When Claws and Swords Collide

by N M Zoltack

  As much as Rase badly wanted to help her, he honestly didn’t know how. He’d helped the alchemist’s husband by giving him a loan for the hotel he wanted to build. Fool of a man, though. Why would anyone in their right mind be coming to Atlan right about now when there was a war on two fronts—with the Vincanans and with the dragons?

  But so far, Dudley was paying Rase weekly, as agreed upon, so if Rase wanted to, he could go and see the alchemist. Maybe she could help with Leanne, but honestly, Rase couldn’t bring himself to be bothered with the likes of the alchemist. He hadn’t liked that she implied Leanne would get better with time because so far, that had not been the case at all.

  If anything, Leanne was worsening, but was that because of her fleeing? Rase didn’t know, but he did try to be careful around her, to not startle her or give her any reason to consider fleeing again.

  The banging on the front door had Rase wincing. He’d just checked on Leanne, and she was sleeping, fitfully like always, but at least she wasn’t crying out anymore as if she had nightmares.

  Muttering to himself, he hurried to the door before the person could knock again.

  Wade Mercer, the merchant who owed him for wood for a wagon wheel, stood there.

  “Wade,” Rase said, motioning for the merchant to head on inside. “Won’t you talk with me in my parlor?”

  Rase couldn't help feeling as if he were walking on air as he brought the man to his parlor. Although he didn't have much growing up, Rase had moved up regardless. He had lost his parents and friends along the way, but he didn't live in a shack anymore. His belly was full all day every day. He couldn't complain all too much. In fact, he finally looked his years—all of fourteen. He was growing taller every day, it seemed. About time too. He had been afraid he would never grow, and for most of his life, he had appeared to be a good deal younger than his years.

  Rase bade Wade sit while he remained standing. "Do you want some ale? Some bread?"

  “I’m fine.” Wade yanked his hat from his head and began to run the rim through his fingers.

  “What is it?” Rase had a feeling he was going to hear bad news.

  “I learned the name of the goon who, ah…”

  “Who hurt my sister,” Rase said evenly. “Who was he?”

  “Ah, I’m not sure if who he is matters so much as who sent him.”

  Rase’s eyes narrowed. He had made enemies, yes, but who hadn’t? Most of them he’d dealt with, so who would’ve gone after Leanne?

  “I’d have both names if you please,” Rase said haltingly, trying to act the part of an aloof noble and most likely failing miserably.

  “The goon’s is Olivier Barbeau.”

  “A fisherman?”

  Wade nodded.

  “And he works for…”

  “He’s one of Baron Dolaidh McInness’s men.”

  Rase sunk into a chair and wearily rubbed his forehead.

  A baron. How many barons and earls and terrible nobles would he have to deal with?

  “The baron knows my name?” Rase mumbled. “Clearly. That was a stupid question. I never should’ve… What’s done is done, but it won’t be stood for. Thank you, Wade.”

  Wade hesitated.

  “There’s more?” Rase snapped.

  “No, ah, no,” Wade said. “I just didn’t know if…”

  “If I want your help to kill Olivier and Dolaidh? Don’t you worry. I’ll handle them.”

  Wade stood. “If you’re certain…”

  “I’m certain. Oh, and, Wade?”

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t owe me for the wood no more.”

  Wade grinned. “Are you certain?”

  “Do I have to repeat myself?” Rase grumbled.

  His grin even wider, Wade profusely repeated his gratitude several times before rushing out of the house.

  Rase shook his head, pacing a bit. When he turned back to face the doorway, he spied Leanne there.

  “Leanne! Come, sit!” He hurried over to her. She had hardly left her bed at all these many days.

  She jerked away when he reached for her arm.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked her quietly. Maybe she no longer liked to be touched.

  “That man…”

  “Wade. A friend of mine. You don’t have to worry about him.”

  “No,” she whispered. “Olivier. What are you going to do to him?”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Rase said firmly.

