Queen of the Earth: Book V in the Elementals Series

by Marisol Logan

  Queen of

  the Earth

  -Book V of the Elementals Series-

  by Marisol Logan

  THE ELEMENTALS SERIES

  BOOK I-Lord and Servant

  BOOK II-The Second Talisman

  BOOK III-The Twin Dragons

  BOOK IV-Daughter of the Diamond

  BOOK V-Queen of the Earth

  This book is a part of a series, and thus is best if read in the order above. An APPENDIX of people, places and terms has been provided at the back of the book for your convenience if you choose to start the series with this book, or need a quick reminder, of people, places and terms from previous books.

  Thanks to the readers who have followed these characters through their journey, all the way to this, its final chapter. I write for you, and I write for them.

  Copyright © 2017 Marisol Logan

  All rights reserved

  Cover Design: Romacdesigns

  Editors: Jessica Evans and Jessica Young

  -I-

  A heavy sigh escaped Veria's lips as her hand ran across the freshly polished tableau of the dresser in her room at the castle, thinking of the dresser in her room in Longberme—one of the many pieces of furniture in that room where Andon had made love to her. That room was just a memory now, and so was that time with him. All of it was a pile of rubble and debris now.

  This room at the castle was the same as she had left it, over a year ago, practically untouched, as if no one had set foot in it other than to polish and dust since the last time she had occupied it. It was the room where she had recovered from the near fatal slice of a wind blade—it felt like ages ago. A lifetime, or, Veria thought, a completely different life. Two weeks, holed up in this bed with the green velvet bedding, King Browan resting next to her and doting on her constantly, day and night.

  It had been much different this time. She had been holed up in this room for two weeks, but Browan rarely came near her, giving her a wide berth anytime they had to interact with each other. She did her best to give her most fiery, raging glares whenever the opportunity arose to continue to reinforce his distance.

  And this time, she was not a recovering patient. She was a prisoner. She was not in the dungeon like the people she loved had been, but she was not a free woman. She was guarded and followed and told where to go and when to be there, what she could and could not do, whom she could visit...and whom she could not.

  Her grandfather, Sarco, had been released after a day or two of rest. Strelzar had been taken by a unit of a dozen Elemental Guards and three dozen soldiers back to Plazic Peak, and from what Veria had heard, a unit had stayed behind in the town at the base of the peak to make sure he didn't escape—or, if they couldn't stop him, at least send message that he had.

  Turqa, Tanisca, Irea and Aleon had been found within a day of Veria's capture and brought to the castle where they lived in in a small cottage meant for garden staff, on the opposite side of the grounds. Veria was allowed to visit them for lunch and a walk around the garden everyday, and occasionally allowed to go say goodnight to them. Aleon would wail when she would leave, and her mother's eyes would fill with tears as she consoled him, something Veria was sure she had done a lot of in the past few weeks.

  Andon had not been able to see the children at all, as he had been recovering in the infirmary, also heavily guarded, for the entirety of the two weeks since they were captured. He was allowed no visitors, and Veria was not allowed to leave her room when he took his daily rehabilitation walks. She would watch him from her window with a hot throat as he limped slowly and arduously, favoring the injured leg, through the gardens, Claryain and Pascha trailing him, iron cuffs on his hands—which made Veria chuckle at first since Andon could snap through any metal easily with his powers, but since then made her sad and angry. They were treating him like a violent criminal, when he had done nothing. He hadn't hurt anyone. He was the only one of them that hadn't. She and Strelzar had killed people. Virro had killed people that day.

  Kind, thoughtful, seemingly harmless Virro. He had not been found. He had not contacted any of them, either, as far as Veria knew, which was for the better. If they knew where he was, or that he was alive, they would have to lie about it, and Browan was in the habit of keeping a verifier nearby for many of his interactions with others, especially when important information might be exchanged.

  Veria studied herself in the mirror above the shining, polished dresser. Her eyes wore dark circles and red rims, the former from sleepless nights and the latter from the tears that managed to crop up constantly over the past two weeks with even the slightest provocation. Usually it was when she said her goodbyes to the children for the day or night, or when Andon would go back inside from his walk through the garden, the end of her daily longing, desperate vigil. But sometimes they would come without warning, at the mention or sight of something that triggered a memory or a thought—a soft blanket, a bolt of violet silk, the smell of the Rosa spice, the beds of ireas in the spacious, impressive castle gardens...

  A knock sounded at the door, pulling Veria from the study of her own face, starting to hollow from the sadness and lack of appetite that had thinned her all over. Without waiting for a reply, a guard burst into her room.

  “The King requests your presence in his library, immediately,” the guard barked.

  The words made her shiver. Too many times in her past had that phrase led to awful things...

  She nodded and reluctantly trudged out into the hallway where a detail of guards awaited her, flanking and following her as she made her way to the destination. Browan had not summoned her once in the past two weeks, nor had he uttered but a few short and awkward commands or forced greetings to her. What could this possibly be about? Veria wondered. Whatever it was, she doubted it was good, and her heart started to pound uncomfortably. Her palms went clammy and she clenched them tightly, steeling herself against having to be in the same room as the King, the man she hated most in the world.

