She hurried past the market square between Palace Isle and University Island. Three years ago, she’d sold sausage rolls and other savory pasties here, enjoying the opportunity to escape her mother’s hot and stuffy shop every day. Then Yaakke, the strange magician boy, had sent Jaylor into her life. He’d tapped the power in her brain that she’d kept carefully hidden from the Gnuls and her mother. No one in her family had ever been tainted by magic. At least no one Margit knew about.
Jaylor had freed her from her mother’s shop and opened many possibilities for the future. A position in the queen’s household had seemed like a small temporary step upward. Temporary had dragged into a third year and approached a fourth.
She skimmed over three more bridges on her way to the ambassador’s residence. The rushing waters between each of the city islands cleansed her of the weight of living in the palace. At the end of the next bridge, a line of heavily laden sledges blocked her way. She wove her way among them, speaking softly to the huge steeds harnessed in front of them. The placid steeds nuzzled her pockets for treats she didn’t have.
“You’ll have to settle for a scratch,” she whispered to an animal in the middle of the caravan as she ran her blunted fingernails up and down the center of its head.
The steed snorted and stamped with pleasure. The sounds muffled the approach of a merchant and the steed’s wrangler. Their whispered words stopped her in her tracks.
“Do you have the poison?” the Rover-dark merchant asked the blond wrangler.
“I have it hidden.” The wrangler touched the scrip at his waist, right next to his long dagger.
“As soon as the ambassador gives me the diplomatic pouch, I’ll pass it to you. You’ll only have a few moments while I distract him. Then we’ll have to strap the pouch onto the courier’s chest where it will stay for the duration of the journey. The queen’s letter to her brother will be on top. The last item added. Will you be able to do it?”
“Three drops on the queen’s seal will kill King Rossemanuel within an instant of opening the letter. He always caresses the seal as if touching his beloved sister. The poison will be traced to Rossemikka. She will be executed for murder.”
Margit suppressed a gasp. She couldn’t let them discover her now. She had to find out who wanted to murder the queen’s brother and depose Rossemikka before she bore an heir to Darville. The delicate political balance among the Three Kingdoms would be terribly upset. Who would inherit the thrones of Coronnan and Rossemeyer?
“Ordinary poisons might not be enough. If the boy has inherited any magic talent from his mother’s family, he could detect and neutralize it,” the merchant protested.
“The ingredients were prepared by King Simeon’s mistress. Who knows what magic she added to the formula.” The wrangler shrugged, unconcerned. “She distilled it right after the Solstice when the coven’s rituals created some very powerful magic for her to tap.”
“Good. Once the little king is out of the way, his younger brother will pose no problem. His health was compromised years ago by Janataea when she was governess to all three Rossemeyer brats. The coven has agents in place to name Simeon the rightful king of Rossemeyer. We’ll have control of all three kingdoms before the year is out.”
Margit slid behind the huge sledge steed. Who did she tell first? How could she keep the queen’s letter out of the diplomatic pouch? Her first thoughts flew to Marcus, the journeyman magician who took her reports whenever he wandered into town.
No time for that. She had to summon Jaylor with a candle and a glass. No time. Ambassador Kevin-Rosse expected her. He could arrest these assassins. Unless he was part of the plot. He and Queen Rossemikka rarely agreed on anything, especially Rossemeyer’s limited involvement in the war against SeLenicca.
Who could she trust?
Only herself.
A smile crept across her face. “I’ve never practiced the invisibility delusion on anyone but Mama. Maybe it’s time to see how well it works on strangers,” she said to the steed. The animal nodded its massive head as if in agreement. Probably only a beg for more scratches. Margit complied as she thought out her plan.
Three minutes later she replaced the tiny vial in the wrangler’s scrip. He didn’t react to her presence at all. Now the vial contained only plain river water.
She had leisure now to reveal the plot to Jaylor, and only Jaylor, on the next full moon when she summoned him.
“Look, there’s the queen!” Iza tugged on Katrina’s sleeve to watch the processional. The lacemakers and other factory workers had been given a day away from their work to celebrate the third birthday of Princess Jaranda.
