by N M Zoltack
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“You would have enjoyed Rufus’s company, I think.” Marcellus half-grimaced. “He would have enjoyed yours very much.”
“Why do you think that?” she asked curiously.
“Well, this version of you.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“The warrior princess version.” Marcellus grinned, but the smile failed to brighten his eyes.
“If there is anything good that came of the war, it’s my learning and growing and becoming who I am today,” she murmured. “I hate that so many had to die… I was happy before, and I hate that Noll, my brother, died, but… I had not truly lived then. I was so very ignorant of the world, of what mattered.”
“You weren’t always a fighter?”
“No. Competitive when it came to racing, yes, and I did know a bit with a bow and arrow even before venturing to Vincana—”
“You enjoy racing horses?”
“Indeed.”
“Yes, Rufus would have liked you very much,” Marcellus murmured.
“The ladies all flocked to him.”
“Yes. He had a way about him that I never had.”
“I doubt that. The people do look to you.”
“Only because of my father.”
“Not only because of him,” she argued.
Now, his smile was genuine, and Vivian grinned back. Marcellus was treating her as an equal, as a friend, and that delighted her perhaps more than it should.
“Have you raced horses much?” she asked.
“Only occasionally.”
“Ah, then I will not ask if you wish to race now.”
“Why not? Afraid that your boasting will be not?”
“I would not want to embarrass you, Marcellus, but it is only the two of us…”
Without a word, he urged his horse onward. Vivian laughed, and the race began.
13
Valkyrie Horatia Ramagi
Upon departing from the Princess of Tenoch, Horatia made swift haste back to her Valkyrie sisters. Something within her drew her back to join her comrades, but once she arrived, that feeling shifted such that she knew that all were being summoned.
The Valkyries all must have the same feeling because they mounted their horses and rallied to her without a word having to be uttered. With only this feeling to guide them along, they headed westward, the Olacic Mountains in the distance growing ever taller.
For an entire day they traveled, not hard enough to overly tax their horses, but they did not pause more than twenty minutes at a time to hunt. They ate as they rode, and they tied their horses together so that one rider could lead the two and the other rider gain some rest before switching.
Eventually, they arrived at the base of the mountains. Immediately, the feeling that urged them to arrive at this precise location left them as if it had never come over them.
Horatia’s mount pawed the ground, a bit anxious for unknown reasons. The Valkyrie patted his neck to soothe him, and he quieted down but only after backing up several paces.
That retreat soon proved fortunate as the sky filled with the massive form of the sole living dragon. The Valkyrie sucked in a breath of wondrous awe. The dragon, previously, had almost appeared to have been half-dead yet, with slight holes in his wings, but now, somehow, he appeared fully reborn as if for a third time.
As if he had, by fair means or foul, gained power and might from the second dragon's passing. Some of the people had gained magical might from the first dragon's death, but this, the second dragon dying, strengthened the third and final dragon.
This dragon must not die.
You who wish to be my Valkyrie… the dragon’s deep, raw voice entered Horatia’s mind. You will do as I command, and we will see if any of you are worthy of that grand and regal title.
Horatia dismounted and fell to one knee, her fist pressing against her chest as she lowered her head. Her gaze remained on the dragon, on his black scales that shone in the sunlight. His every scale appeared sharp, coming to a point, and his claws, his teeth… His eyes were as red as the fire burning within his belly.
He was a monster of a dragon, a creature meant for one purpose and one alone.
War.
“What will you have us do?” Horatia asked for the sake of all those with her.
There is a town directly to the south. You are to march against this town, the dragon instructed, sounding both raucous and intelligent.
“Consider it done,” Horatia promised, but she and the other Valkyries remained kneeling until they could hear the flapping of the dragon’s wings no more.
As one, the Valkyries straightened and remounted. Horatia led the group down south. Strange. She had been the only one of the Valkyries to not partner up and rest at all during their trek thus far. She had felt the effects of fatigue and weariness pressing upon her, but throughout the short conversation with the dragon, she felt rejuvenated, her belly satiated despite a lack of food, her mind well-adjusted despite a lack of rest.
It did not take long at all for them to arrive at the town. Even as they approached, they could see the small buildings, many of which were lopsided. The roofs were merely straw, the homes constructed of mud and nothing more. The townsfolk watched as the Valkyries rode up. The clothes of the children were threadbare, with patches of holes and dirt. The adults looked no better.
This town was poor, barely hanging on. There were no burnt marks, no scorching, no claw indentations anywhere to be seen, so this poverty was not in part because of a dragon. Bandits, perhaps, wishing to capitalize on the two-pronged war against the people of Tenoch.
Horatia held up just outside the town entrance. The other Valkyries followed suit, and she turned her horse about to see that they had lined up behind her in an attack formation.
The town had no guards, the people defenseless. If they marched against this town, the people would all be slaughtered in a terrible, wasteful massacre.
Why would the dragon wish for this?
Perhaps to test their loyalty.
