by N M Zoltack
The need to clear Vivian’s head had her leaving the castle entirely. It agitated her to no end that Sabine had been so utterly calm. Worse, the former queen—as Sabine was now, much to Vivian’s delight—had seemed to speak truly.
But Tabes had not died of natural causes. Of that much, Vivian and Rosalynne were certain. Someone had killed the dog. Had they hoped the Riveras would think Sabine responsible? It had been Aldus who had brought the dog to Rosalynne’s attention, yes?
When Vivian had learned of Sabine’s demotion, she had been utterly thrilled, but then came the part about her studying to become an alchemist, and Vivian had, somehow, held her tongue. Her facial expression had to have given away her thoughts, though.
Rosalynne was absolutely and entirely insane to allow such a thing.
The dragons had returned. Wasn’t that terrible enough? And Sabine… The more Vivian thought about it, the more she worried that Sabine could be the Lady of Light and Darkness bent on destroying the entire world once and for all. It made far too much sense.
Unfortunately, no one could recall what Rosalynne’s exact orders had been. Emerson Fenne could not recall if he had been the ones to order the knights to kill the dragons if they were able, and if he had and not Rosalynne… But if Rosalynne had, then it remained possible that the queen could be the Lady.
Vivian had not yet told Rosalynne the details concerning the Lady of Light and Darkness, but she would once she returned from a ride.
A stable hand witnessed her approach to the stables, and he had the horse nearly entirely saddled by the time she entered. He hadn’t put the saddle on her destrier, Swiftfire, but she had not seen this particular stable hand previously, so perhaps he had not recognized her.
She nodded to him and easily mounted the horse. In seconds, he galloped out of the stable, and she headed out toward where the people lived. Far too many of the houses appeared abandoned.
Atlan was dying. Even the castle was crumbling.
Was Tenoch dying too? Had the dragons flown to the other lands? To Vincana to the south? To the islands above Tenoch?
Her thoughts turned to the island Zola and her friend who lived there, a boy named Temur. Was he still happy enough to skip stones? Was he still alive? His leader, Chieftain Mundzuk, had opted to join the Vincanans, to fight against Atlan Castle, but in her encounters with the Vincanans on Tenoch soil, she had not seen any who hailed from Zola, and they would be easy to spot given the paint on their faces. Temur, thankfully, had declined fighting, but there had been so little food on the island, hardly any at all, and she prayed once more to the Fates of Peace and Life that Temur lived and was happy.
Jarl Brynja, the leader of Tiapan, had been very clear with her declaration that her people were free already and would not engage in another’s war. Vivian had spent hardly any time at all on the island, but perhaps one day, she return. The people there were so very comfortable with themselves, with their way of life, and she wished to learn more about them, mostly, perhaps, so she could learn how to accept who she was and what her purpose in life was to be. They all seemed to know and understood their place.
Although, deep down, Vivian knew her place. Until Rosalynne married and had an heir, Vivian was next in line to become ruler, should anything happen to the queen.
Nothing would happen to the queen. Vivian would see to that personally.
But there were far too many people who were hurting here in Atlan. Who knew how many others spread across Tenoch were also hurting? And that one village Vivian had witnessed destroyed by a dragon… There had to be many others like that. Did a few many to survive those attacks? She prayed to the Fates that the dragons would be merciful, but even she lacked the faith to believe that request would be answered. The Fates answered to the dragons, not the other way around.
The princess rode past persons who were hunting, people in desperate need of food. She could send them to the castle, yes, but the food there was stretched over so many anyhow, and with the dragons attacking the castle so recently, the keep might prove even more dangerous than the people fairing and fending for themselves out here, even with the potential threat of thieves and cutthroats.
Beyond the small houses that appeared more like shacks, Vivian came to a wide stretch of flat grassland. The desire to see this horse’s true speed came over, but wait, what was that over there?
She squinted and had the horse slowly carry her over toward the strange sight. Vivian had to blink to see clearly, the harshness of the sun not abating her vision at all.
But then, she saw clearly, the moment a cloud passed over the sun.
A group of wraiths had surrounded a person.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted, and Vivian urged the horse forward, intent on disrupting the wraiths from whatever might be their intentions toward the man or woman. Yes, she might be interfering with the dragons’ agenda, but she did not care.
As she neared, however, the wraiths faded away from view, and Vivian slid down from the horse to tend to the man.
Although he sported no wound and there was no blood, the man was dead.
The wraiths had killed him.
Vivian lifted her face toward the heavens. The clouds shifted, the sun shining down on them once more, the light more chilling than warming, and Vivian’s fear, doubt, despair and, yes, even hatred only grew.
These were not the wraiths of old nor the dragons of old. Both were far crueler and vicious than their previous incarnations, which only served to prove that the Lady of Light and Darkness would prove far worse than even the Lord of Light and Darkness who had caused countless years of bloodshed and misery for the persons once his orchestrated plot to destroyed every last dragon came to fruition.
What might the future have in store for them all?