“Queen Miranda does not look well,” Katrina observed. Tight lines of fatigue and worry creased the hereditary monarch’s eyes. Though barely two years senior to Katrina, the queen looked much older. Her body was too thin; her four plaits pulled so tight against her scalp her facial bones seemed devoid of flesh. The platinum crown set with priceless jewels was so heavy that Miranda’s thin neck strained to support her head. Her white and silver ceremonial gown did nothing to enhance her complexion.
“She looks unhappy,” Katrina murmured. The gradual hush that fell over the crowd echoed her sentiment. “So unhappy with her husband she’s withdrawing the Edict of Joint Monarchy. Rumor claims she’ll sue for peace with Coronnan when she deposes The Simeon.”
Peace was an idea that met with mixed popularity. The unemployed and homeless, who flocked to the army, loved the war effort. Merchants, who imported arms and supplies, profited. The widows, orphans, and other victims of the war hated it. Katrina couldn’t forget the war had caused the trade embargo with Coronnan that led to P’pa’s bankruptcy.
She fingered the lace shawl she’d retrieved from her father’s house during her first year of slavery. The gleaming white fibers added a festive touch to her plain skirt and vest on this day of celebration. It should have adorned the queen.
“Oh, the little princess, all dressed in purple and silver!” Iza continued her litany of praise. “Isn’t she pretty, Katrina? I think she’s the prettiest little girl in the whole world.”
A purple canopy carried by four half-naked slaves rose above the princess’ open litter. She was too young for even the most placid ponies. The little girl smiled and waved shyly at the crowds of people gathered along the wide Royal Avenue.
A sickly child, Katrina thought. Waxy skin, too pale to be fashionable, and too small for three years old. Her hair shone in the sunshine, red highlights obvious in her four thin plaits, too short to join into a single braid below her neck. Queen’s City hadn’t seen much of the princess. The queen, too, had remained mostly in seclusion these last three years. King Simeon was the only member of the once-beloved royal family much in evidence. And he wasn’t loved by many. Certainly not by the families of his Solstice victims or those who had lost men in the endless war against Coronnan.
Three once-proud men, former military heroes who had secretly sought peace with Coronnan, followed a troop of elite military guards in the parade. Raw wounds marred their naked backs. One man’s face had been beaten until his left eye was permanently closed. He dragged his left leg painfully. Soon they would join the criminals sacrificed to Simeon’s god at the next solstice. Unless Queen Miranda removed her husband from power before then.
Why had the queen tolerated his cruel religion all these years? Or was she so isolated in the palace she didn’t know? More likely, Simeon had bewitched her so she couldn’t intervene and outlaw his sacrifices.
Rumors from the palace suggested the bewitchment was waning, though.
Katrina had trouble maintaining interest in the parade of dancing steeds with ribbons plaited in their manes and haughty noblewomen flaunting three plaits and fortunes’ worth of Tambrin lace on their gowns.
Katrina searched the faces of the slaves for Fraanken Kaantille. P’pa wasn’t carrying the canopy. The little flame of hope died within her heart. Royal servants were born into slavery and knew their lot
in life. They were treated well and trusted. Criminals, prisoners of war, and traitors, like her father, were sent to die in the king’s galley ships or in the mines.
“I could buy your freedom from Neeles Brunix if you gave me that shawl,” a man said quietly into Katrina’s ear.
She looked around startled by his unsuspected presence. The man wore a hooded cloak that shadowed his face. The voice was familiar. Where had she heard him speak before?
“What?” Hope kindled a tiny light in her mind. Freedom! “Why?” She damped any possibility he could truly offer her freedom.
“That shawl is valuable. More valuable than your slave price.” His voice barely reached her ears.
“Does this offer include employment once I am free of Brunix?” Once he released her, the factory owner wouldn’t allow her to continue working for him. Not unless she shared his bed. What use freedom at the cost of the shawl, the only tangible link to her mother she still had?
“I have not the resources to help you beyond the purchase of your slave papers.” The man bowed his head, increasing the shadows around him.
