by Frank Morin
In her deepest thoughts, she risked considering briefly the words of a note she had received earlier that day. The simple, innocuous comment had puzzled her and stuck with her even as she stepped into her counselor persona. “Your nephew’s best friend recommends against partaking of his favorite food. He wants it all for himself.”
Even in her best-shielded thoughts, she didn’t dare name her nephew or his friend. The mention of favorite foods was one she had heard far too often not to recognize. So she could not trust the muffin until she knew more.
One of the lords from southern Obrion, who was sitting at a nearby table, suddenly groaned and clutched at his stomach. He looked like whatever he had eaten had not agreed with him. He cast a terrified glance at the queen, who had noticed his reaction and was frowning in his direction. When he opened his mouth to apologize, panicked words of apology were not what came out.
Instead, he belched with such force that he nearly knocked himself right out of his chair.
The sound reverberated across the room, and shocked silence descended as everyone stared at the unfortunate lord as if he was already dead. He looked completely flabbergasted, his face drained of color. He started shaking his head in denial even as he belched a second time.
Ailsa cringed at what was about to happen. The queen was already leaning forward, her little frown changed into a furious scowl. The man would die within seconds.
Then another belch erupted forth, this one from a demure, elderly noblewoman who the queen had often praised for being an exemplar of perfect etiquette. She looked like she was about to have a heart attack. Four other people lurched in their chairs and belched, long and loud, sounds that no nobleman or noblewoman would ever make.
A second later, the beefy Lord Feichin toppled from his chair and unleashed a fart so explosive it ripped a hole in his breaches. Actual green flames burst from his backside, and he howled in pain.
The queen leaped to her feet and screamed, “Enough! I will not allow such disrespect.”
Then she grimaced and clutched at her own stomach. She convulsed, as if trying to keep from vomiting, and wind whistled out of her open mouth. This time it came forth not as a belch, but as the deep, sonorous voice of High Lord Dougal himself.
“Well, paaardon me!”
A couple of people actually laughed, but most of the crowd were too busy clutching at stomachs or trying to clasp hands over faces or backsides in vain attempts to prevent explosive gas from ripping out and embarrassing them too. More voices erupted through some of those gaseous experiences. A few were in High Lord Dougal’s voice, but some spoke in the queen’s own tones. Ailsa watched in absolute astonishment as complete bedlam descended over the feasting room.
One loud belch whistled around the room like a warm wind, shouting in Dougal’s voice. “I think the reason the queen is so intent on removing all free thought is that she is terrified someone will recognize that she almost always stinks of mulberry wine.”
Another voice, sounding exactly like the queen shouted, “Do you realize how extremely difficult it is to appear regal when one possesses the intelligence of a braying mule as I do?”
Other voices echoed around the room, but the queen suddenly raised her right hand, and all sound ceased. She looked so furious she might simply explode. She must have tapped serpentinite, but it was a wonder she did not cleanse the entire room with purifying fire.
The little pastry she had swallowed suddenly burst out of her mouth, as if she had somehow ejected it from her own stomach. It looked chomped and mangled, but the queen extracted from the center of it two tiny pieces, no bigger than almonds. Ailsa leaned forward, trying to make them out. One of the little things seemed to be struggling, as if it had teeth. The other was emitting tiny jets of fire.
Queen Dreokt gasped and flung the little things away with a terrified shriek. Her face turned ashen, and she pointed a shaking finger at the little pieces of her muffin, “Destroy it!”
Most of the assembled guests simply stared in shock. The queen had never displayed fear before, not even when the Mhortair assassins had cut her into pieces in her throne room. And yet, now she was shrieking at those mangled pieces of dessert the way a common housewife might shriek at a mouse.
General Aonghus vaulted the table and snatched up the two tiny bits of pastry. One of them had started crawling back toward the queen, while the other was just lying there, merrily burning. White-hot flames ignited around Aonghus’s hand and he held it there for five long seconds. When the flames winked out, he brushed tiny flecks of cinders from his palm, all that remained of the offending pastry. He bowed to the queen, his expression serious for once, and although his mouth moved, whatever words he spoke did not reach Ailsa’s ears.
