by N M Zoltack
Aldus had started the affair because he hoped to get her to step up into the role and become accustomed to asking him for his opinion on this matter or that matter, on everything under the sun.
But that hadn’t been the case.
Jankin, however, by this time, had started to spend more and more time in his bedchambers, and Aldus managed to become his mouth. Whatever Aldus wished happened, in the name of the king.
It had been glorious.
As Rosalynne grew older, however, Jankin sought for her to have more of a role, and the young woman simply did not do as Aldus wished. She had her own mind.
But minds could be changed.
And changed again.
Aldus had no fear.
A massive quake rifled through this part of the castle, and the only reason why Aldus did not fall to the ground was because he braced himself against the door to the throne room. The rumbling did not cease for a solid minute, and the moment it did and he had his balance on his own, he threw open the door and rushed inside.
Rosalynne glowered at him and then returned her dark-eyed gaze out the window but only for a moment. She lifted a hand to still him and turned back to the man she was speaking to, not a guard but a man with a worn face, many wrinkles, gray eyes, and hair that was both light and dark, a mixture of black and white with more white strands than Aldus had seen in the man’s hair before.
Wymond Ward, her master-at-sea. Aldus knew the man had been placed in charge of building a weapon capable of defeating the winged monsters, or so he claimed. As evident by his trembling, wringing hands and the three dragons who were very much alive yet, it stood to reason that the man had failed and failed spectacularly.
“You constructed a harpoon for the castle, did you not?” Rosalynne snapped.
“Yes, yes, of course. The issue is not the harpoon.”
“Then why hasn’t it been fired? Did you miss? Did you only make one when there are three dragons?”
“We… ah…”
“Wymond, I need answers and now,” Rosalynne demanded.
At least she sounded the part of a queen.
“The issue isn’t with the harpoons. Well, we have one here. And the harpoon is fashioned from metal, but…”
The device meant to shoot the harpoon, to launch it through the air so it could strike the dragon… Aldus rubbed a hand down his face, and he prayed to the Fates—for once—that the foolish man had not been so ignorant as to construct the platforms in wood.
“I work with ships. I used the designs,” Wymond started to babble.
“Wood,” Rosalynne said dully, evidently having reached the same conclusion as Aldus. “Let me guess, the dragons burned the platform.”
“It, ah, it was the first blast of fire they belched, yes, at the platform. We, ah, we still have the harpoon—”
“But with no method of killing a dragon with one. A knight cannot wield the harpoon, correct?”
“No. It would take several of them to lift it and for them to coordinate and throw with any semblance of accuracy…”
“And you never once thought about the fact that our winged enemies breathe fire?” Rosalynne snapped.
“I… I failed you, My Queen, and—”
“You failed every person within these castle walls. Every death is on your hands as much as the dragons’ breath. Get out of my sight.”
Wymond bowed his head and rushed out of there, leaving by a different door than the one Aldus had entered.
The advisor waited a minute so that the queen’s ire might abate some, even though he knew that was not a likely feat.
“Your castle is falling apart,” he remarked as he came to stand behind her. She was tall for a woman yet shorter than he was, and he could survey a great deal above her head. “Perhaps that does not have to be the case.”
She turned her head ever so slightly to the side. Mayhap she would be willing to listen to reason.
“The dragons attacking is a much larger and more pressing worry and concern than the Vincanans. Leave them to me to handle.”
“And what, precisely, do you suppose I should do about the dragons?” she asked, her tone sardonic.
“Perhaps you could approach a dragon and talk to it. See if you can convince it to become an ally.”
She merely barks a laugh as if he truly had embraced the role of a jester.
Even Jankin had never employed a jester. There had been no need. Once Rohesia, his first wife and the mother of his three children, died, Jankin had perished as well, or at least the happiness within him had.
Inwardly, Aldus fumed. She clearly did not trust him, and he was losing her faith. How precisely could he secure that? What could he say…
Perhaps the answer was not in what he could say but what he could do.
“What is it that you wish for most?” Aldus asked, doing his best to force an honest, earnest tone to his inquiry.
She turned now to face him, although she kept her gaze firmly above his head. She wasn’t even willing to look at him. The useless arrows being fired at the dragons proved distracting through the window, so he focused on her chestnut-colored hair, on her wan expression so as not to appear preoccupied.
“Isn’t that clear, Aldus?” Rosalynne asked sweetly, her tone as patently inauthentic as his own. “I want you gone from my side.”
“What do you wish for most of all?” Aldus asked.
Rosalynne made a point of turning away from him.
Her guard took a step toward Aldus, but he ignored the ignoramus and lowered his voice so that the guard would not be able to overhear him.
“If it were to have Sabine removed from power… removed from…”
For the first time during their entire conversation, Rosalynne not only turned to look at him, but she met his gaze.
Ah, so she feared the other woman even though she was no longer the ruling queen. That Rosalynne had saw fit to allow Sabine to work at becoming a female alchemist only spoke to the folly and woe that would befall Tenoch if Rosalynne remained as its queen.
