Her Father's Fugitive Throne

by Brandon Barr

  “I’m sorry,” said Shauwby, squirming. “I knew I was wrong.”

  “Who is it?” pressed Wiluit.

  “The King,” said Shauwby.

  And so Wiluit led them at Seethus’ swiftest pace toward the courts of King Feaor. To find the King of the Verdlands, and then to save Meluscia—from what, he did not know.

  Chapter Seventeen

  MELUSCIA

  All the excitement Meluscia had felt earlier was tempered by Feaor’s skepticism and the eyes of Taumus, who was sitting at the King’s right side on a plump, black satin chair. King Feaor had introduced him formally, as well as Diara, a counselor at his left. Her elbows rested on the smooth wood table as she leaned forward on her cushioned chair. Meluscia thought she looked about forty. Her hair was dark brown, and her eyes held a hint of curiosity.

  “I have been forced to go north for timber,” said King Feaor. “The Frozen Woods of Utherean are not friendly, nor is the month-long journey there through barren tundra. Packs of wolves roam the woods like guards, and the perpetual freeze has broken many an axe. The long journey north is grueling on our people.”

  The King tapped his fingers on the side of his face as he looked at Meluscia with concern. “I would much prefer the exchange of wood with your kingdom for the produce of the Verdlands. And that is not to mention our dire need of metals. You know this as well as we do. And lastly, the atrocious raids against our farmers. We will not stand by as our land is raped and our sons and daughters are cleaved alongside their parents. We have fought back with honor. Our only targets have been military.

  “Meluscia, daughter of the Luminar, tell me you have some hope beyond another foul treaty from your father—I will not stomach his demands.”

  Grim creases edged the corners of the King’s eyes, as if doubtful she would believe his words.

  Meluscia tried to remain calm and hide her eagerness. “I bring two treaties. One is my father’s; the other is mine.”

  The King’s eyes narrowed. “Do explain.”

  “My father drafted a treaty, likely every bit as foul as the ones before it. I need you to sign it.”

  Taumus sniffed loudly, “I have an impression from the gods, my King. I smell a trap. This girl is innocent of it, but I sense she is being lied to. There is something dark, something amiss about her treaties.”

  Meluscia felt her skin prickle. Words stuck to her tongue. The only response she could muster was to shake her head.

  The King sat stone-faced.

  Diara, at the King’s left, held expressionless eyes. “That would be a cruel trick,” said Diara, “but not surprising coming from the Blue Mountains.”

  “You may know your father in a different manner,” said Feaor, “but I have had nothing but his whip!” The King’s face reddened. “Give me the treaties and I will read them.”

  “Please, King Feaor, there is no treachery,” said Meluscia, finding her tongue. “Do not prejudge my peace offer.” She drew the two treaties from Terling’s bag and placed them on the table before her. “I only ask you to sign my father’s treaty knowing it will be a temporary agreement. When he passes, this second treaty will come into effect, for my father has promised to crown me Luminess if I should bring back his treaty with your seal and signature.”

  “My prophet says you’ve been lied to,” said Feaor. “He has never failed me before. I sense that your intentions are noble, but I’m afraid I cannot sign either of your treaties. Not with his warning looming over them.”

  Meluscia could not stomach Feaor’s prophet a moment longer. If she didn’t attack now, there would be no other chance. Any hope of peace and attaining the throne would be torn from her hands. She stood, fingers bracing the table. “That man is no prophet,” she said, her voice shaking. “He is a spy of Isolaug. His allegiance is to Praelothia.”

  Taumus rose to his feet and placed his hands behind his back. “How dare you insult me?”

  “The truth is not an insult.”

  “Do you have some proof, mountain girl?” snapped Taumus. “If not, I bid you go home in shame to your conniving father.”

  Meluscia quickly glanced around the room. Two guards were posted at the door. Another four stood behind the four squares of the table. Were they enough to bring him down should he try to fight? There was no turning back now.

  “I shall prove my words,” said Meluscia. “My mercy sister Savarah was a spy for the Beast. But she turned and rebelled against Isolaug. She’s confided in me and gave me the names of every spy in this land. And you, Taumus, were named.”

