Blood and Ashes

by N M Zoltack

  “Princess Vivian?” Marcellus hastily amended.

  The guard still appeared disgruntled by the wrinkling of his forehead and the curl of his upper lip. “I believe I heard that she is at the training grounds.”

  “That would be…”

  The guard vaguely pointed in a direction and stomped off.

  Yes, Marcellus was feeling rather caged in here, even outside of the keep.

  He headed in that direction, and thankfully, a peasant woman who perhaps did not recognize him directed him to the training grounds.

  There, Marcellus spotted not only Vivian but that infuriating Ulric. The two were sparring, but either the guard was not trying, or else he was not fit to be the queen's personal guard. Not that he thought Vivian lacked the talent to best a man. She could, and she had, but this was a farce.

  Once Vivian won, Marcellus approached.

  “You call that a sparring match?” he demanded.

  Ulric stiffened. “I was unaware we had company.”

  “I just happened to come along here,” Marcellus said airily.

  Vivian snorted. “Did you miss me that much that you had to come and check up on me?”

  “You do like to get in trouble now and again. It’s been… a day, hasn’t it? Maybe two. You’re due.”

  Vivian shook her head. “Those sound like fighting words.”

  Ulric glanced from the princess to the prince and back again.

  Marcellus cleared his throat. It had been far too easy to speak with Vivian for some time now, and he found her company easier and more enjoyable than the queen’s. He hadn’t had the chance to develop a true relationship of any kind with the queen.

  That was a lie. They might have become friends in the beginning, when he first came to the castle, if it had not been a ruse for his father to spark the war. Antonius had even gone so far as to ensure Marcellus would have a motive to fight Tenoch by having Marcellus’s closest and dearest friend, Rufus, killed.

  Then, Marcellus had been clouded by grief and the want for revenge to even speak with the young queen. For her part, Rosalynne had tried to keep the peace despite the murder. He had not seen that then, but he had clarity of mind now that he knew the truth of his father’s wickedness and ambition. At that time, Sabine had also been a queen, the one to rule until Rosalynne came of age or marry or perhaps both. It seemed Sabine was no longer in the role, however, as Marcellus had not seen the blonde queen since he had arrived.

  His marriage to Rosalynne would be civil enough, Marcellus supposed. Civil but without love. His father had been blinded by love or perhaps lust for his mother. She had been said to have been a true beauty, beloved by every man who caught a glimpse of her.

  Marcellus recalled a conversation with Rufus before they reached Atlan Castle.

  “Whoever my wife will be,” Marcellus had said, “she will not just be a pretty face.”

  “Ah,” Rufus said, “but she will have a pretty face regardless.”

  Rufus had the right of it. Rosalynne had a pretty face, but in Marcellus’s opinion, her sister was the lovelier one.

  Vivian twirled her sword about. “Are you going to stand by your words?” she asked.

  “I would love to spar you, if that is what you are asking,” Marcellus said. He made a show of patting his swordless hip. The prince did not think it wise for him to wander about the keep and the castle walls while armed with his weapon. “Alas, I have no—”

  “You can use mine,” Ulric claimed, shoving it against Marcellus’s chest. “I doubt it will serve you any better against her than it had me.”

  “Is that so?” Marcellus tested the blade a bit, moving his sword arm this way and that, getting a feel for its weight and length and grip.

  Ulric moved off to the side. Staying to observe, it seemed. For some reason, that irked Marcellus. Not that he thought he would lose to Vivian, but should the guard not be by his queen?

  Or was it that Marcellus wished to spar alone with Vivian, with no one to watch them?

  “Are you ready?” Vivian asked.

  He lunged forward, giving her an easy move to defend as he was catching her on guard.

  Only, she did not merely defend the thrust, but she also countered with a parry he had to sidestep to help him defend.

  “Do not take me lightly,” she barked.

  “Oh, I’ll take you however I please,” he countered.

  Her eyebrows lifted at his words, and he did not realize why at first until the double meaning behind his words sunk in.

