Grude sighed lowering himself onto the throne. He hung the weight of his head in one palm. Thoughts of succession, of having trustworthy underlings, reeled in his mind. It was the last blow. All of his ambitions, all of his hopes and dreams—his world had come crashing down as burning detritus ashes. He’d have to figure his way around a multitude of changes and still operate his Odana realm and the WynSprigns. His tone was now surprisingly different in his own ears, like a hiss over dried grasses. “How many were killed?” His fingers dangled around the dagger, feeling the intricate steel carvings at the hilt beneath his nails, a minute familiar comfort.
The rider shuffled apprehensively, staring at his leader’s fumbling fingers, the faint metallic gleam they caressed.
Grude rose from the throne again at the insubordination, the lack of response to his plain question. “Speak!” The rider jumped again. Spittle flew from that command bringing the messenger’s attention back to him—to his face.
“M-m-more than half fell.” The rider’s gaze shifted from the dagger and then to the intensity of Grude’s glare.
Grude raised an eyebrow. Waiting for more, because he could plainly see that there was more to tell. On top of the anger-numbing news of losing Neen, Gax, and more than half of his Mysra, the look on this mouse-like messenger hinted that yes, there was still more information he was keeping.
“M-Most of them.” The rider quivered under his aim to clarify—knowing Grude. “They had the lost General Prince Lanico, sire—he was there—helping them.”
Grude, confounded, gaped as if the wind was stolen from his lungs. Lanico! The lost heir? Helped? His mind quickly put pieces together. With the reduced number of warriors that could only mean…
Stunned. At no time had he ever expected this outcome. Ever. Nor had he expected former General Prince Lanico to reemerge from the shadow of forgottenness. His shoulders slumped. He tore his glare from the rider as the news from him emptied. His focus on the granite floor. There was no more that he would be needed for. It took a few moments of mental processing and then finally, with his voice thick with emotion, he heard himself say, “You may leave.” But the tall shadow still lingered in defiance. Grude felt his pulse quicken at this. A buzzing of anger quickly rattled; his vision went murky.
“S-sire—” the rider started, but was cut off my Grude’s sizzling words. His usefulness now completed.
“I have often heard to not kill the messenger—” a silver flash exploded in black, “but for disobedience I will.” In a blink, Grude’s dagger hit its mark—the messenger’s neck. Black blood pulsed and flowed freely, drenching his tunic as a fountain.
The messenger’s eyes expanded in wild horror. With panicked movements, he grabbed at his neck. His mouth opened for a scream that wouldn’t come. His strained choking sounds, his mouth, the urgency that raged in his expression. His life quickly fleeting with every weakening heartbeat. The sound of his body hitting the stone floor, the expanse had become silent once again.
Nizen wasn’t sure how to proceed. Rather than overstep his limits, he quietly left the room with the plan to return later. He would act in clever caution.
✽✽✽
Night had fallen upon the Castle of Odana, and upon Grude. He couldn’t retire to bed. His mind reeled from the news.
The weight of this day was almost too unbearable and that news, on top of the overwhelming defeat he felt—that news of Lanico’s aid—that was the epitome of the blow. If Lanico was still out there, and now with a greatly reduced warrior population.
They had Lanico with them.
His fingertips dug into his palms. That disgusting WynSprign-Fray, half-breed General was with them. And yes, he knew the other half of that breed. He knew too well. He knew better than most. The disappointment of that knowledge was likely shared with his dead foe, King Oetam. Ruling Odana wasn’t the only thing that the two had in common; Fray manipulation was also there. Sisters… He thought sorely.
Here in the quiet, the words of that messenger echoed in his mind. Repeatedly. They had Lanico...helping them.
It wasn’t as though he could rely on Mysra support—support he would have felt himself rich with as of only just yesterday. Grude had been beyond disappointed with his warriors. It was a disappointment so great that he couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t even give the commands to punish them all with floggings. It was…it was just all so…it didn’t matter anymore. The one thing that he made certain of was to limit their trillium—that would be the most impactful form of punishment that he could dole out. The warriors would work harder for him if their precious trillium allowances were suffocated. The addictive purple mineral allowed the leader to wield power when controlled in its select distribution among his Mysra.
Beyond that, the hopes that he had were dashed. He realized now that he hadn’t planned well enough. He should have had another reserve aside from Neen, and should have thought against sending the majority of his troops. Should have trusted that the WynSprigns would have made some fight.
But he countered in his own mind thinking, how was he to know? He determined the WynSprign population would have been so large that the only way to abduct them all was to send as many of his troops as able. WynSprigns—a race of people that were by nature smaller and weaker. They weren’t even supposed to have an army! It is absurd. An embarrassment. A farce!
His voice raked the walls with a shout. The sound echoed wildly in the open stone space. He conceded. He planned poorly and now damn it, he was paying.