32
Ulric Cooper
The keep was only so large. One would think that locating the one and only queen would not be so utterly difficult, but it was. It truly was. Even asking if anyone had seen her had caused him to go to this room and that and never was she there.
This only served to cement Ulric’s desire to remain by her side for all time.
Finally, at long last, he spotted her walking down the hallway, a guard not far behind her. Ulric grimaced, hating that that guard had been given the role he himself longed for and had for some time now.
“My Queen,” Ulric called, and he hurried to approach her.
“Ulric,” she said warmly, but he thought he detected a bit of worry and concern in her dark eyes. “You do not—”
“Might we have a moment to talk?” he asked urgently.
“Of course.”
“Alone,” he said with feeling.
Her eyes widened a bit, and he could curse himself for making such a suggestion. It was far too forward, for one, which was rather becoming a habit as of late, and also because it simply would not due for any to think the queen would entertain men without a chaperone.
But Rosalynne merely walked forward, past several doors before opening one and ushering Ulric inside.
It was a small room, with a table and chairs and little else. Only a single painting hung on the wall opposite the door, that of Atlan castle, the towers all lined with freshly fallen snow.
Soft rustling sounded behind him, and he turned to see that she had taken a seat.
“Join me,” she offered, waving her arm toward the chair across from her.
But Ulric claimed the chair beside her. He longed to grab her hand, but he refrained. “Rosalynne,” he said urgently, “it is not safe for you here.”
“No? Do you mean because of Tabes?” Her eyes narrowed, and a muscle in her throat jumped.
“Noll’s dog…”
“As dead as his owner,” she said sadly, averting her gaze before a flash of confusion flickered on her face, and she met his gaze once more. “You did not know.”
“Your sister and I are worried that you are not safe here.”
“I appreciate your concern.
Truly I do, but you are not about to spirit me away as you had my sister. She was a princess, and she could have been, but you did not seek me out then, and even if you had, you would have had to forcibly remove me from the keep.”
“Vivian had been so terrified to learn about her brother that she came willingly enough,” he recalled, “but I was closer to her, and I… I… I did what I could to help the Riveras.”
“That is all you have ever done, and I thank you for that.” She patted his hand.
At her soft touch, he failed, and he gripped her hand. “You have enemies within these walls, not merely just the flying dragons, and the Vincanans remain a threat as well. You can choose another place from which to rule—”
“No, Ulric.” Her other hand cupped his cheek. “I will remain here. My people need me.”
“Then at the very least,” he begged, “allow me to be your bodyguard.”
“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. She withdrew her hand and stood. “I will not tolerate that. You have formed a militia, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, “but—”
“Will that militia follow orders given by a knight?”
“No,” he admitted.
“Even from me?”
“Well, they would, but…”
“But I cannot lead them,” she said dryly. “It falls to you to finish what you started. If that is all…”
He nodded curtly, and she sank into a half-curtsey and left the room.
“To finish what I started would be for me to end up a knight and to be your guard,” he whispered to himself. “That is all I have ever wanted.”
But he knew he was lying to himself as he placed a hand upon his cheek in just the spot she had touched him.
33
Alchemist Tatum Hill
The moment Tatum slipped inside the castle walls, she felt as if she had been crushed. The amount of blood shed in this place, the number of lives lost… She knew she could not feel another’s pain, yet she empathized with them just the same.
Without having to be told, she hurried along to the hall where the castle healers worked. There were not enough beds for all of the wounded, and Tatum had seen the guards crawling over the fallen, broken towers and portions of the castle that had been turned to ruin. She knew they still sought to free any persons trapped in the wreckage, but time was against them. If they were not freed soon, if there indeed were any trapped, then they would perish right where they were, stuck, crushed by the stones, starved to death.
But Tatum could only focus on those before her. Several were merely resting on piles of blankets, and she started toward those on the blankets when a man moved to stand in front of her.
“Who are you?” he asked. His head was bald, and his gray eyes were shrewd.
“Who are you?” she asked in return, matching his sharp tone.
Others about them glanced over, and a few of the other healers smiled at her. Perhaps this man was not well liked.
“I will escort you—”
“You will not touch me,” Tatum said coldly, stepping back so that his outstretched hand would not handle her.
“Then you will go? You are not injured, and if you are bleeding while pregnant, you can go see—”
“Oswine Gass, she is Tatum, the one the queen vouches for,” a woman called from deeper down the hall. Although Tatum tried to find her, she could not identify the speaker.
Oswine eyed Tatum with interest and then gruffly shook his head as if he did not believe it. Still, he did not impede her from walking around his portly figure.
A woman who was even heavier than Oswine approached Tatum and took her arm. “Ignore him. Oswine is a bear of a man who thinks he’s in charge, and we allow him to, but he has no power over anyone. He does wrap bandages tightly, and when it’s necessary, none can burn a wound shut better than he, and if a limb must be severed…” The woman shrugged. “I am Saxa. Saxa Busch. It’s nice to meet you in person, Tatum.”
“How do you recognize me?” Tatum wondered.
“I saw you with the queen—the young queen—once when you brought along your potions, the ones your father makes.”