  Her eyes were remarkably clear that day, very alert. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you? That’s what you’re planning.”

  “So what if I am?” he asked, his tone cool.

  “You should not do that!”

  “Why not? I’ve killed to defend your honor before. I’ve killed for Maxene’s honor. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Leanne asked. “Knowing that my brother is a murderer?”

  “I don’t understand,” he said, trying to remain calm. “I’ve given you food, clothes, shelter… What more can you want? I’m seeing to your safety now. That’s just as important as the rest.”

  “You know the baron, don’t you?” she asked.

  He flinched. “I…”

  “You’re the reason why I was hurt.”

  Rase exhaled a breath. “Leanne, I will make all of this right.”

  “Killing is never the answer,” Leanne said sadly. “Pa’s dead. Ma’s dead, Maxene, the baby… How many more, Rase? You? Me? Others? You kill angering people, and they’re going to fight back. They’ll kill us. We’ll end up dead and all for what? We had shelter. Not the best, no, but we found ourselves food. We didn’t steal or kill for it. No, Rase, this isn’t the way.”

  “Leanne.” Rase grinned at her to show he wasn’t someone to fear. “Fine. I won’t go after Olivier or the baron. I won’t.”

  “And you won’t have your friends do it either?”

  Rase hesitated. His sister had hardly said two words since the dragons returned, but now, she was talking as if she had never stopped. Her mind, had it been fine all along? Had she been tricking him? To gain what? To what end?

  “I won’t go after them,” Rase said firmly, “and I won’t have any friends go after them either.”

  Leanne’s smile was wan but wide.

  He smiled back at her. He wasn’t going to go after them.

  He was going to kill them.

  26

  Former Councilmember Now Prisoner Greta Grantham

  The days were passing Greta by, but she wasn’t without some comforts. Pate gave her all the food and drink she could ask for—even wine—and he provided her with gowns, too, even helped her to get changed into them without being inappropriate. She thought he might even be willing to smuggle her down a maid to help, but Greta hoped that not many knew she was down here, and she would rather not add to that number if she could help it.

  The guard, though, had been quiet for the most part despite her trying to pry information from him, and Greta was done asking questions that alluded to what she wished to know.

  Maybe it was the third glass of wine that was prompting her to ask more pointed questions, but so be it.

  “Pate, tell me… Have there been more guards around the castle as of late?”

  “No,” he said. “Well, yes.”

  “Any battles?”

  “Not recently. Not here.”

  “Not here? There hasn’t been an attack on the castle, has there?”

  “Not again.”

  “Yes, that bit with the Vincanans, trying to sneak in—”

  “No, not that attack.”

  Greta drained the last of her goblet and held it out through the bars for Pate. She waited for him to refill it and also for him to explain himself. If he made her ask for every last detail…

  “Dragons,” Pate said.

  She jerked back her goblet as he was still pouring from the decanter. Wine splashed onto the ground.

  “Pardon me, but did
you say dragons?” Greta asked.

  “I did. The dragons have returned.”

  “That’s preposterous.”

  “I saw them with my own eyes. They burned the courtyard. It’s…”

  “Where are they now?”

  “No one knows.”

  “How ridiculous. Have they come back to set a few fires and then disappear again for another millennium and a half?” Greta laughed and drank heavily. The wine had been a bit bitter for the first few sips, but now, it went down smoothly. She didn’t prefer her wine to be so utterly wooden, but it felt almost perfect now.

  “We are not certain where they are, but the dragons haven’t disappeared.”

  “Are they to be killed?”

  Pate hesitated.

  If he didn’t wish to talk about the dragons, no matter. Greta hadn’t an inkling of an idea of how to approach dragons, so for now, she would ignore them and focus on something she could potentially deal with.

  Namely, the queens.

  “Pate.”

  “Yes?”

  She drained the rest of the wine and handed him the goblet. “Would you be a dear and see if either of the queens will have an audience with me? I wish to speak with them. I have… I need this. Badly.”