Truth be told, Aldus craved only power. He had never sought the throne, but perhaps he should. For the good of all of Tenoch, of course.
10
Alchemist Apprentice Sabine Grantham
The former ruling Queen of Tenoch Proper glowered at the flickering light that her candle provided. It cast shadows upon her notes, and the flames itself was proving most distracting. She hated that the fire burned so brightly but was so very small, yet the flames were contained to the wick.
For the moment. All it would take would be for her to knock the candle over, and the flames would multiply and expand, driven by an unquenchable hunger that could never be satisfied.
Honestly, that was how Sabine felt inside, that she was driven by an unquenchable thirst, but also, like the candle, she felt as if she were trapped, confined, not to a wick, no, but constricted just the same.
Sabine smiled to herself. Yes, she had made her choice when given the ultimatum by her nemesis—the younger Queen Rosalynn gave her.
“You can either wear the crown, or you can become an alchemist. You cannot and will not be able to do both.”
And Sabine’s choice… She lifted the vial. The liquid was a deep black color, but something—instinct perhaps—told her it was not finished just yet, and she wanted Frozen Kiss to be the potion that turned her from apprentice to alchemist.
And then, once she was a master alchemist, she could then take the crown and wear it, and what would Rosalynn be able to do about it?
“Absolutely nothing,” she murmured, and Sabine laughed and laughed before sighing.
Alone. She felt utterly alone.
Her husband was dead, not that she had cared much for Jankin. She had done her level best to be the best kind of wife for him that she could be, but no wife would have been good enough for him. No living woman, that was, and the one he sought had died long ago.
Her mother was dead, but then, she had deserved it. No one could fault
Sabine and Rosalynne for executing the woman after the stunt she had pulled by killing the prince. Sabine had witnessed the act and held her tongue… until she hadn’t.
Sabine was far from her hometown of Etian, and while she lived within the castle, for now at least, she felt as if this was her home. This was where she belonged.
At first, Sabine wearing the crown had been her mother’s desire, and it had not taken much time at all for Sabine to realize that her mother had another in mind to wear the crown.
Herself.
Honestly, Sabine worried that her mother still had secrets lurking about, waiting to be exposed that would ruin Sabine once and for all, but if she could wield the power that an alchemist could achieve, then any and all skeletons her mother might produce would mean nothing at all.
How had her mother even learned about Sabine flirting with alchemy in the first place? That Greta had found a way to expose that secret to Rosalynne after her death still eluded and infuriated Sabine.
Not that Sabine had any other skeletons, considering she had been a fool and mistaking told Rosalynne about the poison she gave to Jankin.
Then again, Sabine would not be surprised if her mother tried to pass a skeleton from her past and throw the shade on Sabine as if Sabine had been the perpetrator instead. Who knew what else Greta had done that Sabine did not know about? There were plenty of pies her mother must have had pies in.
Thinking about her mother and what she might have or might not have done was not a productive use of Sabine’s time, but her head was starting to pound, and the flickering light remained too distracting.
But only then did she realize that some of the flickering light came from out the window.
Without standing, Sabine twisted her head to look out the window. A dragon was flying about, breathing fire. It was only then that she heard the shouts and cries of the soldiers and knights.
Unconcerned, Sabine stared at Tabes. The dog, formally owned by Prince Noll, sat on her lap, and she stroked his soft fur as she tried to figure out what ingredient or ingredients would finalize her potion.
After all, she was no longer queen, so all of that was Rosalynne’s concern. If the castle should fall, Sabine would have it rebuilt after the dragons had been dealt with. This attack would not hinder her plans at all, although if Rosalynne should die before the announcement was made that Sabine had been removed from power, that could only help her reclaim the throne and her rightful seat.
A slow smile spread across Sabine’s face. Yes, everything would be as it should. Soon. Very soon.
11
Sir Edmund Hill
The potion hardly weighed anything at all in Edmund’s hand, but he did not know what to do with it. Was he supposed to throw it at the dragon? Should he try to get the dragon to drink it?
Should he drink it?
What if Tatum had intended it for the dragon to ingest and he did instead? He would likely die if that were the case.
Tatum. She was one infuriating woman. Why could she have not explained the purpose of the potion to him? The various other potions she had given the knights and the castle for some time now had been for the knights to consume, so logically, he assumed that would be the case in this instance as well, but what if she blamed him for Dudley’s death? What if she had truly loved her husband despite his flaws? What if the potion was not for the attack against the dragons at all but a means for her to kill him?
Her potions had increased vigor and strength and endurance. What if this one did the opposite? He hadn’t a chance to look at the liquid inside because he was still thundering toward the castle, but…
The castle. Parts of it were burning despite being made of stone. Somehow, he could hear the people screaming even though he was too far away yet to truly hear them with his ears and not his mind.
