by N M Zoltack
Rosalynne shook her head, grinning. “You always think the best of me, but I… I feel that I have failed Vivian. She told me she was thinking about leaving, and I dismissed it. I never thought she would resort to leaving without saying goodbye first! And she doesn’t even know…”
“Know what?”
“You should know,” Rosalynne murmured. “Everyone should know.”
“Know what?” he asked slowly, as if he were afraid to hear what she had to say.
“Noll’s murderer.”
“You’ve found him!” Ulric’s dark eyes burned.
“Yes,” Rosalynne said, “although the murder is not a him.”
“A woman killed the prince?”
Ulric’s shock brought a wan smile to her face. “Yes. None other than Greta Grantham.”
“And Vivian doesn’t know.”
“I… Greta will be executed. It was supposed to already happen, but I knew Sabine wouldn’t go through with it. No one knows, and the word should spread widely, but if I do that now, if Vivian learns after she left that we… Should we delay it longer?”
“Greta is imprisoned?”
“She is.”
“We… You could leave her imprisoned until Vivian returns.”
“Perhaps we should. I just… I want justice for Noll. I do. It’s only…”
“You never cared for executions.”
“My father loved them. He killed those who spoke out about the Lis, those who killed, stole on multiple occasions… He sought to keep the peace through fear, but that is not how I wish to rule, and yet… I cannot spare her. She killed my brother. Noll deserves justice. Greta will die. She has to do.”
"Then have her executed. Now, later, that doesn't matter so long as it is done." Ulric took a step closer to Rosalynne, and she did not back away, although there was little space between them.
Rosalynne swallowed hard. Her heart was beating so loudly she thought Ulric might be able to hear it.
“Your people should know the murderer was found.” Ulric tilted his head to the side. “Do you think she also murdered that Vincanan?”
“Rufus? I… I hadn’t considered that, but she will be questioned about that.”
“How did you uncover that she was the murderer?”
“Sabine. Her own daughter sold her out.”
“And you believe Sabine?”
“Yes. Greta is not innocent. Perhaps of killing Rufus but not Noll. I know it to be true. I know it right here.” Rosalynne tapped her knuckles to her chest.
“You’re worried about doing the right thing,” Ulric murmured.
Rosalynne nodded, her throat too tight for her to speak.
“I understand that all too well. I think most everyone feels that way, too, especially now.”
“Not Vivian. She knows her path.”
“Greta knows her.” Ulric’s grin was lopsided.
Rosalynne laughed, shocked at her happiness. Her glee only lasted a moment, and her heart felt ready to burst from sorrow. Happiness was the last feeling she should be experiencing, yet this very second, with Ulric, it felt as if all of her worries had flown away, been burned off. Only the two of them existed, and she found herself gazing at his lips, wondering what it might be to kiss him.
But that would be cruel on her part, to give him false hope like that.
It would be cruel on her part, as well, to give herself false hope.
Her father had married for love, but that had not stopped him from executing innocents and stealing the throne. She would not marry for love.
Not that she loved Ulric.
Or did she?
35
Former Councilmember Now Prisoner Greta Grantham
The day had come at long last. Greta’s execution day.
Greta did not mind that she would not see another dawn. Since her captivity, she had not seen the sun. No matter. Everything would be as it should in a matter of time. That time would come to pass after she died, but so be it. The Fates could be rather tricksy, but then, so could Greta herself, as the queens would soon discover.
Ah, the queens. Sabine had deigned Greta a visit earlier this day to announce that all of Tenoch knew of Greta's crime and that she would be executed before supper. Before Sabine had left, she had thrown a question over her shoulder, asking if Greta had anything to do with Rufus Vitus’s death.
Greta had rolled her eyes. “Why would I have done that when you should have married one from Vincana? This war was not how I envisioned your future.”
Sabine had turned back then to face her. Her daughter’s face had been an unreadable mask. “And the dragons?”
“If you think I had anything to do with their returning, then you truly overestimate my powers.”
“If you think you have any powers, you overestimate yourself.” And Sabine had stalked away, head high, as if she had no worries or cares in the world.
But that would change. That would change and soon.
Yes, Greta was more than fine with her death. Her lips curled into an easy smile. Everything had been put into action so that Sabine would not be queen for much longer. Rosalynne would soon learn the truth. Sabine might not have killed Noll, but she had killed someone regardless.
Footsteps approached. Pate was there, and he was not alone. A maid stood there beside him, Greta’s own personal maid. An exquisite gown was draped over the maid’s shoulder.
Without turning away or asking Pate to look away, Greta allowed the maid to wash her where she stood and then to dress her. She was not afforded any jewels, but no matter. Greta was certain she appeared majestic regardless.
Pate left and returned with a chair. Greta sat, and the maid hummed softly as she pinned Greta’s blond and white locks atop her head.
Once the maid finished, Greta reached her right hand to her opposite shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Of course, my lady. I… I do not believe what they are saying about you.”
“You think I did not kill Noll?” Greta asked, rising from the chair and eyeing the young maid.
The girl shook her head, her gaze on the ground.
