by N M Zoltack
The Deceit of Tongues
In the Eye of the Dragon Book Two
N. M. Zoltack
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Epilogue
Author’s note
Other Books By N. M. Zoltack
About the Author
Copyright © 2019 by N. M. Zoltack
ISBN: 9781076467744
Cover Artist: Joewie Aderes
https://www.deviantart.com/loztvampir3
Typography: Covers by Julie
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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For all those who believe in the fantastical.
1
Olympia Bai
Sand squished between Olympia Bai’s toes. That was what she got for having lost her sandals, but she did not mind much. She smiled at the tall young girl who sported Olympia’s old sandals. The girl had nearly broken her ankle yesterday because her bare foot had almost stepped on a piece of jagged rock on the beach.
All of the island of Xalac was beach, sand as far as the eye could see and beyond water, only water. Xalac was not a large island. In all, it would take Olympia only three days to hike around it with two to go direct from the northernmost point to the southernmost.
Once she found a decent enough perch, Olympia reclined on the sand, closed her eyes, and tilted her head toward the sun. When winter would come, the island could become a haven of frozen sand. Until then, she would soak up any and all of the warmth that the sun would offer her.
Children laughed and played. Mothers scolded. Fathers grumbled about the fish. On and on, life went on around her, ignoring her. Everyone’s life here on Xalac was one of relative peace.
Honestly, Olympia found it rather boring.
A family settled near her. Olympia could only tell because she could feel the ground vibrate from their movements and hear the chatter. The children raced away, squealing, but the parents remained behind.
“We do not need a ruler from Tenoch,” the father said.
“We do not. We are so very far removed from their location that we should be able to rule ourselves,” the mother said.
“The Riveras are brazen. They are bloodthirsty indeed.”
Olympia opened her eyes. “It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she called.
The mother smiled at her. Her skin was a beautiful color, dark and deep. Olympia wished her skin appeared like that, but her own skin was a far fair color, not white, though.
“A very beautiful day,” the mother agreed.
She and her husband moved on.
On the other side, another couple approached. They, too, were talking politics.
“Before the Riveras, we ruled ourselves. We had our own chancellor. We could and should go back to that,” the female said.
The male nodded. “If we could give back the sands of time, I would rather have the Li family rule over us than the Riveras.”
Olympia beamed.
Others joined the couple, and they all began a heated discussion about who should rule over them. One male foolishly thought they did not need a ruler at all. There were only a few guards here from Tenoch to distinguish this island as belonging to Tenoch Proper. This man proposed that they kill the guards and be done with rulers entirely.
Olympia did not listen to the others, but if she thought she could convince him otherwise, she might have joined in. To kill the guards would be an act of war. Xalac was a small island. Even if every man, woman, and child were to have a spear and their hand and wore full armor, they would not be able to stand against the might of the Tenoch forces.
Although, the man might be right. Tenoch might not bother to send any forces. It would be a long, long road for the army from Atlan to reach Xalac. Olympia had seen a few maps of the entire world years ago. If memory served her correctly, the army would have to pass a short mountain range, head north through the forested town of Cilla, maneuver around the taller mountains that lead to Maloyan. From there, they would have only a short three-day boat ride to Xalac. That was to say that the army did not move directly east of Atlan and sail northward for Xalac from there. That sea voyage would be much longer, though, and monsoon season was almost here. To venture that far by boat would be impractical and even insane.
Of course, if they killed the guards and pretended that they had not, it could well be years before the Riveras in their castle in Atlan even learned about their betrayal. It was conceivable that the Riveras would not even be on the throne any longer. The more Olympia listened, the more dissension she heard, although she hated to hear about the Riveras.
Several others mentioned the Li family. When the Lis ruled, they had only governed over Tenoch the land. Only King Jankin had been brazen enough to declare himself lord of all of the land masses and decreed them Tenoch Proper. Honestly, the name alone spoke of how arrogant the man had been. True, there had been some peace during his reign, but his reign had started with bloodshed.
Olympia had cried no tears when she learned that the king had died. Not a single one. No one in all of Xalac had. They were so far removed from Atlan that she suspected that the Riveras did not even consider them monthly let alone weekly. Certainly not daily.