Horatia slowly met the gaze of each and every one of the Valkyries. Warriors one and all, the Valkyries had to feel the same tug she did to listen and heed the dragon’s bidding.
Yet, Horatia’s hand remained on the reins and not the hilt of her sword.
And neither did one of the Valkyries reach for her weapon.
The dragon would not take kindly to this, and even though Horatia knew the dragons three—now, the one dragon—was elevated above the Fates, the Valkyrie could not see herself be used as a pawn of the Fates of Chaos and Death on a hateful, spiteful dragon’s whim.
No. As much as she considered herself a Valkyrie, Horatia retained her own mind and heart enough to refuse this despicable order despite knowing the dragon could still have a massacre in mind—that of the Valkyries as the dragon might very well turn against as a result of their disobedience.
14
Bjorn Ivano
Darkness was Bjorn’s only ally, his only comfort. With the darkness, he couldn’t see the agony his body had suffered. Each breath remained labored, his left eye swollen to the point that he could not open it at all, and he kept his right eye closed as much as possible.
His jaw might be broken. They only ever gave him stale bread to eat. He did not look to see if it had molded or not, and he had to rip chunks apart into bite-sized pieces and allow the bread to dissolve in his mouth because he could not chew. Ripping the bread, though, almost caused him to pass out each time because his one shoulder had been dislocated. Eventually, the pain got to be so much for Bjorn that he slammed his shoulder and arm against the wall enough to fix his arm.
At that point, he fell over and actually had lost consciousness.
This very moment, Bjorn could not be certain if he were awake or unconscious, but then he heard footsteps and a sweet whisper.
Despite the great discomfort that came from opening his eyes, Bjorn struggled to see. The blinding light of the lit
torch on the opposite wall blinded him, and a large shadow moved to block it. He squinted, attempting to see, and once his weak eyes finally adjusted to the light, he gasped. A tear leaked from his swollen eye, burning a trail down his cheek.
His chapped lips parted, and he tried to speak, but his throat remained the silent screams he had uttered while he had been abused and tortured, all because he would not speak of her.
Keys jingled, and she opened the cell. Bjorn struggled to stand, and she almost had to lift him onto his feet. He leaned heavily against her, and the next thing he knew, they were somehow outside of the castle walls.
“You… You saved me…” he said, his raw voice making his words raspy to the point of almost being almost unintelligible.
“Of course.” She reached up and cupped his cheek before tracing a finger down his nose and then along his jawline.
“How… How did you know?”
“I just knew.”
“Thank—”
She pressed her finger to his lips to silence him then removed her finger and touched her lips to him.
At once, his pain vanished, and he wrapped his arms around her. He felt as if he could sprout wings, as if he could turn into a huge dragon and fly her away, so life-giving was that kiss.
Olympia drew back and smiled, her pink cheeks visible beneath the silvery moonlight.
“I don’t deserve you,” Bjorn blurted.
“No, that’s where you are wrong,” Olympia said. “It has nothing to do with deserving. Nothing at all.”
He wasn’t certain when his feelings for the Li princess had evolved from annoyance to acceptance to admiration, but he had felt for some time now that he was unworthy of her, but if she did not think that the case, maybe they could be together. They could leave the castle, leave Atlan entirely, find a place to live together, maybe Maloyan, maybe somewhere else and…
And Bjorn rolled over. He coughed and sputtered and forced his eyes open.
Blast it all, he remained in the cell. Olympia had not come to save him. He had not been rescued or kissed.
And worst of all, when he put a hand to his chest to try to stop his heart palpitations, he realized he had puked all over himself.
15
Alchemist Apprentice Sabine Grantham
Although Sabine wished to go and see the prisoner immediately, Aldus shook his head.
“You might wish to wait until the morning at the very least,” he advised.
“Why is that?” she asked, more than a bit perturbed by the sardonic expression on his face.
“Let us just say that those within the castle are not happy to see the former champion within these sacred walls.”
“The guards beat him?” Sabine asked.
“They did.”
The former queen did not have to ask by whose authority guards had acted upon. While it was feasible the guards had done so on their own accord, she did not believe that to be the case, and she knew the young queen well enough to know Rosalynne had not ordered the attack on the captor.
No, this had been Aldus’s doing, and she could not bring herself to rebuke the man or to find his actions reprehensible. After all, she sought to give Bjorn a potion that, if all went as she sought it to, would kill the man.
“I should wait a few days,” she mused.
“The morning would be long enough. Perhaps we could break our fast together first before we—”
“Before I go to the dungeon,” she corrected sweetly. “I suppose, but we would have to eat right as the sun rises.”
“I look forward to it.” With a crafty smile, Aldus bowed to her even though her position as a mere apprentice did not demand the act of respect.
He touched her chin, lifting it, and searched her eyes. She supposed he had earned a kiss at the very least, so when he bent to kiss her cheek, she turned to allow him to capture her mouth.
As ever, he was eager, but she pressed against his chest, forcing him back so she could stand, but instead of heading for the bed, she opened the door and tilted her head to the hallway.