  Taumus sniffed. A strange smile crossed his face. “I am sorry, my King. I grew angry at this girl when I should not have. She is very trusting, and her sister, the one who fights in Trigon’s army, is widely regarded to be as crazy in mind as in battle. The gods have shown me that Meluscia is, again, innocent. She is only repeating a lie given her. I’m afraid the Blue Mountain Realm has devolved into fear and storytelling to justify their raids and the slaughtering of our people. Like any child, Meluscia has only lapped up the milk being fed to her—”

  “Silence,” cried Meluscia, slamming the treaties against the table. “Your words sound so smooth, and yet every word is a twisted lie. I have witnessed one of these spies first-hand. He killed several soldiers at Tilmar who were trying to bring him down. He nearly killed my sister. The threat is real. Isolaug has infiltrated our kingdoms, and you, Taumus, you are a deceptive devotee of Isolaug. If you want to twist my story, then I dare you to bring in the five prophets who accompanied me here. Speak before them and see if your tongue behaves the same. They speak the true words from the Makers, not your lying drivel.”

  “Yes,” said Taumus, turning to the King. “I’m afraid you haven’t heard yet, my king. She speaks of the band of five false prophets. They rode across our borders with her party. Apparently, those dark magicians have made allies of the Hold.”

  King Feaor lifted his hand for silence and stared down at the table. Finally, he stood. “I’ve heard enough for tonight. Meluscia, I’m afraid you are under a spell, deceived by your own family. Taumus has been given knowledge of the band of five. They are but soothsayers and mediocre magicians. They have come to the castle gates before, always with bad omens to speak. Taumus has proven himself to be a true prophet. He has helped our people avoid harm by predicting the time and location of your father’s marauding forces.”

  Meluscia cut in. “He only knows the time and location because he was told by a spy who lived at Tilmar. I swear to you, at your right hand is a wicked man whose heart is disguised.”

  The King frowned. “Go. You and your companions can stay tonight in the royal guest rooms, but tomorrow, you are to start your journey back to where you came from.”

  Meluscia’s heart dropped to her stomach at the finality of the King’s words. But she felt anger too—at his inability to see through Taumus’ lies. She growled, “You won’t even read the treaties?”

  “I’ve heard enough already,” said Feaor.

  “Then it is you who is under a spell,” said Meluscia, her voice shaking.

  King Feaor turned without a word and went over and spoke to an attendant. His two advisors followed behind him. Taumus cast one last look at her, his eyes surrounded by concerned wrinkles, as if in pity for her.

  Servants came and took Meluscia and her four companions to their rooms.

  Meluscia lay flat on the bed, staring up at the candle light that writhed upon the unfamiliar ceiling. The sparkle of silver glinted about the room as the light struck upon the numerous weapons mounted on the walls. She cast an arm over her eyes and let all the fury and hot tears spill out.

  If she couldn’t convince the King his prophet was wrong, there was no hope. The skirmishes would only increase. War was on the horizon.

  The throne would pass to a man she’d come to despise.

  Anger coursed through her like a river surging over its banks. She glared at the weapons on the wall, hating them. Feaor was stubborn, as well
as blinded by Taumus. But there had to be a way to prove to him the truth.

  If she were only Luminess for a matter of months, that would be enough. Her family line would end, but what did that matter? As long as she was able to appoint a person of character and similar vision to the throne, then her short reign would be one of triumph.

  Meluscia stood from her bed. She would go to the King again. Now. With any luck, that sniveling liar would be away.

  Halfway to the guestroom door, it opened. Meluscia stopped, her feet frozen in place on the rug.

  Praseme stood in the doorframe, a curious gleam in her eye.

  “May I come in?” asked Praseme.

  Meluscia hesitated only a moment. She owed Praseme every indulgence she could give her, but still, Meluscia had to speak to King Feaor. And she had to do so tonight.

  “Please, come in,” said Meluscia, hiding her frustration.

  TAUMUS

  From the parapets, he watched the five slowly near the castle’s walls. He did not fear the coming of the prophets. The days of his influence were at an end. But oh, how he could wreak bloody havoc in his last moments!