Queen Dreokt took in a long, shuddering breath and regained her composure. She said in a regal voice, “Thank you, general. I appreciate your quick service defending my honor.”
Ailsa marveled as understanding struck. “My boy, what have you done? You and your friends designed miniature summoned creatures out of bread and dared launch this unprecedented attack against the queen in her own court? Are you mad?”
“Combining advanced autonomous summoning with Builder mechanicals is ingenious. It won’t do much long-term harm. Not even I know yet what can do that, but you surprised her. Chaos reigns in her court and her perfect little world is damaged. She’s afraid. My boy, perhaps this is the break we’ve been seeking. Well done. I am so proud. I hope you’re ready for war.”
The flood of belching and flatulence seemed to pass, and most of the assembled were rolling around, clutching at their stomachs and screaming silently. Ailsa grimaced to think what it would feel like to have an angry little sculpted creature tearing around inside of her gut.
The queen shouted, somehow making her voice heard even while suppressing all other sound in the room. “Healers! Get in here and rip these abominations from my court.”
She did not wait to see her order fulfilled, but swept toward the main exit in a rage. She paused long enough to shout, “Ailsa, attend me now!”
30
Unintended Consequences
Ailsa rushed after the queen, leaving the dinner disaster behind, not sure what Queen Dreokt might have in mind. Aonghus and Rosslyn came as well. Aonghus was chuckling to himself, looking immensely amused.
He had probably incinerated the little sculpted scone he had consumed. Rosslyn was a Healer, so she must be dealing with hers as well because she looked calm and composed. Together they left the chaos of the dining hall behind and followed the queen, who stormed through the palace, her face a thundercloud.
Everyone scurried out of the way, which was a good thing. Ailsa had no doubt the queen would squash anyone foolish enough to stumble in her path. Walking so fast the rest of them had to jog to keep up, she led them outside to a balcony overlooking the loch. She did not speak, but made an impatient gesture with one hand.
Air swept in around them and lifted them rapidly up the front face of the palace to a balcony outside of the queen’s own quarters. Ailsa suppressed a grin. The air felt solid underfoot, like a soft carpet. She wished she had time to explore the rare chance to fly with the queen.
“Ailsa, stop fooling around with nonsense,” Dreokt snapped, then swept inside.
Her current chief of staff, a wizened old nobleman named Tobson, stood near the queen’s throne-like chair, leaning on his staff of office. His bald pate was smooth, but dull. The queen had disliked his wispy hair, but also hated reflective baldness, so he made a point of powdering his head every day.
Beside him stood a blocky-faced man in a travel-stained worker’s jumpsuit. His hair was disheveled and lines of exhaustion made him look older, but he stood proudly as he faced the furious queen.
Ailsa expected her to obliterate both men at the interruption. She was amazed when Queen Dreokt’s anger evaporated and she exclaimed, “Croir, aren’t you a little early?”
“Nay, my queen, I just arrived and came here wit
hout even stopping to wash or change.”
“Might not have been the smartest move you ever made. Queen’s a stickler for good hygiene.”
“I tried to encourage him to wait, but he insisted he needed to speak with you instantly, that you had ordered his actions,” old Tobson interjected.
He might look like a doddering old fool, but his mind was kept sharp by a strong obsidian affinity. Tobson had lasted a full two weeks as chief of staff, longer than any of the last twelve men and women who held that post. If the queen ordered it, he could literally take Croir apart with that staff of office.
Queen Dreokt settled into her chair and said, “I am in need of good news. Yours had better be excellent.”
The man did not appear fazed by the unspoken threat, but made a courtly bow with remarkable grace. He was either far more clever than he looked, or he was a dolt who was about to die.
“My queen, I bring most excellent news from New Schwinkendorf.”