We are a forgotten people.
Honestly, that suited Olympia just fine. She did not need anyone sitting on a throne to tell her how to live her life. If it were not for them having to send taxes to the Riveras, their life would be perfectly at peace without any aid from the monarch.
When clouds rolled in to cover the sky, Olympia stirred. She brushed the sand from her simple white tunic and walked away. The day would not end for hours yet, but she had enough of listening to politics. If only she heard the squeal and d
elight of the kids, then she would stay. Instead, the nineteen-year-old departed the beach and headed inward to the sand cave she called home.
Deep within the cave, she knelt and dug. Just below a thin layer of sand was a box. Olympia lifted the box and laid it on her lap. Gingerly, she blew some more dust from the top and removed the cover. Inside was nestled a surcoat folded up nice and small. She removed it, shook it out, and stared at the image sewn onto it. A plum tree thrived on a black background with white six-pointed stars in the corners.
Olympia sighed, hugged the surcoat to her chest, and rubbed the soft material against her cheek.
Then she tenderly folded the surcoat once more and returned it and the box back to their hiding spot.
2
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
Queen Rosalynne Rivera woke to screaming and crying. Before she had even sat up, her guards rushed into her room. Wilfrid Frye and Thorley Everett both looked angry and fierce.
“What is it?” she demanded.
She ran a hand over her hair and winced at the dried wetness she felt on her cheeks. She had cried herself to sleep after the disaster that had been the occasion of her first public address to her people. She was the daughter of the king. Her father had died, so now she was queen. Until such occasion that Rosalynne was married and had an heir, she was not the ruling queen. No, that distinction belonged to Sabine, the twenty-one-year-old that her father had married shortly before he had died.
The guards glanced at each other. Although the two were not related, they were both blond-haired and blue-eyed. One was shorter and stouter, but the two looked similar enough to pass as brothers.
“Well?” Rosalynne demanded. Feeling very like her sister, she put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. She was the queen, and people would start to treat her like one.
“You cannot leave your quarters, My Queen,” Wilfrid said.
“Why not?” she asked, shocked and annoyed that he would dare dictate what she could and could not do.
“There has been a… an incident,” Thorley added.
“Describe the incident,” Rosalynne said dryly.
Again, the guards shared a look.
“Now!” Rosalynne shouted. “Or else I will leave this room, and discover what is going on myself, and then you two will be killed for treason.”
Rosalynne winced. She had not meant that last part. Death was not something to ever joke about. What on earth had possessed her to say such a terrible thing? She had killed before. In her father’s name. Her father had eaten to the point that he could no longer walk of his own accord. As such, Rosalynne had the dubious responsibility of carrying out his orders for him, including killing men who spoke kindly about the Li family.
Before the Riveras had held the throne, the Lis had, but her father and many others thought them weak and unlikely to be able to maintain control of the land. The world had been at a tipping point, one that would result in war and thousands upon thousands of deaths. Her father had made a choice that ended with him on the throne.
To maintain his power, any and all who spoke about the Lis in a positive light were to be killed. Rosalynne hated to have to kill another because of that rule. Honestly, she doubted there would ever be an occasion when she would willingly kill another. It seemed so very barbaric to her.
Still, the guards were mute.
Rosalynne moved to march between them to her door, but they slid their spears to form an “X” and blocked her.
“It is your brother,” Wilfrid said.
“What about him?” Rosalynne asked. A shiver ran down her spine, and worry quickened her heartbeat.
“He is dead,” Thorley said.
“Noll? Dead?” The eighteen-year-old queen covered her mouth with her hands. “How?” she asked, the word muffled.
“He was found at the bottom of a stairwell that only the servants used. Either he was pushed down the flight of stairs, or he fell.”
“Pushed?” Rosalynne glared at Wilfrid. “Why would you suggest that?” she demanded.
Wilfrid glanced at Thorley.
“Because of how his body lay on the ground,” Thorley said, his voice softer than normal. “It did not seem natural to me…” He exchanged a glance with the other guard, something Rosalynne was beginning to hate. “To us,” Thorley amended, “but I suppose it might have only been—”
“He could have fallen… or he could have…” Rosalynne covered her mouth. A sob escaped, and her stomach churned so furiously that she feared she would puke.