The room was silent. He preferred it that way. With the help of Neen, he had planned everything on making this mission a success. He had given almost all of his reserves and all of his Mysra fighters! His hopes and dreams, his planning and deliberation were now dashed aside. He swiped the silver tray of trillium next to the throne. The raucous crash rang high, echoing madly in the expanse. The glittering trillium powder fanned covering the stone floor. A plume of twinkling lavender dust swirled beautifully. He cared little about the waste; he was blinded by a lashing fury that wouldn’t cease. It had been a whole day and the anger that he felt coursing through him was still raw. He’d already taken to the sword this day to draw out from himself the rage.
More WynSprigns slaves. He wanted his trillium reserves doubled. No, tripled; and he lost. He placed everything on this gamble—a gamble that should have handed him overwhelming odds—now lost! He lost believing the WynSprigns were, in fact, defenseless. He had yet to tell his remaining Mysra about this—this abomination. He lost his opportunity to capture the WynSprigns from the Great Mist and increased trillium production, but also a sizable number of warriors, as well as the next in line to his throne, even his next of kin. And Lanico. Devastation was the cage Grude now found himself in.
Guttering lantern light came in, ebbing the darkness of the expanse. Nizen emerged into his throne room. His lantern swung despite his carefully placed strides. The high-ranking underling, came pacing in cautiously. The silence was once again broken by the booted steps of his feet.
At several feet of the dais from a low bow, he said, “Sire.”
Nizen had broken the whirling thoughts frenzying within his overburdened mind. “What is it, Nizen?” His eyes still focused on the glittering trillium powder feathered before him. The fire from the mounted braziers gave it a pink hue. A gorgeous sparkling sight, indeed.
“Sire, I couldn’t help but hear what happened.”
Nizen tried to sound sincere, but Grude knew he couldn’t give two shits about Neen or any of the others. He recognized the underling felt his life was better without them sharing the same trillium-laced air, and now was his chance to rise through the ranks.
Nizen reluctantly pulled his eyes from the trillium to focus on Grude, “May I give my most sincere apologies to you, sire?”
There it was. Like a crab clawing his way out from a fisherman’s bucket, this was his attempt at something more. Grasping for opportunity.
“Apologies.” Grude mumbled under his br
eath, thoughts still focused on a multitude of other things besides Nizen and his determination. Focused on a return from Lanico. On his trillium reserves. On having no heir. And then again, on Lanico. He knew that brooding half-breed was out there somewhere. Somewhere, that former General Prince knew about this, or was even a part of it.
“Sire, I admit that I overheard the news from earlier. I am deeply sorry, but we need another plan,” Nizen continued.
The audacity! “Another plan?” Grude now flashed a look to Nizen.
Nizen didn’t know if his leader concealed the dagger—it was highly likely.
The Mysra leader’s words were clipped as he said, “What other plan, Nizen?”
Nizen thought for a moment. His mind cranked, hard. “Cantata.” Was all he said—was the production of his mind.
“What about her?”
Unlike the countless underlings before him, Nizen remained calm. His countenance unwavering in the face of certain death. “Sire, what about the new cook, Cantata?” His mind wrapped around, still cranking for ideas. Cranking hard.
Grude looked at Nizen, his eyes narrowing.
Nizen worked quickly to clarify, “What I mean, sire, is...you have a new cook. Yes, that’s right. A cook who has worked for the castle and entertaining since before the battle. She is well-known by everyone, loved by all Mysra and WynSprign alike…”
The Mysra leader almost smiled at that. Nizen obviously didn’t realize the disdain the songstress had for her fellow WynSprigns or the mutual hatred many had for her in return. But he said, “Well, go on!”
Nizen blinked and summoned uncanny stillness. “Putting it simply, sire, perhaps we-we could flip the battle flop and instead, turn the WynSprigns we have against Lanico.”
Grude’s ears perked and his eyes roamed over him contemplatively. There was brazenness there. Regardless, he may have some point.
“It would be a large task, sire. For the past one hundred years they’ve been enslaved. There wouldn’t be an easy way to get them to side with us. But, perhaps with her.” He paused taking another cautious step toward Grude. “Perhaps we could remind them of the abandonment by their royal protectors, specifically, Lanico. I suspect he is undoubtedly on his way here. Let us not avoid the facts at a time like the present. It’s most certain that wherever he is, he’s heard of our defeat.”
That thought, even though it had already reached Grude’s understanding, hearing it said out loud caused his stomach to churn. It was a confirmation that the General Prince would be coming back. A dread-filled confirmation that made his breath shudder.
Nizen continued and placed another step edging the dias. “We could feed them better, allow them more freedom, and if we have Cantata, the singer turned cook, praising our efforts, then perhaps over time”—Nizen’s hands made a rolling gesture. Grude raised an eyebrow—“a brief time, they’ll turn.”
Grude straightened.
