by N M Zoltack
He did not wish to think on that either.
41
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
The queen felt as if all of the blood had drained from her face. She could actually feel herself turn pale.
Sabine’s words echoed in her head.
Sabine had poisoned the king. She might or might not have killed him.
First, Jankin had been betrayed by his first wife via her dying in childbirth, giving him a second daughter when he had so desperately wished for a second son given Noll and his… deficiencies.
Then, his second wife, Aldith, cheated on him, only discovered because she had become pregnant. Even worse, according to Jankin, had been her also dying in childbirth as he wished to have her executed. Most likely, although Rosalynne had never asked, Jankin had felt betrayed that the babe survived, although the king had killed Bates, so that was answer enough on that front.
After that, his third wife sought to poison him.
Although before that, his advisor, Aldus Perez, had encouraged the king to eat to excess. That had been another betrayal, to be sure.
Whoever Aldith slept with had also betrayed the man.
Honestly, Rosalynne felt certain that if her father still lived, he most likely thought she had failed him as well. Vivian too. If he knew that she had fought in battles, that she had trained with the Vincanans, he would have been furious.
The king had choked. There was no questioning that, but could the poisoning have caused the choking?
Rosalynne gripped the edge of the table so that she would not faint. Slowly, attempting to show no emotion at all, she sat down. After glancing about the room without moving her head to ensure that they were alone, Rosalynne reached forward to reclaim the scroll.
“Your mother claims you are an alchemist,” Rosalynne said softly. “Your mother is nothing more than a vile pile of ashes now, and her tongue was poisonous, but that does not mean that nothing she says is true. Quite the contrary. I believe she spoke many truths so that her lies could be that much more believed and accepted.”
Sabine swallowed. “I—”
“Do you deny it? Do you deny working on potions?”
“I’ve worked on potions, yes,” Sabine said in a rush, “but I am not… I’m not an alchemist.”
“Not yet, I suppose?” Rosalynne asked idly, coolly. “What is holding you back then? The threat of the curse?”
“I’ve been making healing potions for the wounded warriors. I’ve been trying to help!”
“Then why conceal it?” Rosalynne shook her head. “When asked about it, Thorley Everett knew nothing, which is disappointing to be sure, but Tiberius Davis had some interesting tidbits to share.”
“Tiberius,” Sabine said slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes.
“He gave the prisoners potions that you supplied, and then they spoke, and then they died. Do you care to explain that?”
“To become an alchemist…” Sabine started and then reached for the chair closest to her. “May I sit?”
“You may continue to stand.”
Sabine smiled. “Very well. I didn’t want to sit anyway. As I was saying, to become an alchemist, you must create a new potion, one that has never been created before, and also, this potion must do exactly what you wish and only that.”
“What did you wish for the potion to do?”
“Not to kill the prisoners,” Sabine said dryly. “Alas, I am not an alchemist. I am not cursed.”
“Are you so certain on that front?” Rosalynne asked coolly. “After all, you admitted to killing the king.”
“I admitted to attempting to poison him. It’s possible that he choked on a bite that had no poison on it. He died at the beginning of the meal, did he not?”
“The meal begins for everyone once they are served, but the king is served first and foremost,” Rosalynne said slowly. “If I recall, he had eaten about half of his place before he died. Did he choke? He stopped breathing. What poison did you use?”
Sabine held out her hands as she shrugged. “I hardly think that matters now.”
"It is not for you to say if anything matters or not."
For a period, the two were silent, Rosalynne glowering at the standing woman, the elder queen looking down upon the one sitting.
Finally, Sabine said, “I strove to find a way to secure Tenoch, to save our knights. Everything I have ever done has only ever been for Tenoch.”
“Is that your argument?” Rosalynne asked. “Is that your justification for your actions?”
“Jankin had not been the leader we needed. He hadn’t been the king Tenoch deserved, and you cannot deny that unless you are willing to admit that you yourself do not understand what Tenoch deserves.”
“You will not presume to speak for me,” Rosalynne said, her tone as frigid as she felt. She had touched Noll’s body after he had died. She knew how cold one’s body became once their soul departed their flesh, and she felt that herself now even though she still lived and breathed.
Parts of her had died with the loss of each loved one. Soon, she would become nothing more than a walking corpse.
“You know as well as I and the citizens of Tenoch that Jankin had not been the king they needed. He had been at one time but no more. You had been too weak to do what was necessary, and yes, I sought to learn all I could about potions. Yes, I was studying alchemy—still am, in fact—and yes, I know about the curse, but I will not rest and walk around in a pretty dress and wear a crown while soldiers fight and die each day, while the dragons terrorize the skies. I will fight with anything and everything we have, and if you want to have me killed for it, then Tenoch will be what suffers the most because I have Tenoch’s best interests at heart more than any ruler in recent memory.” Sabine’s steel-blue eyes held no gray hue this moment. “I have Tenoch’s best interests at heart more than any ruler since the Lis.”
Rosalynne stood now. She had heard quite enough.
“You should know that I have executed men for saying such slander,” she hissed.