  The other two spies, Llani and Oevah, had already left the city. Harcor had come and warned them all and sent a courier off to the Sea Kingdoms. When Taumus heard the news of how Savarah betrayed their master, he had wanted to rip her heart out himself. She was such a favored one among the master’s pupils.

  Harcor had lingered in Tilmar just enough to discover Savarah had been healed by the very girl approaching on the road below.

  Jauphenna, the yowling bitch of the Makers.

  Taumus grinned. If all went well, Llani and Oevah would catch up with Savarah and kill her. One of the master’s weapons versus two was an uneven battle. He hoped they dragged her disemboweled body all the way back to Praelothia.

  And as for his moment, his duty…he had a gory plan of his own.

  He was almost certain the five were coming to help that fire-headed daughter of Trigon. It would be a perfect opportunity to frame the five and forever set the heart of the King against them. It was a delicate undertaking, one where many things could go wrong. Regardless, he had the power to ensure his chief objective.

  Kill Meluscia, daughter of the Hold.

  Chapter Eighteen

  MELUSCIA

  Meluscia found it hard to meet Praseme’s eyes. They were not harsh, but they knew her darkest secrets. In Praseme’s presence, she felt her shame throbbing at her neck.

  “What would you want to see me for?” asked Meluscia as Praseme neared.

  Praseme stopped at the corner post of the large bed. “I need to say something to you.” She looked up at the ceiling, where the candles flickered on white plaster. “Despite all that has happened…I still think you should be Luminary over Valcere.”

  Meluscia stared at the floor, Praseme’s words cut deep in ways she couldn’t describe. She recalled that moment upon Mayor Brucite’s bell tower. How the dark thoughts of her heart had been washed away by the kind, loving spirit of the girl before her. It was the closest thing to friendship she had ever felt.

  And she felt some of it now. This girl she’d wronged had no business coming to her and saying what she did.

  Slowly, Meluscia lifted her chin and met Praseme’s gaze. “Thank you.”

  Praseme’s eyes were bold as they searched Meluscia’s face. Meluscia could not bear them and glanced down at Praseme’s simple riding dress.

  “One more thing I must say,” said Praseme, a quiver running through her words. Her breathing became slow and heavy.

  Meluscia waited, the silence like a curse upon her.

  “This is hard,” said Praseme. “But I will be forever conflicted if I do not say it.”

  Suddenly Praseme left the bed post and swooped upon Meluscia, seizing her in a fierce embrace. “I forgive you,” she said. “I forgive you.”

  Meluscia pressed her hands tight against Praseme’s back, tears streaming down her face. Finally, Praseme pulled back, her wet eyes searching Meluscia’s face.

  There was no word or language that could express how Meluscia felt. Thank you was too strong, hinting that she somehow deserved the forgiveness when she didn’t. All she could do was take the searing gaze of Praseme in silence and hope her own face reflected the inexpressible.

  Praseme pinched her lips together, almost in a smile. “My Lady, as your face heals, I feel so, too, must my wrath. I see that you are truly sorrowful for what you’ve done. I can never forget it, but I have the power to overcome what you did. To set things right. And I choose that path. I want to remain your friend.”

  Meluscia paled. The impossible words rang in her ears. She felt as if the floor were being pulled out beneath her feet, and she went to her knees.

  So full of emotion, she bent and kissed Praseme’s foot where the leather sandal strap left the skin bare.

  After a moment, Praseme softly laughed. “Friends don’t kiss each other’s feet.” She grabbed Meluscia under her arms and helped her up. A stern smile edged the corners of Praseme’s mouth. Meluscia pinched her lips together in a contorted smile of her own.

  Again they embraced, their tears mingling.

  The door squeaked lightly open and a dark voice shattered the moment. “Well, well, what’s this? Sharing titillating secrets, perhaps?”

  Meluscia’s blood froze in her veins at the sound of the voice. Standing at the door was Taumus. Fear struck her like a thundering avalanche. She had called him out as a worker of Isolaug. If all Savarah had told her was true, this man was of an evil she did not fully understand.