  Her dark blue eyes glittered with hardness, and she came after him with an onslaught of strikes and stabs and thrusts. He was able to evade or block most, but her attack was so forceful that he barely had time to answer or make counterstrikes.

  “You shouldn’t fight when you’re so emotional,” he teased.

  “I am not emotional,” she snorted, but she drew back. “Are you claiming I’m moving too fast for you? Can’t keep up?”

  “I can do this all day.”

  “I doubt that. You’ll want a meal and a nap and to have someone massage your shoulders and act like a pompous king.”

  “You think I’ll make a pompous king?” he asked, amused.

  “Definitely. You’ll have servants wave leaves at you to cool you as another feeds you grapes.”

  “I haven’t eaten grapes. Are they delicious?”

  “They are, actually. You don’t have… No, I suppose you wouldn’t. There’s not a cold period in Vincana, is there?”

  “Not really.”

  “This is boring,” Ulric called. “Are you two going to spar or merely talk?”

  Vivian swatted her left hand toward the guard. Perhaps the guard made some kind of gesture because Vivian laughed. She looked so at peace right now, all in her glory, fighting without the need to preserve her life or for the sake of her kingdom.

  Her gaze shifted to Marcellus. “You did not argue against the leaves.”

  “That sounds refreshing. I do have to admit that you’re making me work up a bit of a sweat.”

  “I know.” She wrinkled her delicate nose. “I can smell you, and if you think I’ll massage your shoulders, that will never happen.”

  “No?” he murmured. “What if I wished you to—”

  Vivian began to attack him again, but this time, he fought back. She was no match for him, given his wealth of experience, but she had not lied. She clearly trained for hours a day, almost as if she wished to make up for the time she had not but the Vincanans had.

  By the time they decided to stop, they were both breathing heavily, both covered in sweat. They had also lost their spectator.

  Marcellus moved the sword to his left hand and held out his right hand. “You aren’t terrible.”

  “You aren’t the worst person I faced,” she returned with a breathy laugh.

  She placed her hand in his, and Marcellus lowered his head, bringing up her hand, and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

  “My hand is gross,” she protested.

  He stared up at her, still bent over, her hand still trapped in his, and he kissed her knuckles again.

  She sucked in a breath as he slowly lowered their hands, but he still held onto hers, and after a moment, she swept her thumb across the back of his hand.

  Then, with fire in her eyes, she yanked her hand free and plied the sword from his. “We should return.”

  “I would enjoy your company for a midday meal,” he said.

  She had already started to walk away. Over her shoulder, she called, “Only if you bathe first.”

  “So long as you do the same,” he returned, easily catching up to her.

  Vivian shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose.”

  “Maybe I’ll ask a maid to enter your room and wave those leaves for you,” he said.

  She eyed him. “You don’t use a lot of servants, do you?”

  Marcellus shook his head. “No. My father and I… We do not have royal blood.”

  “You could say th
e same for the Riveras, for the Lis… Although some think that the dragons, even dead, had a hand in their acquiring the throne. It had been a peaceful transfer of power, one of the only ones to have been without bloodshed.” Vivian shrugged. “Maybe the Lis should have the crown still.”

  “Do you truly believe that?” he murmured.

  “I do not know what to think about a lot of things.” She glanced up at him and then away. “Including the last dragon. I think…” Vivian shook her head. “I want what is best for Tenoch… and for Vincana… but I do not know what that is.”

  “Peace,” he said with conviction.

  “Oh, yes, but how can there be peace after all of the turmoil, the deceit, the return of the dragons who seem as bent on destruction as the dragons of old had been in keeping the peace?”

  Marcellus had no answer, and the two walked the rest of the trek back to the keep in silence, each lost in their own troubled thoughts.

  30

  Queen Rosalynne Rivera

  Rosalynne watched Ulric and her sister leave with an amused smile. They were as close as thieves, those two, and she knew that, rationally, she should wish the two of them would fall in love.