“No. You did not order the executions. You merely watched them,” Sabine corrected. “You did not order my mother’s—”
“I will order yours.”
“Will you? Do you honestly think you can be the royal that Tenoch needs? Why wait until now to have me killed? Why didn’t you have me killed long before now? I’m sure the thought had crossed your mind from time to time. It would be so utterly convenient for you if I were out of the way, wouldn’t it? Ah, but then there is the matter of the dragons. Are your harpoons ready? No? I didn’t think so. Perhaps you should want an alchemist around after all.”
“A male alchemist—”
“There aren’t any that I know of,” Sabine murmured.
“What about…”
"Tatum? If there's one female alchemist who might be able to survive the curse, she would be the one." Sabine shook her head. "But that's because she has no ambitions, somehow. Not that either of us understands that."
“That is not true,” Rosalynne protested.
“Isn’t it? Yes, your father is the one who gave you your crown, but you have kept it because of your own actions. You could have stepped aside and allowed me to be the one true queen—”
“I would rather a Li be on the throne than a Grantham,” Rosalynne hissed.
“You threaten me, and I will mention to a few people about how the Li princess still lives,” Sabine said smoothly.
Rosalynne’s nostrils flared as she recalled what she had told her sister once Vivian first alerted her to the existence of the Li princess.
“Without an army, she is no threat,” Rosalynne had said calmly. “If she arrives, we will kill her.”
The Li Princess might well be in Atlan. They had opened the gates to any who wished to seek refuge from the threat of the dragons. She might well be within the castle walls right now.
But Rosalynne did not know her face. Perhaps she could see if there were any pictures on scrolls concerning the Lis
, but there was not much information on the royal family within the library, something her father had most likely seen to.
“You mention that,” Rosalynne finally said, “and you would prove yourself a liar. How can you dare to claim to have Tenoch’s best interests at heart if you seek to introduce another would-be queen when we are fighting not one but two wars?”
"You wish for me to be out of the way. You seek to marry Marcellus. That is your plan, isn't it? To reforge Tenoch Proper, or would you give in to your husband and allow it to be designated as Vincana Proper? But what of the dragons? As I said, Tatum is not ambitious. Her potions are to help people, to give them courage, strength, to heal. She will not make potions that even force the truth from one's lips. How could you think she would create something to help against the mighty dragons? No. If you wish for Tenoch to recover from this, then you need me alive, and instead of judging me for my past acts, you will grant to me enough messengers or servants even, guards, what have you so that they can go and fetch the ingredients I need. If Tenoch Proper needs a female alchemist who is ruthless and willing to strike out against the dragons, then that alchemist will not be Tatum. It cannot be Tatum because that is not who she is. But it is me. I can do this, Rosalynne. I can figure out a way to destroy the dragons and help to bring about peace.”
“Perhaps you can,” Rosalynne mused, “but an alchemist cannot be queen. You must choose, Sabine. Which ambition are you truly after?”
Sabine set her jaw and did not answer.
Rosalynne waltzed around the long table and stopped before the other woman.
“Seek me out once you have an answer, but know this. I do not have patience, especially now for you and not now, not after learning what you have done.”
She swept toward the door.
Sabine tapped her fingers on the table or maybe a chair. “Rosalynne, I do have one question for you.”
Rosalynne halted but did not turn about.
“Could you imagine what your father would have done if he had lived? If he had faced the Vincanans? If he had seen the return of the dragons? Would Tenoch truly be in better hands than our own?”
Rosalynne stiffened. “Your hands are as bloodied as your mother’s.”
And she left the room before the other queen could say another word—the other former queen if Rosalynne had any say in the matter.
42
Sir Edmund Hill
The barracks was a revolving door. Guards were constantly coming and going, and Edmund felt as if his head were going to explode. Despite being told to take days off, he had refused the last several times. As much as he would like to see if he could find an excuse to see Tatum again—even though he really shouldn’t—or if he would see how his brother’s hotel was doing—something he probably should do—he just could not reconcile the idea of him running off and having a good time with family and friends while other guards were working hard to keep everyone safe. A lot of the guards had taken to helping the blacksmiths by locating material for them or hacking down trees to help fuel their fires. Some had even started to learn how to hammer metal to beat it into shape, and Edmund was one of them. He enjoyed the hard labor and exercise of swinging that hammer repeatedly, although he had a tendency to strike the metal too many times, or so he had been told.
Thankfully, there had been no battles yet, and a few troops of guards had been sent out to various towns to see if they needed any assistance, to see if the dragons had been there. Edmund, however, had been overlooked on each occasion, which did and did not sit well with him.
He did not wish to go and be separated from Tatum or the queens.
He also did wish, very much so, to be able to serve Tenoch to the best of his abilities.
Teoma Barno, a guard with brown skin and a thin goatee and mustache, approached Edmund the moment he entered the barracks.
“What is it?” Edmund grumbled. He wanted to wash up and eat a meal before resting for a bit and heading back out to work wherever he might be stationed.