  Greta lowered her eyelashes and then peered up at him. Her hand reached through the bars, and she gripped his hand for a moment, squeezing it before releasing her hold on him.

  Pate sucked in a breath. “I will try, but first…”

  He rushed away to return a moment later with a towel that he used to clean up the spilled wine. She almost chuckled, appreciating his thoughtfulness. It wouldn’t do if one of the queens were to know about how un-prisonlike her experience had been thus far.

  It also spoke volumes to his belief that he would be able to secure a visit.

  Unfortunately, that was not to be the case. Pate did not return to see her until the buzz from the wine wore off, and his slumped shoulders and hung head were answer enough.

  But, even more regrettably, the news he bore were ill-tidings indeed.

  He rubbed the end of his hook nose and squinted his beady eyes. “Greta, I’m sorry…”

  “It’s not your fault,” she cooed.

  “Your execution date is set for one week from today.”

  Greta merely smiled. If Sabine sought to kill Greta, she had better do it herself because Greta would not die before she intended to.

  27

  Queen Rosalynne Rivera

  The younger princess felt as if the world was crashing down around her. As much as she was trying to operate separately from the elder queen, she knew that wasn’t in the best interest of Tenoch, so Rosalynne did the only sensible task she could do.

  She arranged for a meeting with Sabine.

  It felt strange to ask a servant to secure a meeting, but the castle was large, albeit far too crowded as of late. The peasants had not been willing to leave the safety of the castle walls, and Rosalynne hadn’t the heart to send them out, even though the dragons had thus far ignored the castle since the initial attack.

  An hour later, Rosalynne found herself in one of the tiniest of tea rooms opposite Sabine. The queen had deepening circles beneath her eyes, but other than that and the curious lack of jewelry around her neck, Sabine appeared as regal as ever. She might not have been born and bred to be a queen, but she certainly both looked and acted the part.

  “I suppose this meeting is because you learned that I scheduled my mother’s execution in a week,” Sabine said calmly, lifting her tea mug.

  Rosalynne placed a hand to her chest. “No, I… We can hold off—”

  “Why bother to hold off?” Sabine shook her head and then drank her tea. “Actually, I need…” She glanced around but realized Rosalynne had not allowed any servants or maids to linger in the room.

  Rosalynne clapped once, and a guard opened the door. “Please bring…”

  “A decanter of wine,” Sabine said demurely.

  The guard nodded, shut the door, and returned henceforth with the decanter. He went to pour it, but Rosalynne waved him out, and Sabine poured the wine for herself and then handed the cup to Rosalynne.

  The younger queen accepted the cup and took a small sip. She did not normally imbibe wine or alcohol, but a swallow or two would not be remiss.

  Sabine then poured a second cup but did not drink. “I cannot abide thinking that she lives yet, not after what she has done. I… I want you to know I never intended any ill will toward Noll or you or Vivian. I… I’ve been trying to see if I can get to know your sister more, but she hardly ever seems to be around.”

  “You are looking in the wrong places, then. She trains often and will take long rides.”

  “I used to hear stories about her, about how beautiful and regal she was, that she would wear a different gown every day of the year.”

  “She’s not that same girl,” Rosalynne said stiffly.

  “I suppose none of us are,” Sabine murmured before taking a long swallow.

  Rosalynne folded her hands on the table. The mention of Noll made her wish that she hadn’t allowed Tabes to wander about the castle as he saw fit. As of late, she had opted for that, but she missed Noll terribly, and likewise, she missed his pet.

  “We can discuss your mother momentarily, but I wish to discuss with you what our plans are for the future.”

  Sabine leveled her a cool stare. “Our plans?” she echoed.

  “Yes. We should be working together. We face two threats right now, and—”

  “The Vincanans should be turning tail and fleeing to their ships,” Sabine murmured.

