by M. Lynn
“So, we’re cut off from Gaule, for good?” Matteo asked.
They’d explained the events of the past weeks, only leaving out certain things like Alex’s miraculous healing.
Tyson leaned forward. “Non-magic folk can cross the border, but they are now protected against magic folk just as they once were.”
“They would stand no chance against La Dame even if they did agree to help,” Ara said. It pleased Etta she referred to Gauleans as “them.” She was a Belaen now.
Matteo scrubbed a hand across his face. “Yeah, well we don’t exactly have a chance either.”
“Etta does,” Edmund said confidently.
Matteo scrunched his brow. “La Dame is too powerful.”
Edmund crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well you didn’t see Etta blow the gate at the palace of Gaule to pieces.”
Matteo paused. “Wait, really?”
Etta shrugged but Ara jumped in. “I saw the aftermath. We have a chance. I wouldn’t have left my family if I thought we were just going to die against the walls of Dracon.”
Matteo’s mouth twisted to the side as he thought for a moment. “They’re just like the Gaulean soldiers with no chance, but we do have an ally.”
Etta looked at him in question.
“A contingent of Madran soldiers arrived last week.”
That made no sense. “Why?”
“Because La Dame has an entire army of Madran mercenaries and the king wanted to even the scales. King Rhodipus of Madra may fear Bela and our power, but he also knows La Dame is the greater threat.”
“Bring me their general.”
Matteo bowed his head. “Of course.”
While they waited, Etta got updates on the hunting parties and food stores they had accumulated for the winter. All building had ceased in her absence as salting meat and gathering edible plants became the highest priorities. She was thankful Matteo had been able to keep Bela moving forward.
Matteo returned a few minutes later with a stocky man. Muscles bulged in his arms as he swung them with each step.
“Your Majesty,” Matteo began. “This is General Landon.”
The general bowed. “It is a great pleasure, Queen Persinette.”
“General.” Etta smiled tiredly. “Thank you for coming. Your aid will be much appreciated. I only just now returned from Gaule. Tomorrow we will begin planning an attack on La Dame and I would appreciate your presence in those discussions.”
“Of course,” he responded, surprise coating the words. His eyes flicked to Matteo in question. “I was under the impression we’d be waiting for her to come to us.”
“No more waiting, General. As soon as the snow clears in the mountains, we bring the fight to her.”
She dismissed everyone, but Matteo hung back. Once they were alone, he pulled her into a hug.
She let out a yelp of surprise before hugging him back.
“I’m glad you’ve returned, cousin.” He released her. “We need you here.”
She nodded. “We managed to stall much of the persecution of our people in Gaule. Tomorrow, I’d like a count of those who’ve arrived. They will need to be provided for.”
“Of course.” He hesitated. “Etta… do you think it’s wise to launch an attack on La Dame?”
“No. But we cannot continue to sit here and wait for her to destroy us.”
“I have something that may help.”
“Not tonight, Matteo. I’m exhausted.”
“This isn’t something I can speak of at the meeting tomorrow.” He met her eyes seriously.
“Out with it.” She waved him on.
“We intercepted a Draconian messenger.” He paused. “We have a traitor in our midst.”
Distrust was a funny thing. Once it entered your mind, it stuck there, tainting every thought. Etta sat atop her throne scanning the faces of those who’d come to see their returned queen. The traitor could be any of them.
They had suspicions, but it didn’t stop her from imagining each of her people at La Dame’s side.
Speeches done, she stood. They gave her a wide path through the room and Edmund met her at the end of it.
“I’ve been following her all morning,” he said. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Etta thought for a moment. “Make sure she knows of the battle plans once they’re set.”
The look he gave her was meant for a crazy person.
“Trust me, I have a plan. I think we can use this.”
“I always trust you.”
The familiar face showed up in the distance as she weaved through residences. Etta’s magic rose and she let the anger color her features.
“Etta,” Edmund snapped. “If you stare any harder, you’re going to burn holes into Esme. Do you want her aware we suspect?”
Etta shrugged and removed the crown from her head, resisting the urge to throw it from the highest cliff. Wearing the false crown shrouded her in ire, but wear it she would until the day she wrestled the true Basile crown from La Dame’s cold hands.
Had it been planned? Had Esme intentionally told her of her family’s crown’s whereabouts? Probably. But why? What was she orchestrating?
The Draconian healer disappeared into one of the residences and Etta walked toward the woods with Edmund not far behind.
The meeting was to take place among the trees, away from prying eyes and curious ears. That was the reason Etta gave her trusted people for the location she chose. In truth, if she was going to plan the end of everything, she’d need the strength the forest always gave her. It wasn’t the Black Forest where she’d learned to be who she was, but if she closed her eyes, she could imagine it was. She could imagine her father stood by her side. That Alex was nearby in his palace.
And that her life was still on the linear path set by the curse.
Now it diverged, and she had to choose which way to go.
Matteo spotted them first, his face going red at the sight of Edmund.
“You two still haven’t talked?” Etta whispered to Edmund.