“I have no use for freedom without a promise of employment.” Katrina dismissed the offer reluctantly.
“I may not be able to meet the price again. Think long and hard. I will try to speak to you again. Later.” The man faded into the crowd, as if he’d never been there at all.
Iza continued to prattle, unaware of the exchange. “Look. Look, there behind the Lord Chancellor rides the king. So far back from the queen and princess. Do you suppose the rumors are true, that Miranda will divorce him and outlaw his hideous religion?”
Katrina returned her attention to the parade, deliberately pushing aside all thoughts of the strange encounter with the cloaked man. She sought the figure of the outland king who had bewitched young Miranda and mercilessly ruled SeLenicca ever since. What had happened to weaken the adoration that used to shine from the queen’s eyes? Katrina didn’t care as long as the man she hated was brought low and stripped of power.
“The outland woman riding beside Simeon, who is she?” Katrina asked. The tall beauty with black hair and blue eyes rode a sleek black steed draped in silver-and-black ribbons. Her black gown trimmed in silver lace dipped immodestly low into her bosom. Undoubtedly, steed and gown had been chosen to set her apart from the sea of blond citizens riding equally light-colored steeds.
“Her?” Iza spat. “His latest mistress. He calls her ‘niece.’ But everyone knows he has no siblings. Gossip in the city says he flaunted her at the palace once too often. Miranda threw him out. That’s why she’s going to rescind the Edict of Joint Monarchy.”
“Simeon’s niece looks pregnant.” Katrina scanned the elegant curves of the tall woman. A noticeable bulge filled her black gown.
“She does, doesn’t she? And Miranda isn’t. The nobles call us workers immoral. They should look to themselves before they condemn us,” Iza sniffed.
“Simeon can’t be trusted. Someone should warn Miranda.” Katrina eyed the man she hated. “He’ll kill her before he relinquishes power.”
“Don’t be silly. Guards and councillors and lacemakers surround the queen day and night.”
“Guards won’t stop a sorcerer.”
As if he heard her sneer, Simeon turned his burning gaze directly to Katrina. His eyes widened as he stared at her. Then his lips curled up in a mocking, self-satisfied grin. Insolently he blew her a kiss.
Katrina stepped back, shocked and revolted. Her hand reached to her throat in surprise. She gathered the lace shawl protectively around her. The king’s gaze followed her hands. His eyes narrowed and seethed with emotion.
Why do you wait so long to come to me and meet your destiny, Katrina Kaantille?
The words echoed around her head. She hadn’t really heard them. Her imagination had interpreted the flirtatious gesture and fed upon her fears.
“He saluted you!” Iza gasped. “You didn’t tell me you knew the king.”
“I don’t.” Katrina turned her face toward the head of the procession so she wouldn’t have to look at King Simeon. “He’s a notorious flirt.”
Queen Miranda twisted her body to speak to the princess. Her steed chose that moment to shy away from the noisy crowd. A flash of blue light stabbed the skittish animal’s hindquarters. The frightened mare reared high, screaming in pain. Miranda fought for control of the reins.
Another flash of blue light pierced the frightened steed in the chest. The animal reared again and circled, trying to bolt away from the magical dart. Miranda lost the reins and control of the headstrong beast. She bounced out of her saddle. She lay unmoving on the cobblestones, blood staining her four white-gold plaits.
Chapter 16
People screamed. Steeds reared and circled in confused panic. Princess Jaranda cried out. Noble ladies swooned. Guards rushed forward to form a protective ring around the queen. King Simeon pushed the converging crowd aside.
Hastily he knelt and cradled his wife in his arms, the picture of a devoted husband. Katrina watched him closely, not trusting the concern written on his face. He tested Miranda’s pulse, then lifted his head, eyes searching the crowd. Briefly he exchanged a look with the black-gowned woman. She nodded slightly, knowingly.
Then Simeon looked up, directly at Katrina, as if he always knew where to find her in the crowd. His gaze locked with hers. A malicious smile played across his face.
Unbidden, his thoughts invaded her mind. You won’t get away from me this time, little lacemaker.