Ailsa reinforced her mental defenses around her thoughts at the name. She could not afford even a second of weakness, and not even unexpected news from Granadure could shake her focus.
Croir continued in a rush. “Murder and mayhem in the city. The Blood of the Tallan went berserk, as did that Dawnus fellow, Ivor. They killed the principle Builders, that guy Hamish and the leader girl, Verena. They even fought Kilian and Evander both!”
Despite her reinforced defenses, Ailsa swayed, feeling faint. The words seemed to hammer her mind like piercing daggers. Her thoughts scattered and for a second her inner self was exposed. Luckily she was too shocked to think anything loudly, and Queen Dreokt was far too ecstatic to listen.
“It is done?” she exulted.
“Yes, my liege. I witnessed the end of the fight myself. Took a terrible risk doing it. Nearly got run down by that Mhortair assassin, but I outran her and escaped to bring you word.”
He swelled with pride, but the words helped center Ailsa again. She knew much about Aifric, and she found it hard to believe this spy could have escaped the girl if she was indeed intent on pursuit. That suggested many interesting possibilities that she longed to explore. First, she forced her inner thoughts to quiet and reset her surface thoughts, restoring her facade as a devoted advisor.
Queen Dreokt laughed aloud. “He killed Verena? Ha! That’s justice for Builders.”
“I am sorry to report that the man Ivor was destroyed by Kilian, and it appeared that Connor was captured. I do not know his final fate.”
The queen continued laughing, mirth literally boiling off of her in the form of shimmering steam. General Aonghus subtly redirected it away from Ailsa and Rosslyn in an act of unusual chivalry.
Queen Dreokt turned to Ailsa and the generals. “See? You all questioned why I waited so long to strike. I had already struck, and simply waited for my orders to be carried out. Chaos and murder among the vile Builders!” Her expression shifted instantly to seething rage. “They deserve even worse! Those vile Builders touched me with their disgusting creations! I wish I could heal them to kill them again, only slower!”
“Somehow it is their mechanicals you fear. Why?”
Aonghus started to speak, but the queen waved him to silence. “Now we are poised for victory! You and Rosslyn get back to the army. Mobilize everyone to Crann. The time to cleanse this realm once and for all is nearly at hand.”
She gestured them away, and Aonghus and Rosslyn bolted from the room. Queen Dreokt turned back to Croir, who was looking immensely pleased with himself. “Tell me everything you saw.”
He was happy to oblige and launched into a gory tale of murder and elemental destruction. Queen Dreokt listened intently, her expression giddy, and Ailsa made sure her outer self mimicked her.
“So the walls blocked your view most of the time? Interesting. And Aifric called you out, but allowed you to outrun her?”
The more she heard, the more convinced she felt that Connor and his crafty friends had somehow tricked the spy. Queen Dreokt seemed to believe him, and no doubt she was probing his mind for deceit. If she had found any, she would have immolated him on the spot.
When he finished, he bowed again and said, “Thus I alone of all your servants completed the dangerous assignment and returned with good tidings.”
“And you will be rewarded accordingly,” Queen Dreokt assured him. “Tobson, arrange for Croir to receive a lordship and appropriate holdings.”
That was a wondrous gift. Croir beamed with delight and gushed his thanks. If he was surprised by the order, Tobson didn’t show it. He only bowed and said, “At once, my queen.”
As he towed Croir from the room, Ailsa allowed a brief inner thought. “What will you do with him once you realize his report is false?”
Queen Dreokt turned to her. “Oh, Ailsa, such good news. You’re the only person I trust in this fallen kingdom. I need a fresh batch of stones immediately.”
Ailsa the advisor felt a flush of pride that she had earned the queen’s trust. She curtsied and said, “Of course. I have everything you need right here in my bag.”
Instead of taking new stones, the queen paced away, hands clenched at her side. When she spun, her expression had flipped back to furious. “The fools! They don’t understand the dangers in what they do.”
“Should I call them back?” Ailsa asked, glancing after the generals.