He shook his head and cast his eyes to the ground.
“Coward.” She turned to her cousin and raised her voice. “Good morning, cousin.”
His smile was strained, which was very unlike him. Matteo normally wore a cool emotionless mask, but it had cracked and she enjoyed seeing the man behind it.
Tyson bounded up. Even leaving behind his mother and Amalie hadn’t left him bereft of energy. He smiled and slipped his arm around her. “Are you rested, Etta?”
She nodded, hoping he didn’t notice the bags under her eyes. Sleep had been elusive the night before as her magic buzzed under her skin. She’d lain in the dark putting every ounce of her effort into holding it back.
After the journey into Gaule, she needed rest, but they were out of time for that.
Landon stood and issued a low bow. There was a circle of logs in the clearing. A single stream of sunlight broke through the leaves right in the very center of the seating area.
Ara stayed seated but nodded her head in respect. Etta scanned each face, making sure everyone was present. A few of Bela’s best warriors had been chosen by Matteo to sit in. These would be the generals of their untrained army.
In Etta’s absence, Matteo had many of the Belaens begin practicing using their magic for the fight. Each fighter would be needed–except the children. They’d remain with a few guardians, ready to run if the battle went Dracon’s way.
If Etta fell, her surviving people would sail to Madra.
Matteo explained all of this in a calm voice as if he’d been practicing his speech. When he fell quiet, Etta stepped in. “You’ve been planning in my absence. That’s good. What do you have for battle plans?”
“Did you know,” Matteo began, “There is one thing La Dame wants more than anything else?”
“Hmmm…” Etta sat down, a grin spreading across her face as she leaned forward. “Tell me more.”
Chapter Seventeen
; Heavy footsteps provided a persistent beat against cobblestone streets. Torches lit the frigid night air. The low drone of chanting voices echoed through Gaule.
Demands.
Protests.
From high up on the hill, Alex saw a growing gathering of villagers in the center of the village. Their cries rang in the air.
No longer were they only persecuting a single person or family. All known magic folk had left the kingdom. There’d been no reported instances of magic in weeks. But still, the people rebelled.
“Should we ride?” Anders asked, waiting for the command to overtake the village to restore order, peace. But was it peace when the army had to be stationed in the streets?
“No,” Alex scanned the torch-wielding mob once more and turned his horse. “If they hurt anyone, stop it. Otherwise, let them have their protests.”
He kicked his horse and cantered back to where the rest of his men were camped. His guards followed, forming up tighter around him than normal. They too were nervous.
It was the sixth village they’d been called to in the weeks since the wards were put in place and that didn’t include the ones the army had already taken control of.
Gaule was quickly spinning out of control.
Back at camp, his mother was waiting. She’d insisted on accompanying them, saying she cared about their kingdom as much if not more than anyone else.
She sighed when she took in his haggard appearance.
“You look like you’re about to fall off that horse of yours.”
He offered her a tight smile. “He wouldn’t let me fall.”
She pursed her lips. “Who do you think he is…” She stopped herself.
Verite. His mother was going to say Verite. That blasted horse would never let Etta fall. Alex absently rubbed the arm Vérité had bitten and slid from his horse. It was good Etta had a beast that took care of her like that.
But who was he kidding? Vérité would be no help against La Dame.
He brushed by his mother on his way to his tent but she followed him. “What’s happening in the village?”
“The same thing that happened in the last one.” He ducked into his tent. “And the one before that.”
One of the guards outside spoke quietly to his mother. “They’re calling for the king’s head, your Majesty.”
She entered the tent and her shoulders sank as she released a sigh. “They aren’t aware of what you’ve done for them.”
“Of course not,” he snapped. “They don’t know La Dame could have come at any moment and our army wouldn’t stand a chance. I discarded everything… everything I believed in. Why? To keep them safe!” He put his hands on his head and breathed slowly. “Magic folk had every right to be in Gaule and I practically kicked them out to restore peace. And it didn’t even work. I fed them to that wretched woman in Dracon.”
“Maybe Etta will put wards between Bela and Dracon to keep them safe.”
He shook his head. “She thinks it’s a fight that needs to happen. If she… died, the wards would disappear. The only way to protect her kingdom is to fight.”
A crease formed on his mother’s forehead. “So, if she loses, we’ll be without the wards once again.”
“If she loses…” He sat down and hunched forward to put his head in his hands. “She won’t.”
“We don’t know that. We must prepare.”
“She won’t lose,” he yelled. “She can’t. She’s Etta. No one is better equipped to face La Dame than her.”
“Oh, my boy.” She brushed a hand down his back. “So much faith in someone else and so little in yourself.”
“Your Majesty,” Simon’s worried voice sounded outside the tent.
Catrine and Alex both looked up at the same time and said, “What is it?” Alex met his mother’s eyes, a wry grin forming on his lips. His mother was still a queen, and she was more queenly than he’d ever be kingly.
It was as if she was the one who was meant for this life, not him.
Alex stepped outside the tent to find Simon waiting. The big man glanced towards the dowager queen and then back to the king. “They’re burning the village.”
