The Prince gave her a puzzled look and she realized she was staring at him.
“Yes, I wanted to speak to you about my concerns about how the kingdom is being ruled. Seeing as you are the only one who hasn’t spent their entire life in a castle, I need your advice.” Emira motioned for him to sit. He did so with a bit of hesitation and while making sure he kept a respectful distance. “I am sorry to tear you away from the important business of my coronation.”
“It is no burden at all. I fear I’ve been away from court for too long, and I do not care for the minute differences in gold brocades. However, I can assure you will be kept safe from any harm. The guards will be ready for any threats.” A small smile crossed his lips and they watched another griffin keeper get thrown off.
“His name is Sindre,” Emira said, and Prince Felix nodded.
“A fine name,” he laughed when Sindre broke loose from the ropes and flew into the air, screeching with defiance. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to ride him for your coronation procession. At worst, he needs another month. You’re lucky. It took them six months to get my griffin under control and my father could barely make it to the coronation stone with his griffin.”
Emira nodded then sighed. “It seems I am to break another long-held tradition then. The High Vestral will not be happy to hear of it.”
Prince Felix shrugged. “The important part is you getting anointed and crowned. Anything else is just hogwash made to make you as uncomfortable as possible. All so a bunch of pretentious bastards can show off their wealth under the guise of showing the glory of the realm.”
“You do not mince words,” Emira said and his brow furrowed.
“My apologies, Majesty.”
“Don’t apologize; don’t forget I am a fisherwoman first and a queen second, I am sure worse things have come out of my mouth.” Emira tapped her fingers against the stone bench as she watched the griffin keepers use another griffin to lure Sindre back to the ground. They tied ropes around his front talons to keep him from swiping at them. “Though I doubt my bluntness is winning me any favors with the court.”
“It might be the only thing keeping them from using you like a puppet. Though I’m sure the High Vestral will do anything she can to break you. You’ve done well against her so far. But she is a cunning woman, and I doubt she will give up easily.”
“I’m concerned the High Vestral is plotting something against me. Why else would she seclude herself for days on end?” Emira asked. The Prince glanced at her with an odd expression. She wondered if he was comparing her to his father. But she needed to know she would have someone with an army on her side when the High Vestral made her move, and she wasn’t too sure how normal soldiers would fair against a Vestral.
“I am afraid my talents lie on a battlefield, not in deciphering the whims of the High Vestral,” he said slowly.
“Prince Felix, you are my military advisor. I would like to know what I would need to do in the event the High Vestral tries to seize power from me.”
Prince Felix stood up abruptly and gave her a swift bow.
“Your Majesty, as your military advisor I can only advise you when things that involve the military arise. For other issues, please ask someone else,” he said, “I need to meet with Lord Rover to go over some logistics and how we are going to break up the army once the peace treaty is signed.”
Emira nodded and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Her shoulders slumped, watching Sindre once again break free and fly high into the clouds. The griffin keepers scrambled onto their griffins and chased after him.
A stiff wind blew from the west, causing her to shiver and fear crept into her mind. Without Prince Felix’s total support, she was afraid she would end up locked in a dark room while the High Vestral ruled in her stead.
“Your Majesty, I am sorry to report that Sindre will not be available to use on your coronation day,” Archibald said as he walked up the steps. “He’s a stubborn one, but I promise you we will break him.”
“It’s all right, I suppose I should return to the castle and prepare for tonight’s feast,” she said as she rose. She cast a glance at the sky when she heard the shriek of a griffin. A part of her wished she could join him and fly away from the mess that was the court. Tonight, she would come face-to-face with the High Vestral and only the Gods knew what games she was going to play.
LATER THAT DAY, LADY Janel and Lady Ethelbright were putting the finishing touches on Emira’s dress before they headed into the feast. It was still in the mourning colors, but the leafy brocade was made from gold thread, and her belt had a mixture of silver and gold griffins on it. As her ascension drew closer, she would be allowed to slowly add more gold to her outfits, and it would culminate on her coronation day, when she was dressed in nothing but gold and silver. Lady Ethelbright had said it represented the dawning of the sun after a dark night.