  “Have you seen signs of that? Heard from any scouts who are reporting that?” Rosalynne asked. “Because my scouts have not. And that’s another matter. I have my scouts, and you have yours. Why? Why not pool our resources together? We are stretching Tenoch too thin, and I fear—”

  “Fear is the enemy of progress,” Sabine had the gall to say.

  “There can be no progress made in wartime,” Rosalynne countered. She clenched her teeth so hard that pain radiated to her ear.

  “Ah, but that is where you are wrong. If there is no progress during wartime, then the war will last indefinitely. For a war to end, there must be a swift and decisive end.”

  “And how can we accomplish that?” Rosalynne asked.

  Sabine chose that moment to drink more of her wine.

  Rosalynne sighed as quietly as she could. “Just because the dragons have not yet returned to the castle does not mean they will never come here. I fear the rest of the kingdom is under attack.”

  “Your scouts have not said—”

  “My scouts could have been eaten by a dragon for all I know. The same might have happened to yours.”

  Sabine drank more and then delicately placed her cup on her saucer, her long fingers tracing the blue floral design on the ceramic.

  “We can’t just do nothing,” Rosalynne said, her tone even and not exhibiting any of her inner turmoil and anguish.

  “From what I understand, you are not doing nothing. You have been having several men, mostly blacksmiths, away from their fires and forges to assist in making weapons that may or may not affect the dragons. You seek war with them.”

  “I would rather have peace, but sometimes, a show of strength is what is prudent,” Rosalynne said softly.

  “Oh, I doubt very much that the dragons will appreciate a show of strength against them,” Sabine said dryly.

  “So that is your plan then,” Rosalynne said, sitting back, dropping her hands to her lap. “You mean to do nothing at all.”

  “The dragons have not returned. Why do something that might cause them—”

  “And what if they have burned all of Etian to ashes while they’ve been away from Atlan?” Rosalynne asked. “Perhaps Tenoch is too large to be ruled by one person. Tenoch Proper never should have been even attempted as far as one ruler for all of Dragoona.”

  “You have a very defeatist attitude
, Rosalynne.”

  "I don't exactly think sitting around, having meetings that don't amount to anything at all, and drinking wine are much of a victorious attitude. Not unless you consider executing your own mother a win."

  Sabine blinked a few times and then lifted her mug but not before Rosalynne spied the queen’s smile.

  It was most certainly the look of one issuing a challenge.

  Not wishing to play any more games, Rosalynne stood and swept out of the room, heading to the library. She had gotten nowhere with the queen, but perhaps some scrolls and research would prove illuminating.

  28

  Princess Vivian Rivera

  Vivian pinched the bridge of her nose and then rubbed her eyes. The letters on the scroll were swimming before her. Her shoulders ached, her back was stiff, and she probably should stand and walk a bit. She’d carried as many scrolls as she could over to the desk and had been sitting here for three or four hours now.

  The door to the library opened, and Vivian glanced up to see none other than her sister entering the room.

  “Vivian!” Rosalynne exclaimed. “What are you doing in here?”

  Vivian swept her hand to encompass scroll after scroll. “Doing some research on the dragons.”

  “You are? Looking for ideas on how to kill them?”

  Vivian ducked her head to hide her scowl. She hated that she hadn’t read more about the dragons while she had been in Olac.

  “Rosalynne,” Vivian said slowly, “I think I need to leave.”

  “Leave?” Rosalynne murmured, picking up one of the scrolls.

  “Yes. I mean to go to Olac.”

  “Olac? Why on earth would you go there?” Before Vivian could respond, her sister continued, “You only just returned! Why would you leave again? You’re needed here!”

  “Needed to do what exactly?” Vivian asked dryly. “Wear fancy dresses? There are no balls, no celebrations, as well there shouldn’t be. There have been no battles with the Vincanans, no sighting of the dragons near here, but the dragons are out there somewhere.”

  “All the more reason for you to stay here,” Rosalynne said firmly.