Queen Dreokt crossed back to her throne-like seat and waved away the suggestion. “Not them. I mean the Builders, of course.”
“Risking your wrath was foolish,” Ailsa agreed carefully, edging closer.
The queen gave her an annoyed look. “Don’t pretend to be clueless like everyone else, Ailsa. You possess one of the only truly powerful minds I’ve encountered since awakening. Why do you think I keep you close but don’t work to improve your mind like my other servants?”
“I thought you approved of my counsel,” Ailsa said, smoothly shifting along with the unexpected direction of the conversation. She’d trained herself to be flexible, riding the eddies of the queen’s focus like a rafter upon turbulent waters, but rarely had the queen’s tangents in thought been directed toward her.
“Yes, yes. You provide valuable service,” Queen Dreokt said, sounding impatient. “You provide my stones, which is even more important, but Ailsa I keep you beside me to enjoy the presence of an unspoiled mind. You are one who thinks before you speak, you consider before you act, and you are a seeker of truth.”
Her gaze held Ailsa, and she seemed more in control, more coherently focused than Ailsa had ever seen. In her inner mind, she shivered. She managed a brief curtsy, which gave her an excuse to break eye contact and shore up her surface thoughts. “I appreciate your confidence, my liege.”
“My dinner was ruined!” Queen Dreokt snapped, her expression turning petulant. Witnessing another abrupt switch back to a childlike tantrum was actually comforting after that moment of dangerous lucidity. Queen Dreokt was incredibly powerful, but her instability was one of her weaknesses.
“If you ever snap out of it, ever recover full control, what might you accomplish then?” Ailsa forced herself to banish the dangerous thoughts quickly. Even her innermost thoughts might not be fully protected when the queen was so focused on her.
Luckily the queen still seemed distracted. She sighed again, her anger disappearing as quickly as it came. “It’s a glorious day, Ailsa. The two most dangerous Builders gone. But the rest will know their research and must be stopped before they tread paths of danger none but I understand. Did you know Merkland was my dear Kirstin’s home?”
“I did not,” Ailsa admitted.
“Shona and her wicked insurrection have desecrated my only daughter’s beloved home, and now the idiotic Builders follow the same mistaken paths she did. Can no one but me see the dangers in using the elements so wantonly?”
She looked honestly sorrowful for the loss of the daughter she had killed, and Ailsa sensed she was sharing something important in that moment of anger.
“I did kill her,” Queen Dreokt said with another sigh. She must have siphoned the direction of Ailsa’s surface thoughts. “She was my dear, sweet child, and at first her work promised wondrous new ways to access the sylfaen.”
“Sylfaen?” Ailsa dared ask. She was not familiar with that word.
The queen ignored the question, her gaze thoughtful and distant. She continued in a soft voice. “But she tread where none should go, somehow sensed the Ramverk itself and stepped to the threshold of danger where the elementals awaited.”
She glanced at Ailsa and added, “Even you, with your great mind, understand nothing of the deep secrets or the true dangers we face.”
“I am eager to learn how to help you, my queen,” Ailsa said, forcing herself to focus on only that thought, not on the scores of questions clamoring for her attention.
“No one can help. No one listens. Not even Kirstin would listen!” She rose, shouting in anger, and fires crackled along her arms.
Ailsa held her ground. Fleeing wouldn’t help if the queen decided to strike. “As you said, my queen, I try to listen and I seek truth.”
“Some truths are too dangerous. Kirstin walked paths that would have destroyed her and everyone upon these lands. She left me no choice but to destroy her.”
Ailsa nodded, but felt confused. She had thought Kirstin had died because of what had happened to King Triath.
Again the queen picked up the thought and said, “I don’t want to talk about that. Today I was touched by Builders with elements. The fools have no idea what that might have done!”
Ailsa expected her to announce plans to destroy the rest of them. She loved ranting about wanting to destroy the Builders, but this was the first time she gave any hints about what scared her about them. Instead Queen Dreokt dropped back into her chair, her expression turning thoughtful.