“Your brother has that new hotel, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” Edmund said slowly, suspiciously. “What about it?”
“Have you been there lately?”
“Not for a bit. Why?”
"The ladies there are amazing. You should go some time." Teoma nudged Edmund’s arm with his elbow. “They like to show knights a good time if you know what I mean.”
Edmund’s stomach twisted, thinking about what Dudley had said about Tatum. “You, ah…”
“I’m sure there are plenty of ladies who would love to shower the brother of their esteemed host with plenty of… affection.” Teoma roared with laughter.
“The ladies all seem happy?” Edmund asked. He would hate it if any of them felt that they had no choice.
“They’re paid well enough, from what I understand.” Teoma shrugged.
“And Dudley’s wife…”
“What about his wife?” Teoma furrowed his brow.
Edmund shook his head. “Never mind.”
Teoma shrugged again, not minding Edmund too much. “There’s only one knock on the place. You go too late, and the ale tastes like piss.”
“Then why drink it?” Edmund asked.
“Because that’s what one drinks at a bar. The rooms are huge, though, with plenty of blankets and pillows. The beds could be bigger, though.”
“That your only complaint?”
“Well, the ale, the beds, and the fights.”
“What kind of fights?”
Teoma grimaced and stroked his goatee. “I don’t know if I should say… It is your brother’s place after all.”
“Just tell me,” Edmund spat out.
“Fine. Just remember you asked to hear about this.” Teoma crossed his arms. “The place is doing well enough, but the people who actually stay there, the ones who sleep there, and I mean sleep sleep, well, they’re a bit shady.”
“What do you mean?” Edmund asked curiously.
"They're from other cities, other towns coming to stay closer to the castle. They think they'll be safer here. At least that's what I think."
“What about them? That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Well, there’s been a lot of fights,” Teoma said.
“Fights.”
“And some people have started betting pools there to see how many teeth will be knocked out.”
“And Dudley allows this?”
“Who do you think runs the betting pools? He places bets himself every night! The man is a natural bartender and hotel owner. He knows how to part a man with his coins, but he might want to hire a better cook. The soup he’s been handing out lately is little more than brown water. Tastes disgusting.”
“Maybe if you go earlier in the day,” Edmund said slowly.
“When there’s better ale served, eh? Well, that’s what I heard anyway.”
“About the betting?”
“About better ale being served earlier. I know about the betting for a fact because I placed two coins last night that there would be blood on the floor before I left.”
“Was there?”
Teoma threw back his head and laughed and laughed. “Yes, there was. ‘Course Dudley refused to pay up, and I suppose I can’t fault him for that.”
Edmund could hardly believe this. “If he owes you money, I will go and see to it personally that you are repaid everything in full.”
“Nah, nah.” Teoma waved his hand. “You misunderstand. I was the one who bloodied the guy to ensure blood was spilled. I had to punch the guy twice even because the first time, he only bled onto his shirt. Blood had to land on the floor for it to count.”
Edmund blinked a few times. “Ah…”
“So yes, there are a lot of fights, and some of the characters who stay there aren’t exactly the best of people, but it’s a good time if you’re looking for a wild night. Some fun ladies, some good drinks… earlier on, that is. Say, you want to head on over there? Should be the good stuff still if we hurr
y over.”
Edmund hesitated and then shook his head. “I’m all right,” he muttered.
“Are you sure? Want me to tell your brother anything for you?”
No. I would rather you give a message to my brother’s wife.
Edmund scowled inwardly. He hated himself for pining after another man’s wife, especially his brother’s wife, but Dudley didn’t deserve Tatum. Still, he had to give credit where credit was due. It seemed Dudley knew how to make his customers happy enough to return, but he might want to be a bit more subjective as to his hotel guests.
“Tell Dudley I’ll be by soon,” Edmund finally muttered.
“Will do.” With a wave, Teoma rushed out the door, calling to a few other guards to join him.
Edmund sighed. Tranquil Wolf Hotel. It sure didn’t seem like the name fit at all, not unless one considered Dudley as the wolf.
43
Prince Marcellus Gallus
The moon shone down on them, casting a silvery reflection across the restless waters. Marcellus had gone for a long walk away from the others, and he could just see the Vast Waters in the near-distance from his perch atop a tall hill.
A soft clearing of a throat had him smiling. He overheard the footsteps, but the person had not realized he had.
“Come here,” he said.
To his surprise, it was Valeria Bellius who approached, not Flavius or Horatio. He supposed the two of them might be together back at camp, maybe away from the prying eyes of the others.
“What is it you need, Valeria Bellius?” Marcellus asked.
“It is not what I need that matters,” she said in her soft voice. “It is what you need that concerns me.”
“You do not need to concern yourself with anything related to me,” he said awkwardly.
“I do not mean for you to misunderstand me,” she said in a rush.
He glanced over at her. The woman was tall and thin but not too thin, her muscles sleek rather than oversized. The moonlight gave her blond hair a silvery tint. Her nose was hawkish, her lips small. Her body was shaped rather like a rectangle, all angles and straight lines.