  “You have won,” said Meluscia. “We will return to the Hold in the morning.”

  “Yes, in the morning you will return. As a corpse.” He closed the door behind him and drew out a grotesque-looking weapon from his cloak. Three finger-length blades jutted from its small metal circle.

  Meluscia took a step back and felt Praseme’s fingers squeeze around her arm.

  “Tell me,” said Taumus. “Did your sister say what turned her from her master? I am terribly curious. I find it hard to fathom her shunning the power of Praelothia to join such weakness.”

  “Love turned her,” said Meluscia, her voice trembling. “The love she saw in my people changed her heart.”

  Taumus snorted. “She will die for her treachery.” He raised a thin eyebrow. “And my master will reward me greatly when I present him with a lock of your blood-coated hair.”

  Taumus’ wrist twitched. Praseme’s hand darted out in front of Meluscia’s neck. In that instant, Meluscia saw a flash of metal, then Praseme suddenly screamed horribly. Praseme drew her hand to her chest as blood ran down her wrist. Jutting from her palm was the three-bladed weapon Taumus had thrown.

  Taumus left his place by the door and took two steps deeper into the room. “You have very loyal servants, Meluscia. With keen eyes.” His gaze moved to Praseme. “Most men—or women—would not have seen the flick of my wrist. I commend you, servant girl.”

  Meluscia held Praseme as the girl stooped in agony, shaking with pain.

  Metal rang loudly as Taumus drew a short sword from under his cloak. His blade twirled deftly in his hands as he approached them.

  Frantically, Meluscia’s eyes darted about the room, taking notice of the weapons lining the wall. Directly behind her was a sword. She reached back and yanked it from its pegs. She fought to remember everything she’d learned from sword master Haruuz. The weight of the sword in her hand was not foreign. She gripped it tight and stepped in front of Praseme.

  “Excellent,” said Taumus. “This match will be a pleasure, despite the brevity.”

  Taumus leapt forward, his blade aimed directly for her heart. Meluscia swung the flat of her sword to parry. But Taumus’ movements were cat-like. The edge of his sword glanced her left arm. Then Taumus was upon her. His leg swung behind her own, hooking her knee, and he slammed her hard against the floor.

  Meluscia gasped, but the nearness of death set her
blood flowing hard. She shot out her right hand and grabbed Taumus’ sword hand as he was about to plunge his weapon down. The blade hovered above her chest like a giant stinger.

  Slowly, the blade tip sank downward, her strength beginning to falter. She gasped as the point neared her chest, poised over her heart.

  “It won’t hurt for long,” whispered Taumus, his eyes glinting sharply in the dark. “Your pretty face will scrunch up in pain for only a moment, then your muscles will relax.”

  The tip of the sword brushed the material of her dress.

  “Get off her,” cried Praseme.

  A heavy metal blade knocked Taumus sideways into the wood bedframe.

  Meluscia scrambled to her feet and stood, scooping up her sword from the ground. Praseme held a small axe in her unmarred hand. Meluscia backed up beside her as Taumus struggled to rise from his knees.

  Still holding his blade, Taumus’ head rose and he gaped up at them. His jaw hung from one side of his face, the other side split through to the bone by Praseme’s blow.

  An animalistic sound gurgled from Taumus’ throat. He stood, both hands gripping his sword, and surged toward them.

  Huddled together, Meluscia and Praseme backed up against the wall. There was nowhere to run. Meluscia winced, biting back pain. The wound on her arm ached, blood soaking through her dress. She held forth her sword in both hands. She knew, this time, Taumus’ attack would be ruthless.

  The door crashed open behind Taumus. The five prophets stood in the entrance. To Meluscia’s astonishment, King Feaor stood among them. He looked dazed and disheveled, wearing no more than bed clothes.

  But Meluscia noticed his demeanor change the moment he saw Taumus with a sword, and herself and Praseme pressed up against the wall, holding weapons of their own.

  Surely the blood flowing from each of them was enough for anyone to discern what had happened.

  Wiluit scooped up Shauwby in his arms and rushed into the room. Taumus spun back to face Meluscia. With death raging in his eyes, he charged.