by N M Zoltack
Would Greta truly try to undermine them during the war? All of Tenoch Proper was being threatened! Her mother wasn’t that ambitious, was she?
Or perhaps she was. After all, her mother had killed Noll, and Sabine knew she would kill again. Greta would do anything for Sabine, but most certainly, Greta would do anything for herself, too.
19
Councilmember Greta Grantham
The moment news reached Greta’s ears that Rosalynne had sent out orders concerning the fleet of Tenoch, Greta did not frown or grimace or sneer. She didn’t but only because she did not wish to start acquiring wrinkles.
Inwardly, she seethed, beyond annoyed that Rosalynne had come out of her melancholy and was acting like a queen, perhaps even more than Sabine was.
No matter. If Rosalynne wished to be queen, she was going to have a hard time having the support of the people once they learned the news.
Greta had already sent Tiberius away to fetch Herry Draper, a merchant from Etian. The Granthams hailed from Etian, and Greta knew the man would be loyal to her, perhaps even more so than Tiberius, if that were possible.
As with anything concerning Tiberius, it did not take the guard long to bring the merchant to her. Greta received Herry in the tea room located below her bedchamber. She nodded to Tiberius to guard the closed door. He grimaced for a moment, but when she smiled at him, he bowed and rushed to comply. She would make him happy later.
“How are you?” Greta asked, pouring the merchant some tea. Of course no maid was in the room with them.
“I am… not doing as well as I once was. The war requires far sturdier clothes than wool.”
“Even with the approaching winter? I would have thought that wool would be necessary for every family member.”
"One would think, but the families fleeing and coin being spent elsewhere, such as on weapons to defend oneself…" Herry held up his hands. "I have been considering returning to Etian, actually."
“You have such a talent for both making and selling woolen clothes, though. Won’t you stay?”
“If I cannot provide for myself and my family…”
“What a shame,” Greta murmured. “Family is so important, is it not? And you said family. You and Royse then…”
"Yes," he said proudly, puffing out his chest. He drank his tea greedily, not at all as was proper, and clattered the cup back onto the saucer. "We have two sons, and she is with child again."
“How the Fates have pleased you, and not one but two sons!” Greta pretended to take a sip of her tea and eyed him over the rim. “It is such a shame what happened to the king’s sons. Both of them.”
"Yes, yes, indeed, especially the babe." Herry shook his head.
“But then, I should have said son.” Greta brushed her blond and white hair back. “The babe was not his.”
“No.” Herry gasped. “I thought I heard… I didn’t think it true.”
“Not only that but… I shouldn’t say.” Greta took an actual sip this time and waited.
“You do not have to tell me anything, but know this. I would never betray anyone from Etian.”
Greta glanced to the right, out the window, and slowly nodded, as if making up her mind. “The king… He did not appreciate being betrayed, and we all remember how the king treated those who betrayed him.”
“The executions…” Herry said. He blinked a few times and gaped at her. “No. The king…”
“The king what?” she asked innocently.
“Did the king…”
Greta held her tongue.
The merchant screwed up his courage and blurted, “Tell me the king did not kill the babe!”
“I would tell you that if I wished to lie,” she said sadly. “I must confess that when I learned the truth, I was shocked, beyond appalled, but he is dead now. Perhaps the Fates decided he had killed one too many.”
“I’m glad he’s dead,” Herry declared. “And Rosalynne, ah, Queen Rosalynne oversaw so many of his executions. She’s just like her father.”
Greta held up her teacup to cover her smile. Yes, indeed, this was the most perfect way to undermine both Rosalynne and her influence.
The two talked about their hometown a bit before Herry said that he had to return to the store, but that he thought might stay in Atlan a bit longer.
Yes, do stay and do talk. Spread the terribly tragic news to any and all who will listen.
Long after the merchant left, Greta remained in the tea room, smug and content as she could be.
20
Olympia Li
The forest was aptly named. All around Olympia was black—black barks, black soil, stones covered in black plants. The Black Forest was too densely populated with the trees for her to ride on one of the horses. Tugging them along to follow behind her had grown tiresome not an hour into her trek through the place.
Leaving Bjorn behind had been the right choice. She did not regret that decision at all, but she did hate that she had no allies at all. Even if she did not have an army, she should have allies. Perhaps she should stop at Cilla for more than a meal and a night’s rest, but how long would she have to stay in order to find a person she could trust enough with her secret? Anyone loyal to either queen would surely be ready to either capture or kill her.
Her thoughts were as dark as the place, and she paused a moment to stretch her back and switch the hand holding the reins. It was imperative for her to have both so she could switch between them to prevent either from becoming too overtaxed.
And it also left Bjorn with no horse at all, a fact that made her happier than perhaps it should.
Up ahead, a shadow moved just as Olympia had lifted her right foot to take a step. She hesitated, putting her foot down and opting to wait to see who or what was approaching.
A black cloak. A hood up. A skull. No eyes. A ghost-like body.