“Until we dine together,” she murmured.
“I would very much like to feast with you,” he said, his eyes half-lidded.
She waved him away and shut the door behind him. Men could be so easily swayed if they thought a woman was captivated by them, and no, Aldus did not captivate her.
No one did.
That was not to suggest that nothing captivated her. Not at all. Alchemy, the study of it, consumed her every waking thought to the point that she slept hardly at all.
And she settled back at her vanity work area and consulted her notes one more time.
After a surprisingly enjoyable meal with Aldus the next morning that ended with another kiss and a dismissal that Aldus did not care for, Sabine pulled a hood over her head and made her way to the servant stairs. There would be more traffic there, yes, but the servants and maids were rushing about frantically to do their normal duties as well as so much more, given the attack on the castle. None of them looked Sabine’s way, and she found herself in the dungeon quickly enough.
Concealed within her cloak was the potion. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she refused to give in to any emotion at all. What was the point? The more she studied alchemy, the more she felt withdrawn from the world all around her. Nothing else mattered but the ability for her to manipulate objects such that she could manipulate a person or other objects to her will and desire.
She also produced a cup from within her cloak, and she poured the contents of the potion into the cup. Her slippered feet made hardly a sound at all on the floor of the dungeon. Her slippers were thin enough that she might as well have been barefooted. The cold seeped through the material, but she walked with purpose until she came to the proper cell.
Only now did she lower her hood with one hand as she appraised Bjorn. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. The man was handsome enough on a good day, but now, he was covered in filth and vomit, and she had been right. The man had been tortured, not merely beaten. The stench rolling away from him like a noxious cloud smelled more of blood than the spew.
With a clear snap of her fingers, Sabine watched, almost amused, as Bjorn lifted his head at the same time a guard came rushing over.
“Open this cell at once,” Sabine demanded. “I cannot believe the treatment of this prisoner. Does the queen know of this?”
“I… The… I was told…”
“You’re being told now to open the cell. Do I need to repeat myself a third time?” she spat out.
“You… ah…”
She might not have the authority, and he might know that, but there was power in certain looks and tones, and the man’s will was weak. He scrambled to do as she bid and held the door open for her.
Sabine merely moved to stand in the cell’s entrance without heading inside. She did not wish to step in the filth, and if the man wished to drink, he could come to her.
Bjorn barely could look at her through a badly swollen eye.
“Drink,” she said, her tone still commanding but a touch softer.
Bjorn half-crawled, half-dragged himself over, and she had to bend down to hand him the cup. He swallowed several gulps and then shuddered, looking up at her.
“Drink it all,” she urged.
When he brought it hesitantly to his lips again, she pushed up on the bottom of the cup, forcing him to drink the rest.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
Bjorn opened his mouth, but if he sought to speak, he failed. His teeth chattered, and fog exited his mouth and nose as if he was breathing out in a snowstorm. Shivers overwhelmed his body, causing him to tremor and shake, and his skin began to turn a slightly bluish tint.
It was working. Frozen Kiss was working!
But that was the extent of it. Bjorn himself was not wholly frozen, and over the course of the hour that she observed him, the shivers slowed, and the blue coloring faded away.
Another failed attempt.
&nbs
p; Sabine scowled. She might not feel emotions quite as deeply as she had before, but resentment toward herself and frustration were chief among those she could still experience as she did this very moment.
16
Rase Ainsley
Once upon a time, what felt like a lifetime ago, Rase had done small good deeds. Yes, he had had less than good intentions then, but he knew Leanne was wrong. Rase could do good. He would. Everything would be as it should, and all would be right in the world, and he could return to his sister and be a changed man.
A man. Rase was only fourteen years old, but some fourteen-year-olds, nobles mostly, could be married already at this age. He could not provide for his sister. The house he had acquired… Too many enemies knew about it. Besides, he had not gained that house through the best of means. No, his sister and any future wife deserved the very best from Rase. He needed to do better, and he would.
His stomach twisted as his thoughts turned to Maxene. She had fallen for the lies of a nobleman. Radcliff Snell had been the son of an earl until Rase had taken care of him for impregnating Maxene and then casting her aside. Apparently, he had only used Maxene to make a noblewoman jealous. Rase would never understand the games nobles played.
Yet, he had played games, albeit with crooks, thieves, and peasants who had not much more than Rase had. Now, Rase would make things up to them—not to the crooks and thieves but to the peasants.
Rase wandered through the marketplace. Between being burned and plundered of most anything that had been left behind, the place was deserted. No one was about, and Rase headed toward some of the taverns he used to frequent when he had been a pickpocket. Most of them had been shut down too. It seemed like people were leaving Atlan in droves, but there had to be plenty who were stuck behind, plenty who needed help.
A man cleared his throat from behind Rase. The street rat whirled around, fists raised, but he lowered them when he realized the man was old with sparse, white hair, sunspots, and wrinkles, wrinkles, and more wrinkles.