She tugged on her sleeves as Lady Janel grabbed a circlet of silver leaves. Emira started to ask Ethelbright a question on royal feast etiquette. When a figure standing in the shadows caught her eye. It raised a hand and moved a finger across its neck as if it were slicing it. She screamed; the outburst caused Lady Janel to drop the circlet onto the ground. Both ladies froze while Emira grabbed a nearby candlestick and threw it at the figure. The candlestick clattered to the ground and the figure disappeared.
“Your Majesty?” Lady Ethelbright asked with alarm. “Are you alright?”
“Did you not see it?” Emira asked. She marched around the room checking behind the black and white tapestries that hung from the walls.
“See what, Your Majesty?” Lady Janel asked when Emira had finished her sweep of the room.
“The figure,” Emira said calmly and she pointed to the fallen candlestick. “I swear by all my ancestors there was someone standing there.”
“There are ghosts who dwell among us,” Lady Janel said. “I know there is a woman who haunts the East courtyard every third day of the month, and the execution yard is not a place one should go alone at night.”
“Right, it might have been a ghost,” Emira mumbled. Lady Ethelbright patted her arm.
“It might be nerves as well; the High Vestral will be at the feast and you are to sign a historic peace treaty,” Lady Ethelbright said.
Emira nodded; she’d been practicing signing her name for days.
“Yes, it could be that,” she said and followed them out of her bedchamber. She dared a glance back and saw the figure now standing in the middle of the room, shaking its head. She took a deep breath and turned away.
She said not a word to either Lady as they made their way to feasting hall. She paused in the doorway as herald shouted her name and let the high spirits of the room wash away her fears. On either side of the hall were long tables where nobles sat stuffing their faces with a variety of meat and breads; not a vegetable was in sight. In between the tables were a few nobles dancing to the music being played by bards high on a small balcony that overlooked the room. At the very end of the hall was a raised area that had a large ornate table with a roaring hearth behind it.
At the table sat King Olric, the Dowager Queen, the High Vestral, and Ambassador Hemsmark. They rose as a trumpet sounded. The dancers in the middle of the hall bowed and curtseyed as she passed them. Lady Ethelbright and Janel took their seats at the long table to the right of the head table. She spotted Lord Rover in the crowd, but there was no sign of Prince Felix.
“Your Majesty, tonight we make history!” Olric cried, holding up a goblet.
“He’s a bit into his cups,” the Dowager Queen said. Emira sat between them, her eyes narrowing slightly when Emira’s hand shook as she grabbed the goblet. “Are you alright?”
“Nerves. I do not want to mess up my first ever peace treaty signing,” Emira said. The Dowager Queen nodded, but her mouth down turned into a small frown before she raised her goblet and took a drink. The High Vestral rose from her place beside Ambassador Hemsmark and clapped her hands. The music st
opped, and all eyes turned to the High Vestral.
Svendir walked out with some serving boys, who carried a small table with an ornate scroll. Emira peered at the writing. She could make out a few sentences here and there, but it was enough to know that this was the formal peace agreement. Once a couple ink pots and quills had been set, Svendir and his helpers left the room.
“Tonight, King Olric and Queen Emira have agreed to sign a peace treaty that will forever ensure our two countries never raise a sword in defiance of the other.” The High Vestral motioned for Olric and Emira to stand.
They made their way over to the table and held up their quills. The crowd of nobles burst into polite applause.
“After you, Your Majesty,” Emira said and smiled as Olric signed his name with a flourish. She took the quill in her hand and carefully wrote hers. Her signature was not as fancy as Olric’s, but it would do. They backed away from the table as the High Vestral walked over to inspect it. She pulled out a seal from her sleeve while a serving boy poured a bit of wax onto the paper and stamped it. Once the wax had cooled, she held up the scroll.