“Enough,” Catrine snapped. “Dammit, get me my horse.”
Simon and Alex just stared at her, but one of the guards brought her white speckled mare to the tent. She climbed into the saddle unaided with all the grace she was known for and sat tall atop the horse looking down on them.
“Are you coming?” she asked.
Both men scrambled to their own mounts and then took off toward the hill where Anders still waited for orders. Their guards slowed, but Catrine dug in her heels and flew past them. Alex had no choice but to follow. As they neared the village, he rested his hand against the hilt of his sword.
Catrine didn’t slow as people scrambled to get out of their way. The village square was awash in light as the flames inched up the surrounding buildings. Alex made a move toward the torchbearers, but his mother shot him a look that stopped him in his tracks.
She nudged her horse forward, making an effortless jump onto a raised platform that was just big enough for the beast to turn around.
The crowd stopped, staring up at her.
She narrowed her eyes. “People of Gaule, why do you burn your own village?”
They began shouting out reasons and Alex shrank back into the shadows as his name was yelled. The guards stayed close to Catrine as she continued to speak.
“I see.” She scratched her chin. “You’re angry.”
They yelled in agreement.
“Well, I am too. I’m angry because my people have broken a promise to me and to my son.”
A disgruntled roar wound through the mob.
“You don’t agree. Hmmmm. Is Alexandre Durand not your king?”
“He chose magic over his own,” someone yelled.
“Ah, I understand. Your king believes in a life free of persecution. I see the problem. That’s really a horrible thing, isn’t it? To have freedom?” When the yells quieted, she continued. “We’ve all heard the stories of La Dame and the danger she poses. Did you know that it is now magic that keeps you safe from her? Yes, magic folk protected us just as we shoved them out of their homes to go face a danger greater than we can imagine.” She raised her hand, palm up and curled it into a fist.
“I love Gaule. I love my people. And so does your king.”
Her horse leaped down from the platform and the people parted for her to walk through the crowd.
Alex watched her in wonder. When his father was alive, his mother’s job was to plan banquets and have tea with noblewomen of the realm. To raise the royal children.
Had he ever seen what she could be?
No. Alex knew with sudden certainty that he hadn’t. If he had, he would have kept her locked away for fear of the people loving her.
The guards stayed until the mob formed a bucket chain to put out the fires. It was over for now.
Back at camp, Alex dismounted and approached his mother. “You played them.”
“Guilt is a motivator, Alexandre. I only had to make sure they were aware we belonged to them. We are Gauleans just as they are.”
He took her hand and bowed his head over it.
Soon after, Catrine returned to the palace, but Alex moved on to the next village where rebellion brewed. He attempted a speech, trying to emulate his mother. At least the food they threw was soft. It clung to his hair but didn’t hurt.
He didn’t attempt a peaceful resolution in the next village. Exhausted and frustrated, he sent in the army. The villagers tried to fight back, but they were quickly disarmed and rounded up.
He was done playing nice.
Carts were found and loaded with their prisoners. If the people weren’t going to listen to reason, maybe they’d listen to force.
It took two days to reach the palace once more. Repairs on the gates were going well, but a large hole still opened into the castle. Camille greeted him at the inner gates, hands on hips
as she glared at the carts behind him.
“Really, Alexandre? How do you expect to feed this many prisoners when three-quarters of the farms in Gaule are refusing to send the palace any food?”
“We’ll manage.”
She huffed. “And you think this’ll improve your relations with the people?”
“I no longer care about their love.” He shouldered past her. “Only their obedience.”
“Spoken just like Father,” she said at his back.
“The people didn’t rebel against father.”
Camille chased after him, her cane slamming against the ground with each step. “That’s what you want? To be just like him? You hated father. Everything he did…”
Alex turned, almost colliding with his sister. “I don’t know what else to do. My kingdom is falling apart out there. It’s not a long leap from rebellion to civil war.”
Her mouth rounded, and she stepped back.
He met the captain of the palace guard and gestured back toward the gate. “Have your men get those people to the dungeon.”
Reproof burned in the captain’s eyes, but he did as he was told.
Alex shrugged off his cloak and draped it over his arm as he marched inside in search of a hot bath and a cold ale.
He stopped a servant who was rushing down the hall. “Get someone to bring hot water to my rooms.” The servant bowed and scurried away.
Weeks of travel dust coated his skin. They’d bathed in streams, but only for as long as they could stand the cold. He wasn’t bred to be a soldier, spending nights on the hard ground.
He passed by a room with music drifting out the door. Three women in overly embellished dresses practiced their court dances. They were beautiful, he supposed. Flawless skin. Tiny waists. All the grace of women at court.
But he didn’t want grace. He wanted someone with fire. Someone who would push him with fingers roughened from time spent with a sword. Someone whose hair was not brushed to perfection but twisted back so as not to get in the way.
It was practical after all.
Even through the fog of exhaustion, his lips turned up at the image of Etta dancing with these women. She’d danced with him once before and seemed entirely out of place.