Katrina shook her head and pulled the hood of her open cloak over her face to break mental contact with the sorcerer-king. Her mother’s lace shawl seemed to squeeze the breath out of her as she hid from his gaze.
Queen Miranda moaned and stirred. Tension returned to her muscles. Her mouth opened on a silent scream. A look of panic crossed Simeon’s face. He pressed his fingers to her neck once more as if testing her pulse. The queen slumped back into unconsciousness at his touch.
“Seize that woman! The one with the lace shawl,” Simeon cried, pointing at Katrina. He held Miranda’s face close against his chest, smothering any sound she might make. “She shot an arrow into the queen’s steed. Seize the one in the black cloak and lace shawl!”
All eyes turned in the direction he indicated—to stare directly at Katrina. She shrank back behind Iza.
“I didn’t,” she whispered anxiously.
“Quick, leave your cloak. Take mine. Blend in with the crowd. Don’t run,” Iza directed as she slipped her ordinary brown cloak over Katrina’s shoulders, obscuring the distinctive lace.
“I didn’t do it,” Katrina protested, too stunned to follow her friend’s advice.
“I know that. Only a magician could throw an arrow made of blue light. Now drift away. Don’t call attention to yourself.” Iza shoved Katrina back into the depths of the crowd, then turned to face the grim guards converging on her. Katrina’s thick, black cloak of oiled wool now draped Iza’s shoulders, standing out from the cheap and ordinary coverings protecting working-class citizens. The same cloak Katrina had brought with her from her father’s house three years before.
More aggressive onlookers elbowed Katrina aside. Shame and guilt warred with her need to put a safe distance between herself and the palace guards. What would they do to Iza, her only friend? She couldn’t watch.
She had to watch. With renewed determination, Katrina pushed her way back toward Iza. The crowd resisted her efforts.
“Lose yourself quickly,” an unknown woman whispered as she stepped in front of Katrina. “We can’t hide you much longer.”
“But Iza . . .” Katrina protested.
“Save yourself.” The man who had spoken to her earlier picked her up by the waist and set her back down, facing in the other direction. He shoved her hard. “Lose yourself in the alleys; don’t go directly back to the factory. I’ve searched for you and that shawl for a long time. I’ll meet you by the side door of the temple,” he hissed.
&n
bsp; Katrina stumbled. Hands helped her up and eased her away from the center of the action.
The guards carried Iza away amidst bitter protests from the bystanders. Mud and rocks pelted the guards. More gray-uniformed men entered the fray, clearing a path for their prisoner.
Katrina was pushed farther and farther away from the core of the riot. Tears streaming down her face, she allowed her anxious feet to speed her toward safety.
She ran and ran until her sides ached and her lungs threatened to burst. The temple loomed in front of her. The man with the shadowed face offered her safety, freedom. Where had she met him before?
I’ve searched for you and that shawl for a long time. His words burned into her memory.
Who was he? A friend of her father’s perhaps. More likely an agent of King Simeon, sent to trick her.
The familiarity of Brunix and his factory beckoned her. Her life there was hard. But it was safe. She turned and ran again.
At last the familiar blocky outline of the Brunix factory loomed ahead of her. Grateful for the sanctuary offered by its dark corridors and damp rooms, she pelted headlong for the green-painted doorway.
Abruptly her flight stopped as she ran into the tall, lean body of Owner Neeles Brunix. He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look up at him. Up and up she looked to his hollow cheeks and sallow skin. His dark, outland eyes captured hers in an angry gaze.
“The king’s men will be here soon to search for you,” he announced matter-of-factly as he escorted her inside to his ground floor office.
“I did nothing but watch!” she sobbed, trying to catch her breath. “I’m innocent.” She leaned over the back of a single straight-backed chair to ease her heaving lungs.
“No matter. Simeon has decided to have you back. This time you will choose to participate in his ritual rather than suffer death by torture. He has violated his pact with me.”
Katrina took a long series of deep breaths fighting the panic Brunix’s words evoked. Finally her vision cleared and her pulse ceased pounding behind her eyes.
The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I Page 80