Olympia had heard the stories over and over again from Dong Han, her family's most loyal servant. He had been the one who had spirited her away the night her parents had been slain by Jankin Rivera.
A wraith. An agent of the dragons. They were meant to scare people onto the right path so that they might not share in the wraith’s suffering, for they had once been people who wandered about falsely.
The wraith turned to see her, if it could see without any eyes, but then it turned aside. It was not coming for her, and she grinned, pleased she had been given that small act of acceptance. Perhaps she was on the right path after all.
A twig snapped, and she spied another figure, this one a living person, one with short dark-brown hair, piercing eyes, thick lips, and a sharp nose, all angles of his face harsh.
Bjorn.
To her surprise, the wraith ignored him too and quickly moved away out of sight.
That was… interesting.
Before Bjorn could catch up to her, Olympia picked up the pace, walking as swiftly as she could get the horses to follow, and her hard work paid off. Just before nightfall, she reached Cilla. Immediately, she headed for the inn, a young, dirty street rat pointing her in the right direction as soon as she entered the gates. She tossed him a small coin for his trouble.
The wench at the inn didn’t seem to be too pleased about having to board two horses, but the innkeeper came over, and his eyes lit up when he heard this. He’s probably hoping I’m rich.
The man handled her horses himself, and the room she was given seemed fresh and clean enough. She slapped her hand on the bed a few times, but not bugs scattered about, and she lay down. She so desperately needed sleep. In her efforts to stay ahead of Bjorn, she had hardly rested at all. Unfortunately, her body could only handle the lack of sleep for so long. The last time she had rested for what she had hoped would only be a few minutes, she had ended up sleeping for hours instead. Surely that had been when Bjorn had taken advantage and nearly closed in on her again.
What was he still following her? Was he that desperate to get back into the younger queen's good graces? Or had he fallen out of favor with
Sabine? He had been banished away from Atlan, she knew that much, but he had yet to inform her why despite her asking time and again.
Her eyes closed, and sleep came, but the moment the air around her shifted, she woke, knowing something was off. Her hand gripped the knife she kept beside her, and she unsheathed it as she sat up, nearly burying the blade in the intruder’s stomach.
Nearly because she realized just in time who the intruder was.
None other than Bjorn, of course.
“Get out of my room,” she said, holding the sheath in her other hand but making no move to put away the knife.
“Did you see that thing in the forest?” he demanded. “It looked like a ghost. You saw it too, didn’t you?”
“I did. It’s a wraith.”
“A wraith? Blessed be the Four Fates, but what is a wraith?”
She laughed. “You don’t know?”
“No.”
Olympia bit her lower lip and put the knife away after all. “Let me tell you a story.”
“Is it going to be a frightening tale? Because that wraith…”
“Is Bjorn Ivano the champion that afraid of wraiths?”
“Did you see that thing? It was a skeleton with no eyes! Does it have legs and feet? Does it float and fly around? I didn’t get a good enough look at it, not that I want to see it up close.”
"So, you are afraid."
“Are you going to tell me the story or not?” he grumbled as he sat on the edge of her bed.
"Wraiths belong to the dragons. There once was a man who wanted more—more coins, more food, more power and influence. He gambled to gain more coins, which he spent on food. He gambled enough that he was able to buy the power and influence he sought. When his friends from the time he was poor asked him for help, he refused. He cast them aside, and then he even proposed to have their houses taken down so that more trees could be planted there."
“He sounds like a real winner.”
“Yes, well, having the houses taken down left those friends without a place to stay for the winter, and one of the men’s sons did not survive the cold months. That was when a dragon came to see the man. He was offered a choice—to become a wraith or to die.”
“And he became a wraith,” Bjorn assumed.
"No, actually. He foolishly believed he could do anything and everything he wished, and the dragon had the wraith consume the man, his body and soul. Now, I don't know if wraiths truly have that power or not, and I heard many more stories about how the dragons would merely eat those who angered them, but…"
“A frightening tale indeed,” Bjorn muttered. His shoulders were tight and hunched over.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The wraith should’ve come for me,” he mumbled.
“Why?” she asked simply.
“You asked me many a time why I left Atlan Castle. Yes, I was banished. I killed a man in Queen Rosalynne’s name. He was a thief, but… He stole food for his family. They were starving. I… I didn’t know until after, and… I was too rash, too impulsive.”
“Too wrong,” she added softly.
“Yes. The wraith should’ve come for me, but it didn’t. Why?”
"Clearly, the Fates have something else in mind for you."
“The wraiths and the dragons… Why did we see a wraith? The dragons have been dead for how many years now?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed, “but I’m tired, and I’m going to sleep.”
“I won’t be able to. Not after seeing that thing and not after hearing that tale.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “What are you going to do instead? Watch me sleep?”
“No. That’s creepy.”
"I actually meant to keep watch."
“No. We’ll be safe here.”
“Then…”
“I would rather just talk,” he said simply.
Olympia exhaled. “Talk about what?”
“Well, for one thing, you didn’t react to what I… to my confession.”