Tatum’s eyes widened. Who told such a tall tale? But she supposed that a lie told so that others would accept her aid was not truly that terrible a thing.
“Help whoever you can,” Saxa said eagerly, halting and waving her hand before them. “These are the ones we expect…” She lowered her voice. “They will recover. Over to the north wing, they aren’t liable to make it.”
“I see,” Tatum said softly.
Saxa nodded and went to help those before them, and Tatum did with one man whose temple needed to be cleaned and bandaged. Once he was tended to, however, Tatum headed toward the north wing.
By then, a young boy dressed much like a knight minus the armor, naturally, rushed up to her. His eyes shone with excitement as he rambled, “I’m a page, I am! One day, I’ll be a knight, but until then, I’m a page. Oh, and a runner! I can assist you. You are the alchemist’s daughter, aren’t you? Ah… I forget the name…”
“Tatum,” she supplied, amused despite herself. All of the wounded bodies around her, the dead bodies piled in the corner, the stench of the blood, feces, sweat, the wailing, the crying… Tatum felt as if she could fall apart herself, but this boy was eager to please and ready to help, and she would do her part.
“How can I be of service to you, Tatum?” he asked proudly, puffing out his chest. “A knight serves anyone and everyone.”
She rattled off a list of ingredients he might be able to locate in the kitchens, and off he went. A wave of dizziness washed over her, as happened whenever she skipped a meal. Perhaps she should have asked him to fetch her a bit of fruit as well.
As she waited for the page to return, she sought to help anyone she might be able to as she waited for the items so that she could start to make potions—in secret, she supposed.
Without warning, a bright light shone. Tatum glanced over to see if someone had set a torch aflame, but no. A woman who was working quietly on a man whose bleeding could not be stopped was pressing glowing hands against the wound.
Amazed, fascinated, Tatum approached the pair. No one else seemed to notice what the woman was doing, most likely because most knew those over here would die and did not bother to tend to them, seeking to help those they thought had a chance of survival. Right or wrong, they were doing what they thought best, but this woman, like Tatum, preferred to help those most in need.
The man gasped, gurgling a bit, and Tatum arrived by him. She pressed her hands to his face and murmured soft words to calm him. His legs were trembling fiercely, and his eyes rolled up in his head as the convulsions washed over his entire body.
The woman removed her hands. The glow faded, and Tatum’s eyes grew wide. The wound had shut.
But the man still trembled uncontrollably, and the woman’s hands glowed once more. She stared at them as if she did not understand what was happening, and perhaps she didn’t. Fear filled her eyes as she locked gazes with Tatum.
The alchemist removed her hands, the woman placed her glowing ones on either side of the man’s head. Within seconds, the man’s trembling eased.
“How did you…” Tatum wondered, a hand rubbing her belly.
The woman brought a hand to her lips and shook her head.
Could she not speak? Hmm.
Just then, the page returned, and Tatum settled in a corner to make some potions, but every so often, she saw that light again as the woman somehow helped those thought to die, bringing them back to life.
Had the woman been touched by the Fate of Life? Might that explain it? Tatum wondered as she worked and worked as she wondered, and then she healed as many as she were able to. Some would think Tatum’s methods wrong, and they might think the same of that woman’s, but alchemy could be used for good, for healing, and Tatum would continue to do so.
Even if it did mean that she would one day regret her actions once t
he curse fully embraced her in its tight, final arms.
34
Advisor Aldus Perez
The reflection staring back at Aldus revealed a finished shaved face. Aldus preferred perfection whenever possible, and he thought, most of the time, that facial hair was not neat or orderly in the slightest. It was why he shaved every other day. The barest start of stubble agitated him to no end.
But as he shaved, he always would ponder over his next move, and this time had been no different.
He crossed over to his desk, dipped a quill in black ink, allowed the excess to drip off, and he began to write on a fresh bit of parchment with sleek, long strokes.
Marcellus,
I speak to you as an advisor. Presumptuous, I know, but we have spoken before, if you recall, and I know quite a bit about advising. I have advised a king, two queens… To advise a prince would be a simple matter for me, truly.
Why would you trust the likes of me, Aldus, when I have advised those who have stood against you? A most excellent question. I send this missive with a man who will do whatever you wish of him. I trust you will find him most useful in whatever task you wish to assign him even if it be for him to die.
This man is my cousin, and he willingly accepts his fate. Whatever you grant him, he will accept, be it fire, food, friendship, pain, agony, torture, death.
Why would I give you this man who shares some of my blood? As proof that you can trust me. As proof that I will help you in any way that I can. For now, I remain in the castle, but that will change if you call me to your side.
The world is a dangerous place, Marcellus, and it grows ever deadlier with every passing day. Let us make an alliance, us two, and it can be you who sits on the throne.
Aldus leaned back and considered what he had written and then attached the end mark to the “e” in throne and added:
once your father passes, of course.
There. He added his signature, sealed it with wax, and pressed his signet to the molten liquid. A figure of a goldfinch stared up at him, and he smiled grimly. The wax itself was black, which suited matters nicely, considering the Perez family crest was that of a black goldfinch.