“I’ve been thinking this over sire. We will have to make due on less trillium since the production, the mining will have been slackened. At least for now. This would only be temporary. Though if I may say, since so many were lost, the need for more trillium to curb fellow Mysra cravings and surge for battle, can afford to slow a bit.” Nizen noticed the incredulous look from his master but daringly continued, “If we can’t win using physical force, sire—which by now the number of our Mysra was greatly reduced—we have to figure out an alternative plan, and this plan probably wouldn’t cost us more trillium since no further battle, or Mysra, are needed.” Nizen’s mind had just produced that last thought. His fellow warriors and guards so reduced in number; their consumption of the powerful mineral would be lessened. The dependence on it, reduced. The call to use it for the rush–to charge into battle, diminished.
“Alright.” Grude responded thoughtfully, “We’ll make the WynSprigns side with us.” Taking in a breath he said, “We’ll turn them against Lanico—point out his negligence. Cantata will remind them of his abandonment all these years.” Grude’s thoughts were already considering the next steps for this. The expression on his face was perfectly contemplative.
Nizen’s mouth curled slightly at his successful cranking-out of an idea that had his leader planning once more.
Chapter 4
Multitudes of eyes set upon her
Cantata wandered from her room. It was a mere closet compared to the grandeur of the others in this palace, but she had managed to adorn it over the years with her dulled clothes and tired accessories. Much like her room, she had managed to brighten herself up with collected bits of ribbon, snagged silk scarves, random beads, or found sequins. None would ever know the lengths she had taken to appear her very best—to appear as the best.
Her steps padded down the lengthy corridors. The echo of them were drowned by the enchanting melodious sounds that emanated from her thin lips. Her sound swirled languorously in the air and curled around the supporting pillars. Various guards at their posts relaxed a little, at Cantata’s calming. Her call meant that it was time for another meal.
Through what used to be a maze, her footing, always, found its way to the castle kitchen. Once her long shift was over, she’d dutifully follow the same lonely walk back in a diurnal schedule. Nizen hadn’t told her that she could take her leave and yet despite the lack of commentary from their leader, she was proud of her culinary feats. Prior to these days, it had been many long years since she last cooked. It was at her father’s tavern. When she wasn’t selling her voice to their inebriated patrons, she’d be dicing, simmering, and peeling in their worn kitchen out back. And she loved it. This lost love was reawakened only recently.
She thrust the kitchen door open with a slam.
Cantata’s talent presented itself in the nonphysical. Her singing voice was an example of this. But now there was this. She delighted in her recent kitchen creations. Perhaps this newly displayed talent was to her benefit. These days, she’d take this newfound role and add it to her strengths. Since the festivity before the warriors left for the Great Mist, Grude hadn’t called her for any singing duties and he hadn’t stopped in to visit her in the music room. She determined that his absence was due to his busy schedule. She reasoned that she may as well make herself increasingly valuable.
She tied the apron strings tightly around her tapered waist.
Her help, the servants, they were dropping like flies—leaving. The mines called for a never-ending amount of WynSprigns and though painful, she now realized that she wasn’t perhaps too high on a pedestal to be next.
Her steps echoed in the smaller space.
She was not a slave. She had no guards to monitor her movements. But...she was a WynSprign, and the diminished presence of others left her with no one. Trilla, her very own servant, was still stationed at the mines and wasn’t placing fresh blankets in her room like she had before. Fewer and fewer WynSprigns had been about, and being a WynSprign placed her at a certain risk. But, at least, she wagered, at least, sometimes, Grude engages me in conversation. She knew that he was fond of her. In truth, she felt a certain admiration for him as well. He appreciated her and her superiority whereas others may not recognize it in her.
She considered that to him, she wasn’t just a WynSprign. No. The slaves were indeed beneath her status. She was better than them, a higher class, and she knew this. She didn’t know how exactly, but she knew she was better. It was a feeling in her very bones—a tingling there.
She was chosen to live here, in the castle. The guards wanted her to sing to them, to make them feel...special. She shrugged them all off. All of them. She was no fool. Grude would have some other event to showcase her at, eventually. That’s all that mattered. Feeling the rush, being the center of attention.
She smiled, thinking of the multitudes of eyes set upon her and pulled out a handful of carrots from the bin.
For now, however, she needed only one set of eyes on her.
She took one carrot in her grasp. The gleam of silver lit her gaze before she rap
idly diced the root into perfect coins.
✽✽✽
Grude sat, calculating. It won’t be difficult to get her to turn against her own Prince and she is already so isolated from the general WynSprign population. Her disdain for them is apparent—even if she doesn’t realize it. He, however, certainly picked up on it. He had to increase his generosity, really play up her high-and-mighty role. It wouldn’t be hard. He liked her enough as it was. Spoiling her would be easy for him and now, with his motives, it wouldn’t be as eyebrow-raising to others. Lavishing her with his attention would serve two purposes, getting others to turn against Lanico, and then the other purpose—the matter of his own heart. And she had been made head cook, after all, by Nizen.
Never before had she been so accessible, and in his own kitchen no less. Even now, right now, the scent of whatever she was cooking danced from the kitchen and into his senses. He breathed in, taking in the notes of green herbs, sweet carrots, savory roast in garlic, and succulents that teased him and caused his mouth to water.
The Legacy of Lanico: Return of the Son: Book two of the Legacy of Lanico series Page 4