Where should he go? The courtyard would hardly help at all. The dragons would be able to claw him, pluck him from the horse’s back, or even char him alive.
Hmm. Maybe the potion would make him impervious to fire. If that was the case, they needed that for every knight, for every person whether noble or peasant, no matter their age, for their houses…
That would simply not be possible.
There would be casualties.
There would be destruction.
Buildings, homes, stores, even the animals would all be at risk as well.
All of Tenoch, maybe even all of Dragoona was threatened by these winged menaces.
Up in a tower? Edmund quickly decided against that endeavor as one of the dragon’s tails smashed into a tower so harshly that the tower started to collapse into itself, stone raining down with the fire onto that part of the castle.
On the alure, then, where it seemed the bulk of the knights and their forces were.
Hadn’t the queen ordered a weapon engineered to help against the dragons? Perhaps that offensive measure had not yet been ready. Edmund hoped and prayed to the Fates that was not the case, that they merely had to use it, that the weapon would help against the dragons, that not all hope was lost…
He thundered through the castle walls, and the horse tried to rear, but perhaps the weight of the armor and an armored Edmund as well prevented the horse from entirely being able to stand on his hind legs. He snickered and jerked.
What kind of warhorse was this? Small, yes, but untrained?
No matter. Edmund dismounted and allowed the terrified horse to go free, racing away perhaps to freedom.
People were screaming. Arrows were being fired, but Edmund did not have to glance upward to know that the arrows would be ineffective.
He had attached to the two spears to his back, and as always, he had his sword, although he was not altogether certain how exactly he would be able to use the sword. Still, if he launched both spears, he would then be weaponless, and that would not bode well for him at all.
With a war cry, he darted into the keep, and he shoved aside those in his way until he finally found himself on the alure, the front lines of the counterattack.
If this could be considered a counterattack.
Below him, in the courtyard lay the twisted, ruined bodies of knights that had either fallen or been thrown down or dropped by the dragons. Not one of them moved, and blood leaked out from one of the knight’s heads.
“Don’t look down,” a knight advised him.
Edmund was too wrapped up in horrified awe at the carnage about him to bother checking to see which knight had spoken to him.
Heeding the advice, though, was much easier for him to implement, and he shifted his gaze upward.
The dragons were a fierce sight to see, especially this up close. The heat from the flames was immense even though it was not focused in his direction. The smoke burned his lungs already, and his eyes were watering. His chest felt tight as he adjusted his grip on the spear. The point glinted somehow, refracting light despite the plumes of smoke everywhere.
One of the dragons flew by, breathing fire above the knights’ heads. All of the knights ducked, even Edmund, but as soon as the dragon’s head had moved past him, Edmund was back on his feet again. Before he could consider what he was doing, he raced a few steps, planted his feet, and launched the spear.
It struck the dragon’s hind, near where the tail attached to the hindquarters.
And it bounced off.
Edmund swallowed hard and coughed slightly. Honestly, he had much expected that to be the case, but he brought out the other spear.
The dragons stayed away from this part of the alure or wall walk, focusing their attacks at other various points on the castle. Without warning, one flew beneath the archway that Edmund’s spot was above.
Again, relying on instinct, Edmund jumped.
The other knights shouted at him, but he could not hear their words. He was too busy trying to maintain his grip on the spear and the potion as well as not fall off the dragon’s back.
Mayhap this had not been the smartest of ideas…
12
&
nbsp; Prince Marcellus Gallus
At one time, Marcellus had come around to his father’s line of thinking, that the Riveras did not deserve to rule of Vincana. After everything that had happened with Rufus, Marcellus had wanted the war, had fully supported it, had wanted to crush Tenoch so that his father could rebuild it to be even grander and more majestic for its people.
Although Marcellus had trained for combat all of his life, he had not had to fight in many battles. There had been small skirmishes here and there over property lines and such but nothing significant. Nothing that required life and limb and the possibility of death at every turn.
Not until he fought his father’s war.
And to learn that his father had instigated it…
Well, if he were honest with himself, his father had instigated the entire war merely because he had placed a crown upon his head and declared himself the King of Vincana.
There had been no need for his father to have had Rufus killed. Marcellus had ventured to Tenoch. He had traveled to the castle his father sought to destroy. He had done his father’s biding. Nothing his father had asked of him had he not done.
Rufus should not have been killed and by one of their own!
The two guards who had ventured with the friends from Vincana… if they lived yet, they would not continue to do so for very long.
His mind raced as his father continued to talk beside him. They were still walking, but Marcellus had long stopped listening to him.
The war between Vincana and Tenoch had to ease immediately. The arrival of the dragons necessitated an alliance, temporary as it might end up being. Thankfully, before his father’s most unexpected arrival, Marcellus had sent a spy to the castle to seek out Princess Vivian. She had sought to find a way for there to be peace within minutes of the dragons’ return, and he had spurned her. How right she had been. How utterly wrong he had been.
