunt. He sat his journal down in front of him on the bed and put his pen back in its stand on the desk. Pike leaned forward, reaching for the dagger that he had tucked into his bag when a bright light burst through the hostel room, blinding him for a moment. As the light receded, Pike rubbed his eyes and looked in front of his bed. There, transparent and glowing like before, stood Leonetta. Pike stared at her apparition in wonder, not knowing what to say.

  “Pike,” Leonetta said, her voice dream like, “I don’t have much time, but I come with news.”

  “Is it my love?” Pike asked, feeling comforted by Leonetta’s ghostly presence.

  “No,” she whispered, floating over to his bedside. “Your father and most of your kingdom are dead. The Dead King took them from the seas and displayed them at the foot of the Vale castle.”

  “What?” Pike clenched his fists and looked over at his sword. “And what of my mother?”

  “She is still missing. I have full hope she is with your wife in captivity,” Leonetta said. “But listen carefully. The Vale royal line is not sitting still on this. I may not be able to help you in the future. You must keep your sword hidden under the cloak at all times. The cloak shields the Dead King from sensing its presence and sending the ogres.”

  “I wondered how they found me,” Pike mumbled. “I will keep it hidden.”

  “I must go,” Leonetta said, floating back in front of the bed. “Be strong, young Pike; you are our greatest hope.”

  As Leonetta’s apparition faded, bitterness and anger began to overwhelm Pik
e. He stood from the bed, knocking his diary on the floor. The wooden planks creaked under his feet as he paced the room, thinking of his father, his kingdom, and his sweet mother locked away in some dirty dungeon. How had he kept her alive? Was she now a human? Pike slammed his hands down on the desk in front of the window, his eyes burning with tears from the mixture of grief and rage he was feeling. He knew he had to keep his emotions together for his family’s sake, but with all of his people dead, he felt like an orphan in a strange world.

  Sleep didn’t come quickly to Pike that night, and he tossed and turned as visions of his bride burning in the deep recesses of Pero Peaks plagued his dreams. The next morning, he woke in a cold sweat, looking out at the early morning sun. It was time for him to get on the road. There was more need than ever for him to make haste toward the Dead King’s lair. He gathered his things, strapping the sword to his side and covering it with his cloak. He put his bag over his shoulder and opened the door to his room. As he emerged, a familiar voice greeted him.

  “Good mornin’,” Drue said chipperly.

  “Drue, what are you doing?” Pike asked, looking down at the old wooden bucket and tousled mop in Drue’s hand.

  “Oh, I clean up the hostel for the keeper,” Drue said proudly. “Makin’ some extra coin. Did you sleep well?”

  “Well enough,” Pike said, turning toward the staircase. “Thanks again for last night.”

  “Have a safe journey wherever you are goin’,” Drue hollered after Pike as he marched down the stairs and into the streets.

  The town was already in full swing, with merchants lining the dirt pathways through the town. Tables upon tables of fruits, vegetables, and jewelry packed the crowded streets. The sun shone down through the houses, and Pike grimaced at the brightness of the day. He took off toward the fields of Terragon, heading north toward the mountains not yet in sight. Once he had left behind the noise and bustle of the city, Pike pulled out some bread and ate it as he walked along the path. He looked out over the rolling hills, and a bit of calmness found him. That is, until he heard rushed footsteps crunching the dirt roads. Pike pulled the dagger from his bag and swung around, catching the man by the arm and holding the blade to his throat.