  But while Rosalynne considered herself a fair enough ruler, a just once, or at least strove to be, love was not something that could be quite so rational or nice and neat and simple.

  For now, she watched them go. Ulric knew she was about to have a meeting with Tiberius momentarily. She would not be unprotected for longer than a few minutes at the most, and there was not likely to be another attack from the Vincanans, what with Marcellus here.

  Although if they thought their prince was held against his will…

  And there was the dragon as well… Reports from her scouts spoke of entire villages burning, and she had no means to protect them against the fiery onslaught. Before sending the scouts back, she bid them to tell the mayors or leaders of the towns and cities to douse the rooftops of houses and all other buildings with water to help ward off the dragon’s flames, if at all possible.

  She entered the smallest meeting room within the castle to find Tiberius already there. He bowed lowly.

  “My Queen.”

  “Tiberius,” she said evenly.

  At first, Rosalynne had sought for Ulric to be the one to locate who within Atlan had gained magical powers after the death of the first dragon. Ulric had pushed back against that, wishing to be her personal guard instead, which happened after he protected her during the most recent Vincanan attack.

  Thus, Rosalynne passed on that responsibility to Tiberius Davis. Greta Grantham, Sabine’s treacherous mother, had used the guard as a spy or a pawn, but he had turned against her, betraying Greta in the end.

  So far, Tiberius had proved his loyalty, but Rosalynne was still a bit mindful that he might prove ambitious. It seemed Greta’s influence could be dark and twisted, like claws that dug in deep to a person’s soul.

  Rosalynne had hoped that allowing Sabine to step down as queen and pursue alchemy would cause the woman to be less of a problem. Yes, Rosalynne knew about the curse all female alchemists were said to suffer from, but if Sabine never became one, that curse would not be enacted. The queen hoped Sabine would fail, yes, but Rosalynne had not taken into account that during her failed attempts, Sabine would use her potions on people, people who might not die but still face terrible side effects to the potion.

  She had been so concerned with wrestling the crown from Sabine that she had failed to realize Sabine had become an even larger threat in some ways.

  Rosalynne motioned for Tiberius to rise from his bow. “Have you located any who have magic within the castle walls?”

  The watery-eyed guard grinned. Rosalynne could not recall a time when she had seen the guard smile. He had always been a bit rude and pompous, but now, he appeared giddy, delighted even.

  “I have,” he said eagerly, and he held up his hand toward the table. A quill rolled a bit, but then, it began to levitate, floating in the air and coming ever closer to Tiberius until he grasped it in his hand.

  “You have magic!” Rosalynne exclaimed.

  “I do, as does a knight by the name of Jurian Hansen. “

  The queen nodded slowly and touched her chin, deep in thought. “He has black hair, does he not?”

  “He does.”

  “I wish more knights had magic,” she murmured and eyed the guard. “Guards as well.”

  Tiberius did not seem to notice. “Only one other, as far as those not already helping the healers. Isabel Faure, I think, is the healer's name with magic. And Tatum—"

  “Tatum is… magical, yes,” Rosalynne amended. She did not know if Tatum wished for everyone and anyone to know she was a true alchemist and not a mere apprentice. “Who, ah, is the last?”

  “Hamon Dannel.”

  Rosalynne pondered a moment. “A servant, is he not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you asked among the peasants?” she asked.

  The pox-faced guard nodded. “Well, I’ve started to. I am almost done. Would you like for me to then ride out to cover all of Atlan?”

  “Yes, please,” she murmured. “Do not stray too far. I have sent out letters via carrier birds to the other cities and towns for them to learn who has magic there and to pass that information onto my scouts. So far, I have not heard from many.”

  This admission plagued her greatly. Did that mean the birds had not reached their destinations? Had the birds been killed by the dragon, or had the cities and towns been destroyed by the dragon so the birds had no one to deliver their message to?

  “Please be careful in your ventures,” she murmured.