“The vicar has his body,” Wilfrid said.
“Or he should by now,” Thorley amended.
“I have to see him.” Rosalynne tried to go around them, but the guards blocked her.
“If the prince was killed, there could be another attack, this time against you,” Wilfrid said.
“You are to be my guards, not my captors,” Rosalynne said crossly.
Despite having executed several in her father’s name, Rosalynne was not prone toward violence herself. Even so, she eyed their weapons but did not know how to use them nor how to secure them away from the guards.
“You can come with me, of course, but I am going!” she declared.
Thorley met her gaze and then looked away, his cheeks reddening as if he were… embarrassed?
“As if you have never seen a lady in her sleeping attire before!” She threw up her hands, but the guard had a point. She was queen, even if she wasn’t yet the ruling head, and so she grabbed a robe to cover her white lightweight gown she slept in.
Wilfrid led the way with Thorley trailing behind her. The castle was a sea of pandemonium. Oh, how the Fate of Chaos must be enjoying this madness.
People were crying, maids and servants bustling about as if they did not know what to do, and through it all, Rosalynne held her tongue. She did her best not to think, not to feel. As queen, she did not have the luxury of wearing her emotions for all to plainly see. No, she must be as stoic as possible.
Stoic. None could be more stoic than the winner of the most recent tourney, Bjorn Ivano. He never revealed his emotions, and the young man hardly ever smiled.
Not smiling was certainly something Rosalynne could mimic. She hardly felt any emotions at all, or rather, she kept so many feelings at bay including fear, worry, anger, grief, and despair. How could this be? How could this have happened? Noll wouldn’t fall down an entire flight of stairs. He was not the most balanced of persons, but he would never do such a thing. And he wouldn’t have jumped down them either. Certainly not. He was the Prince of Tenoch Proper! He had his dog Tabes, and…
“Where is Tabes?” she asked suddenly. She halted so abruptly that Thorley plowed into her from behind.
“My apologies, My Queen,” he said. “I do not know. Perhaps in the prince’s room?”
“Go and see,” she pleaded.
“Once you are safely in the chapel,” he promised.
Rosalynne bit her lower lip fiercely to the point that she drew blood. It never felt like the trek through the castle to the chapel was so very long until this precise moment.
Finally, they arrived, and Rosalynne shoved Thorley away. The guard had the decency to run.
The queen took a few deeps breaths. Wilfrid held the door open for her, and he closed it behind them, standing there, ready to defend her should anyone dare to come after her next.
Rosalynne marched forward. Vicar Albert Leeson stood behind his altar, her brother lying on top of it. The vicar’s lips were moving, his eyes closed.
“You had better not be sacrificing him for one of the Fates!” Rosalynne snapped.
The vicar’s eyes opened. The old man with the hunched over back hobbled around the corner of the altar that supported Noll’s feet.
“Of course not, My Queen. I was merely praying that he finds his way to everlasting peace.”
Tears prickled her eyes as she paid the vicar no mind. She climbed the two small steps to the altar and brushed her brother’s hair back. Despit
e his injuries, his face looked so very peaceful. Trembling, she pressed her lips to his cheek and jerked back. Already, the warmth of life had been stolen from his body, replaced by shocking coldness.
A trickle of blood trailed from his lips, and his nose was smashed to bits. It was only his closed eyes that looked peaceful.
Wordlessly, with her tears and a cloth, Rosalynne washed away the blood. Bruises had formed from the fall. Before or after he had died? What a horrid question!
“Was he pushed?” Rosalynne asked. She tried to adjust his shirt. His clothes were so very wrinkled. With a start, she realized he wore the same attire that he had to her ridiculous speech to the public. “When had he died?”
“Given his clothes, I would think he died last night. Any time after the address, I suppose.”
“Was he pushed?” Rosalynne asked again. “Was this murder?”
“I cannot say for certain.”
Suddenly furious, Rosalynne jerked her brother to the side. “Hold him,” she dictated to either of the men.
The vicar did not move, leaving Wilfrid to approach. His armored feet fell heavily against the floor, each step echoing in the small wooden room. He held Noll on his side.