"But I did," Greta said smoothly. Her fingers lifted the girl's chin. "If you do something, mean it. If you say something, say it with conviction. No one will fight for you as fervently as you will fight for yourself. I dare say, when you have children, no one will fight for them more than you will, but when your own children plot against you… Yes, I killed Noll, but I did it for Sabine. I have given my very life for her."
Greta stared off into the distance a moment, thinking back to all those nights when she had laid in bed with that baron all so that her daughter would be able to move up even higher herself. She had taken strict, careful measures to ensure she did not become pregnant a second time.
The man had been a sloth himself, almost as despicable as the king. Yes, that had been a reason why Greta hadn’t been willing to marry Jankin herself. She feared she would have been crushed beneath his weight.
“Marry a husband who is higher up than you are,” Greta advised the girl.
“But…”
“Love?” Greta asked. “Fool your heart into loving a man who is higher up than you are. If you do, you will be much happier for it. Your children will appreciate your sacrifices one day—”
“As the queen did yours?”
Greta smiled fondly at the maid. “I hope you will have children who will appreciate you far more than mine did. I doubt anyone will understand why I did what I did, but in my heart, I know I would do it again.”
The maid hung her head.
“You knew Noll, didn’t you?” Greta asked softly. “He was… He was not quite all there, was he?”
The maid shook her head.
“What you did was a kindness,” Pate said, speaking up for the first time.
Greta eyed the guard. Even now, he did not judge her.
“If you could…” The maid hesitated.
"Ask now, or you won't have the chance to later," Greta c
hided.
“Would you kill your daughter? Kill Rosalynne?”
Greta merely smiled. “The course of life runs as it should, and there may yet be a role for me in the future. Perhaps one day, all of Tenoch will rue this day, but I cannot predict the future. I have given my life so that I could put my daughter on the throne. Maybe you all will curse me and spit on my grave for having ever given birth to the whelp. Be that as it may, I did what I did, and I have no regrets. Not a one.”
Greta’s handcuffs had been removed so that she could be dressed. After Sabine’s visit earlier, she had ordered handcuffs to be placed on her wrists. Her one hand clasping her wrist in front of her, Greta swept out of the room, her skirt swirling out around her, full and stiff, regal even. She might not have a crown, but she looked well the part of a queen, to be sure.
That her gown was a stunning combination of red and black seemed only fitting, with a black bodice trimmed with red as well as red piping in stiff lines. The skirt itself was red with a black lace overlay, the bottom ruffled trim black as well.
Pate walked just behind her, and Greta did not hear the footsteps of the maid, so either she was part mouse, or else she had stayed behind.
A hand on Greta’s elbow, Pate guided her up the stairs and out of the castle and beyond the castle walls. There was no guillotine out here, but a dais had been constructed for the queens, and many, so many, had turned out to witness the execution of the queen’s mother.
Greta was escorted to stand before the dais, looking up at the queens. It would be very telling, very telling indeed, to know which of the two queens would sentence her to death.
“Greta Grantham, you have killed Prince Noll,” Rosalynne said firmly. The dog standing beside her barked loudly, just one single bark. “Do you deny this charge?”
“I do not.”
“Do you deny that you beat him, struck him, and threw him down the stairs? That you left him to die?”
“I do not.”
Sabine stepped forward. Both queens wore the same gowns, one in blue the other purple. Had they coordinated their outfits? Why on earth would they do such a thing? If anything, it made them appear as if they were merely playacting as queens.
“Do you wish to grovel and beg for mercy? Do you regret what you have done?” Sabine asked.
Greta smirked. She had witnessed a few of the king’s executions, back when Jankin had not been quite so large and had attended them himself. The crowds had always made a grand affair of it, with much jeering and throwing of food at the condemned, with shouts and calls for the head to be chopped off.
Here, the crowd was silent. They respected Greta even if the queens did not.
“My only regret,” Greta said evenly, “is that I gave birth to you.”
Sabine’s face blanched, and Greta’s smirk grew even wider.
“Go on. Kill me,” Greta mocked, stripping away their power even now by granting them authority to execute her. “Sentence me to death. Curse me.”
“You will burn for your betrayal against the Riveras,” Rosalynne said heatedly.
Greta grinned at her and lifted her head higher to show off her neck. “Will you swing the axe yourself, My Queen?”
She directed the question at Rosalynne, an obvious slight to her daughter.
Sabine’s right hand spasmed, and she flexed it. She clearly wished to be the one to lower the axe, to slice her own mother’s neck.
Rosalynne calmly turned aside, allowing Greta a few of the two gilded chairs that sat on the dais behind the queens. She secured an unlit torch while Sabine grabbed some rope.
Dutifully, Pate, joined by several other guards, escorted Greta to the tree near the dais. Sabine approached and tied her. The knot was surprisingly strong, not that Greta sought to escape. If she had wished for that, she merely had to only nod at Pate at any time. He had whispered to her many times about his hopes to spirit her away, that he had saved up some coins, that they could find refuge in any small town of their choosing.
After living in the castle, did he truly think some hovel would be enough for her?