“And by the power vested in me by the Gods, may our two countries have a long and prosperous peace!” She shouted, and the crowd clapped again, this time with more enthusiasm. Emira noticed a couple sitting on the left side of the room with faces like stone.
“Who are they?” she asked the Dowager Queen when she returned to her seat. King Olric ran onto the dance floor and grabbed the nearest noblewoman he could find. The music started up abruptly as they danced.
“That would be Lord and Lady Marshmire,” she said.
“I see,” Emira said and nearly dropped her goblet when she saw the shadow figure standing just behind Lord and Lady Marshmire. Trembling, she raised her goblet to her lips and squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat. When she opened them, the figure was gone.
“Well done, Your Majesty,” Lord Greensdale said as he walked over to the table and gave her a quick bow.
Emira smiled. “I should thank you and Lord Dovesbane for all the help you gave me during my tutoring sessions.”
“We shall both go down in history for this night,” he said then offered his hand to the Dowager Queen.
“I believe you owe me a dance, Your Majesty,” he said. The Dowager Queen hesitated, but rose and followed him onto the dance floor, leaving Emira with Ambassador Hemsmark and the High Vestral. Neither of them turned to speak with her, their attention firmly on the dancers below them.
Since she was not one for dancing, Emira turned her attention to the food in front of her. Just as she was about to take a bite, something unseen swirled around her, causing goosebumps to form on her skin. She grabbed her goblet and threw the wine behind her shoulder. She heard the hearth fire crackle as the wine splashed against it. The music stopped, and all eyes turned to her.
“I felt a cold chill on my skin, and in my traditions, it means someone is wishing ill will upon you. If you toss something behind you, the wish follows,” she said and clapped her hands. “Do not mind me! Please continue!”
“You think someone is wishing you ill will?” The High Vestral leaned back in her chair with an amused expression on her face. “Your Majesty, are you alright?”
“I am fine,” Emira said. Ambassador Hemsmark coughed into his handkerchief.
“Bloody peasants and their superstitious nonsense,” he muttered under his breath just loud enough for her to hear.
Emira bit her lip to keep herself from causing a diplomatic incident and turned her attention back to the dancers.
THE FEAST CONTINUED well into the night.
Emira watched in wonder as the nobles kept dancing and the servants changed out the candlesticks for the third time. She wondered what they would achieve if they could put half that energy into doing things for their country instead of spending it all on themselves.
The Marshmires were the only ones who looked as if they were attending a funeral as they sat huddled together. Thankfully, the High Vestral had turned in for the night right after the candlesticks were switched out the second time, making it easier for Emira to relax and enjoy the atmosphere around her.
The Dowager Queen sat next to her, sipping quietly from her goblet as she watched Lady Janel get surrounded by a group of eager young nobleman asking her to dance. Though she was silent, Emira didn’t feel pressured to start a conversation.
Olric stumbled over to the table, his cheeks flush from dancing and wine. He waved a servant over to refill his goblet.
“You know, at first I thought you lot were a bunch of bastards with your heads shoved so far up your arses I was afraid you did not understand what fun is,” he said and raised a glass to the Dowager Queen.
“And I had no idea the King of the Western Marshes could lose his sense of manners the moment he got too much wine in him,” the Dowager Queen replied.
Ambassador Hemsmark rose from his chair and bowed before his King.
“Your Majesty, it is late, and I wish to retire. I have a long journey ahead.”
Olric nodded and waved him away as he drank from his goblet.
“Somebody help!” A shrill voice cried out over the music. Emira saw Lady Marshmire trying to keep her husband from falling out of his chair while his body violently thrashed about.
“Gods what’s wrong with him?” Olric shouted. Emira ordered a servant to get the court physician. “Did he choke on something?
“He just started to... to...” Lady Marshmire trailed off and her hands flew to her throat. She gasped for air like a landlocked fish before she collapsed onto the table, her face smashing into her plate as her body began to convulse.