“It’s not my place to,” she protested.
“But you have your thoughts on the matter.”
“I do.”
“Let’s hear them.” He leaned forward as if truly interested in what she had to say. His eyes pierced through her.
“Well… You regret what you did, and a wraith will know if a person can change. Perhaps you won’t always be so rash and terrible.”
“You think I’m terrible?” Bjorn almost grinned, the corners of his lips tugging upward.
“I do,” she said, but she might have been smiling herself.
As it turned out, the two stayed up more than half the night talking, and when Olympia woke in the morning, he had fallen asleep beside her, although his head was at her feet.
Did this mean she trusted him? Perhaps a little more than she had the previous morning. Perhaps.
21
Rase Ainsley
Rase didn’t want to wait too long before he paid Radcliff Snell another visit, but his time he wasn’t going alone.
His friends, the ones he had helped and who were now indebted to him, he sought out. The strongest, the tallest, the biggest, those were the ones Rase had asked to accompany him.
"Where are we going?" asked Jop Webster.
Jop was a man Rase had convinced to see a certain physician who, against the laws of the queens, had refused to see peasants even though the crown would have paid him for those visits. Whatever had been ailing him, the physician had cured.
“To see a terrible man,” Rase said cheerfully.
"Which man?" asked one of the heaviest of street rats. He didn't eat all that much at all because there simply wasn't that much food to go around. How he was so fat Rase didn't understand. That the king had been even fatter than Hotch amazed Rase. Once, when things had been going well for the Ainsleys, in short before Maxene and the babe had died, Rase had given Hotch some food.
“A nobleman,” Rase said, not wishing to give too many details away.
“All noblemen are terrible.” Miles Kilner laughed. A potter, Miles had his supplies ruined by a bunch of young noblemen. All Rase had done was try to help clean up the mess.
In all, there were ten of them, eleven if you included Rase, and he marched them along to the Snell's manor. He hoped the earl would be out, as was often the case, but at this point, perhaps the earl needed a listen too. If he knew about his son's activities, he was just as guilty. If he didn't know, well, that should be corrected.
They marched right up to the door. A butler answered, and they ignored the stammering, red-faced man, forcing their way inside.
“Radcliff!” Rase called. “It’s me again. If you thought I was going to stay away, you’re wrong.”
Footsteps sounded, and Rase rushed ahead. He entered the kitchen just as he spied a man about the same shape and build of Radcliff fleeing.
Miles Kilner was the swiftest, and he led the chase. Rase moved off to the side to allow the others a chance to follow. A few minutes later, they returned to the kitchen, huffing and puffing.
In those minutes, Rase had listened to the butler yell at him for precisely five seconds before the man dared to lay a hand on him. Rase had witnessed on more than one occasion a man placing his fingers on two certain spots on the back of a woman's neck and her slumping over, asleep or unconscious. It took a little bit of struggling for Rase to find those points, but he did find them, and down the butler went.
Rase stared at his friends. “Well?”
“The coward ran off,” Hotch said breathlessly.
“The earl or his son?”
“He was definitely on the young side,” Jop said, and the others nodded.
“What did he do?” Miles asked.
“He is the worst sort of nobleman, the kind who does care who gets hurt,” Rase said bitterly.
Or killed.
Should they return another day? What exactly would they do if they did? Radcliff clearly didn't wish to talk more, but then, thi
s went beyond words, didn't it?
Rase trailed behind his friends on the way out. He swiped a few small items he could tuck away and sell. He wasn’t done with Radcliff yet, even if he might have to rethink his strategy for next time.
22
Sir Edmund Hill
“How soon can we be ready?”
“To launch an attack on the castle and be successful this time? We’ll need a few more days. Three. Four at the most.”
“And will we be joining other groups?”
"It's the only away to ensure our complete and total victory. We must not forget that claiming the castle is only the first step."
Edmund shuddered. He did not like this Marcellus' words. It irked the knight terribly that the Vincanan seemed so haughty and arrogant. Marcellus truly believed he and his people would prevail. Worse, Marcellus was a strong and capable enough of a leader to fight and kill his way to the very top, but would his people listen to him and do as he commanded? Because not all fighters or soldiers could also be good leaders.
“Did you hear that?” Edmund asked Tatum. He couldn’t believe how long she had stayed with him. Even though he knew the kingdom needed more of her potions, whenever he thought to ask her to make them, she looked pale or was sick. He hadn’t the heart to send her away while she was so ill from carrying his brother’s child.
“I did.”
“Now we can return,” he said.
He motioned for her to go first. She hesitated, but at his nod, she left, and he followed. It wasn’t until they were nearly an hour’s trek from the Vincanans’ perch that they began to talk.
“I’m so glad waiting around for so long paid off,” shr said.
“I’m grateful for your potion. Without it, I would have run the risk of being caught by having to venture much closer to them.”
“That’s what I do, save your neck,” she teased as she twisted her long hair into a braid and tucked the end up.
“I saved you in the swamp,” he protested.