  “You do not have to worry,” Tiberius said cheerfully, but then his smile slowly faded. “Have you been to Atlan recently?”

  “Not lately, no,” she admitted. “Why do you ask?”

  “From what the people say, the city itself has been mostly deserted.”

  "That is probably for the best," Rosalynne murmured. "Most of the people have either moved away for fear of the dragon or have come within the castle walls and have been spread throughout the keep and other buildings." She hesitated. "Are there many vagabonds and thieves?"

  “I think not, but I could be wrong.”

  “Take a few guards with you and do a full roundup of the city.”

  “As you wish.”

  Rosalynne waved him away and lowered her head. Her crown shifted, and she readjusted it. Peace must be had at any cost. As much as Sabine said she sought to make potions to aid in the war, the war with Vincana was coming to an end. Only the dragon remained, and then the healing of Tenoch could begin.

  The time for all of their suffering to come to an end seemed close and yet so far away. So very far away.

  31

  Ulric Cooper, Personal Guard to Queen Rosalynne

  Watching the Princess of Tenoch and the Prince of Vincana spar caused Ulric’s stomach to churn, although he did not precisely know why. The way they spoke to each other… the camaraderie they shared… It bothered him perhaps more than it should, considering they sought peace as their goal—Rosalynne, Vivian, Ulric, Marcellus, and many others.

  At one point, they stopped fighting to merely talk, and Ulric did not stand about to watch much longer once they resumed. They were fighting, and Vivian had proved she had at least a fighting chance against the Vincanan, and Ulric was certain enough that Marcellus meant the princess no harm.

  Otherwise, Ulric would have no choice but to battle the Vincanan Prince, and Ulric doubted he would be the victor. Still, he would die for either of the Riveras.

  As he made his way back toward the keep, a man on horseback was riding up, and Ulric waved him over.

  “Well met,” Ulric said. “Have you news for the queen?”

  “I do,” he said, “of a most urgent matter.”

  “Very well.” Ulric grimaced and then asked, “Would you go to the training grounds and fetch the man and woman sparring? The queen will wis
h for them to hear what news you bring.”

  “At once.” The man turned his horse about and hurried away.

  Likewise, Ulric hurried to the castle, and in short order, he, Rosalynne, Vivian, and Marcellus were all in a small parlor with comfortable chairs spread about and a low table covered with food. The rider stood by the door and looked a bit anxious and perhaps a bit green as well, Ulric noted.

  “Won’t you have a bite and drink?” Rosalynne asked.

  The rider shook his head. “We shouldn’t have… You didn’t have to…”

  “Your news is urgent?” Vivian asked softly.

  “Yes, very much so.” The man bobbled his head up and down so vigorously Ulric thought it might tumble from his neck.

  “What is it?” Ulric asked, a bit fearful of whatever had the man so worried.

  “A man with magic… His name is Hartwin Kerner. He is a farmer, a simple man, a good one… But his magic, I fear it’s changed him, made him gone mad.”

  “What makes you suggest such a thing?” Rosalynne demanded, rising from her seat.

  Ulric had never sat, standing instead behind his queen. Marcellus stood as well.

  Vivian, though, leaned forward, plucked a piece of fruit, cut it in half with a dagger, and gave half to Marcellus.

  The rider lowered his head. “He… He has threatened Norbert Kaiser, the mayor of the town.”

  “Which town?” Vivian asked.

  “Kilwich,” the rider stated.

  Even Rosalynne appeared a bit uncertain.

  “It’s to the west,” the rider said, clearly embarrassed. “Almost at the end of Arlingway River.”

  “That’s almost all the way west to the Olacic Mountains,” Vivian exclaimed.

  “My Queen,” Ulric started.

  “We cannot stand to have our own people turn against each other, and I… You said this man, this Hartwin Kerner, he was a good man?”

  “He never treated me wrong,” the rider said.

  “That you know of,” Marcellus pointed out.

  “Well, if I don’t know,” the rider said, “I wouldn’t then know, would I?”