Sabine had no words to whisper to her mother, and she stepped aside. Rosalynne approached, her torch now lit.
“Die and burn,” the younger queen—the true queen—said softly.
And she lowered the torch to ignite the bottom ruffled hem of Greta’s gown.
The heat was immense, the flames scalding, but Greta refused to cry out. Even though her eyes watered from the burns, from the smoke, she refused to shut them, staring at the two young ladies in their matching gowns, their dainty crowns, and all Greta could think about was how fitting it was that she burned to death instead of face the axe.
This was far more painful.
This was far more fitting.
And Greta passed out before she expired.
36
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
Rosalynne wanted to cover her nose, to look away, to stop breathing. Greta hadn’t whimpered, hadn’t whined, hadn’t cried out in pain. Somehow, she had accepted her fate gracefully, and that irked Rosalynne to no end.
The woman had killed the prince, had wounded and then killed her brother, yet she acted as if she felt no pain as the flames consumed her body.
The eldest Rivera had always hated executions, despised watching over them. She had a hard time not watching the skies as she and Sabine spoke with Greta, but all along, Rosalynne had hoped a dragon would come and snatch Greta away, that the dragon would eat her or even burn her for them. Didn’t the dragons care at all about goodness and light anymore and punishing those who had done terrible acts? Couldn’t they see into a person’s soul?
The tree itself had now caught ablaze, and still, Rosalynne and Sabine stood jointly, watching the elder queen’s mother, what they could see of her in the middle of the flames. They had jointly agreed that death by burning would be best for Greta, and there were plenty on hand to put out the fire once they were certain the murderer was dead.
No hope or peace or gratitude washed over Rosalynne. If anything, she felt a bit bereft. Killing Greta for what she had done had not returned Noll to life, only serving to wash Rosalynne with grief anew.
Still, she acted the part of a royal, regal queen.
She, however, needed to do more than act the part.
She must be a queen. The fate of Tenoch rested in her hands, and she must mold her hands into capable ones such that Tenoch could survive and weather both the war with Vincana and the return of the dragons.
The crowd was subdued and slowly started to dissipate away in small groups.
Sabine never looked away from the burning tree. “You can go.”
“You will stay?” Rosalynne asked.
The other queen nodded, her jaw set.
Rosalynne thought about placing a hand on Sabine’s shoulder, but why should she offer comfort to the daughter of the woman who had caused her family so much distress and turmoil? The Granthams—both of them—were capable of much deceit, and Rosalynne knew better than to trust anyone.
She could not even trust herself.
A few guards trailing behind her, Rosalynne gathered the skirt of her purple gown and swept away for the castle. Tabes followed, brushing against her legs every few steps as if to reassure her that he was still there. She had been of a mind to leave him in the castle, but the dog was her last tie to Noll, given that Vivian had left, and Rosalynne had grown to love the dog almost as much as her brother had. There were far too many days of late when the only comfort she had was found in Tabes.
Once inside the castle, Rosalynne breathed a bit deeper, but her heart raced yet. What kind of death would she face if the Vincanans were to win? Would she be burned as well? Run through with a sword? Stabbed in the back as Rufus had been?
Pessimist thoughts would not help her now, but her thoughts turned darker still as she realized she could not seek out her sister.
Vivian should have been there with them on the dais. Vivian might have argued for th
e axe or a sword and would have been willing to swing it. They could have burned the body afterward.
Rosalynne halted and lifted her hand. “I wish to be alone,” she murmured, barely turning her face to her shoulder, speaking to her guards.
Without comment, they allowed her to walk away in peace. Relative peace would be more apt.
Had Ulric been at the proceedings? Was he still there? Perhaps. Who could she speak to instead?
Her questions concerning the dragons returned, and she sought the chapel, hoping to see Vicar Albert Leeson there, but he was not. She could not recall him at the execution, but perhaps he had been there after all. Rosalynne and Sabine had opted for the two of them to be the only ones on the dais, although they had discussed having their council members there as well, including the vicar.
Having nowhere else to go, Rosalynne decided to retire for a few hours. Once her mind had cleared from the traumatic events earlier this day, she would be better able to serve her people.
Tabes raced into her room the moment she opened the door to her chambers, and she shut them in. The queen swept over to her bed and sat on the edge of it when she spied a wrapped-up scroll sitting on her vanity.
Who had placed that there?
37
Queen Sabine Grantham
The queen watched and waited until the entire tree was crumbling to nothing but ash before she nodded for the guards to douse the flames. The smoke billowed forth terribly, but Sabine stifled any coughing fit that threatened to overwhelm her.
Her mother was now dead. She could no longer plot machinations against Sabine.
Sabine was free.
So why, then, did she feel worried yet? Her stomach was churning and not from the stench of her mother's seared flesh.
She waited until the fire had been entirely doused for her to return to the castle. All of those in attendance had already left. There had been scarcely a whisper from the entire lot. Why had they no words? The people hadn’t been vocal about wanting another death.
Perhaps they had witnessed too much carnage. Maybe they did not approve of what the queens had done. Could it be that they had forgotten their prince and no longer cared that justice be wrought for his murderer?