Emira rose and headed over to them, but the Dowager Queen grabbed her arm and shook her head. A mixture of servants and a few noblemen laid them onto the floor of the dance floor. Their bodied continued to violently shake. A few guards gathered around Emira’s table in a protective circle, their hands resting on their sword hilts. Like that would protect them from whatever plagued the Marshmires.
The court physician arrived a moment later, and his face turned white when he saw the two convulsing bodies. He whispered to a few servants, who ran off on errands unknown. He bent down and grabbed Lady Marshmires’ hand, then he held open her mouth and gently tugged at her tongue; it had turned black. He stared at it for a moment before he straightened and wiped his hand off on his tunic. The Marshmires bodies stilled, he walked over and bowed.
“I am afraid there is nothing I can do for them, someone poisoned them with death wood,” he said. The crowd around them erupted in murmurs.
“Death wood? What is that?” Emira asked, but before the physician could reply a couple young maids ran into the hall, carrying two young children, one a girl and the other a boy. Their arms flopped to the side as the maids walked.
“Your Majesty, I am so sorry, they just convulsed and...” one maid said and they bowed their heads. The physician ordered them to lay the bodies next to the Marshmires. He bent and inspected their tongues, which were also swollen and black.
“Who are they?” Emira asked though she already knew the answer.
“Lucas and Odilia, Lord and Lady Marshmires’ children.”
Emira sat down as the blood drained from her face.
The sound of a scraping chair swept through the hall while Olric rose from his seat. His face was dark with anger as he stormed over to the physician.
“There has to be something you can do!” he shouted. The physician bowed his head.
“I am sorry, their souls have already left us.”
Olric stood with his hands clenched at his side. Emira tried to move past the guards, but they stood firm and did not let her pass.
“You took a blood oath!” Ambassador Hemsmark yelled at Emira, trying in vain to shove past a guard to get her. He peeked over the guard’s shoulder and pointed at her. “You swore we would be safe!”
“If you recall, Ambassador Hemsmark, the oath the Queen gave was to keep King Olric s
afe. I do not recall her including anyone else,” the High Vestral’s voice rang through the hall as she emerged from a side door.
“This is an outrage! You speak of peace in one breath and in the next you kill our nobleman! And you don’t stop there! Oh no, you had the children killed!” Ambassador Hemsmark shouted before he was shoved back by a guard.
“I planned nothing! All I wanted was peace!” Emira yelled back. She turned her attention to Olric, who was still staring at the Marshmires. “Your Majesty, I have wanted nothing but peace, you must believe me! I had nothing to do with this!”
Olric’s shoulders quaked as he let out a low laugh. Soon he was laughing so hard he had to grab onto the physician who glanced at Emira with an unsure expression. Emira fought back the panic rising within her.
“Oh, my dear Queen Emira, I am afraid I was wrong about you,” he said once his laughter had faded. “I thought you might have a fighting chance against these people with your outbursts and commoner ways, but I fear you are playing directly into their schemes. You will be nothing more than a fisherwoman who is too naïve to play the grand games of politics. If I were you, I would abdicate and go back to where you came from.”
With that, he walked over to the table that held the scroll of peace. He grabbed the paper and, before Emira could react, he tore it in half.
“I reject your offer of peace,” he said as four of his soldiers ran into the room. Ambassador Hemsmark scurried behind Olric. His men formed a barrier between Olric and Emira’s guards. The men around Emira drew their swords.
“Do not harm him!” the High Vestral shouted.
“I believe that blood oath is still active until my feet are no longer on your soil,” Olric said. “If you harm me, your little Queen will perish, and I doubt your peasants will be happy about that.”
“Let them go,” Emira said. Olric’s men scooped up the Marshmires’ bodies. They marched out of the room without another word. The crowd of nobles stared at each other with suspicion before they began to blame each other for the crime.
The Spirit of the Realm Page 20