  But, her resolve wavered, the anger flushed from her body as if she were a flame and someone had thrown sand on her. When she turned the final corner to the corridor of the King's suite, she spotted a new tapestry hanging on the stone wall, and it put a lump in her throat and slumped her chest like a hit to the gut.

  On a backdrop of velvety red, trimmed with shimmering gold cord, a giant bird covered in leaves and flowers, with a tail made of flame, intertwined with a dragon spraying orange fire that did not end—instead, the flame from the dragon's mouth became the flame on the tail of the bird.

  The statues from the chamber at Plazic Peak, except instead of two dragons, one was a bird. A little earth bird.

  She stopped abruptly, her guard unit doing the same in mild bewilderment, and stepped in toward the tapestry. She reached out and ran her hands along the bird wrapped in vines. Birdie...

  Tears formed in her eyes and a short, muffled sob broke from her throat. This was her unexpected cry for the day, she thought. Damn that Strelzar. A smirk spread her lips as the tears sprung free for the confines of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. The first thing he did once he got home was commission a tapestry to remind her of him, of them, anytime she had to go to that forsaken library.

  The smirk turned to a chuckle, then the chuckle to full-bodied, hysterical laughter, throwing her head back wildly as more tears formed and fell, and the guards watched her with a mix of fear and confusion.

  “That's enough,” one of them finally snapped, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her away from the tapestry.

  Within a few silent moments, which she used to compose herself, they had reached the
King's library. Veria's spine stiffened of its own accord when she entered, steeling herself against the memories of this room, and the sour anger that filled her at the sight of Browan.

  “You can leave,” Browan dismissed the guard unit wearily.

  He assumed she would not harm him. And he was right...

  If she did, her entire family would suffer—her children, Andon, her mother, her stepfather, her grandfather...Strelzar, though she felt certain he could likely hold his own. But, there had been Ellory's prophecy of sorts, though she loathed the word.

  He would not be the last survivor of the Ageless Council. Veria swallowed hard at the thought of it, of losing him, even though it felt like she already had. Would she ever see him again? Or would that damn tapestry be the only part of him she'd get to see?

  Browan had confiscated Strelzar's bronze talisman that Veria had been wearing when they were captured. Hers lie at the bottom of the pile of stone and destruction that used to be her home.

  The Twin Dragons had been separated.

  “You have been crying?” Browan noted with a questioning tone.

  “The tapestry,” Veria mumbled reluctantly. “When did...?” she trailed off, certain she would cry again if made to say his name.

  “Oh, just the other day,” Browan grunted. “He's taunting me, isn't he? I mean, he could have made it a dragon to raise suspicions about...but why the bird instead? He is trying to wave some sort of power over me, like he always did. Arrogant ass.”

  She wanted to laugh. No, she thought silently, he is reminding me that he is still with me...

  Instead of speaking, she just shrugged. “I haven't the slightest idea what goes on in his head.”

  Browan cocked his head and pursed his lips in a quizzical smirk. “You must be joking? I think you are the only one in the world who has any idea what goes on in Strelzar Plazic's head. He's an irrational, unpredictable, crazy old loon.”

  “Well, if I know what goes on in his head, then that would make me an irrational, crazy loon, as well,” Veria stated.

  “You won't get any argument from me on that,” Browan drawled sarcastically, his eyebrows raising and eyes rolling.

  Veria suppressed a smirk. She was completely fine, if not glad, that Browan thought she was like Strelzar. It meant he still feared her. Even though he owned her, had complete control over her life, held her captive, he was still afraid...

  “I will make this quick and not subject either of us to each other's presence for longer than necessary,” he groaned. “The wedding will take place in two weeks' time. I am told that you have had your initial fitting for the dress?” Veria nodded, her stomach churning with disgust at the thought of having to marry him. “Good, it should be ready in about a week and you can make sure it looks to your standards.”

  Veria didn't give a pile of dead rats what the Fire it looked like. In fact, she'd prefer it looked terrible, just to annoy him...maybe make him call the whole thing off when he laid eyes on her, looking a disheveled mess when she walked down the aisle. Unfortunately, this wedding wasn't about how she looked.

  “Have you been contacted by Virro?” he asked.

  A standard question he asked her, and, she assumed everyone in her family, frequently. Still afraid of Virro, too, Veria thought with delight.

  She shook her head no.

  He stared at her for a long time in silence, his eyes scanning her face, as if trying to read her like a book. The longer it lingered, the softer his gaze went, until it seemed to have lost all its contempt. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke.

  “Would you like to see Andon?” he asked, his voice quiet and uncertain.

  Veria's heart leaped with excitement, but she tried not to show any outward signs of eagerness. She stayed silent and solemn-faced, giving a short nod as her answer.

  “He is being dismissed from Claryain's care today,” Browan said. “You may meet with him there, now, for half an hour. It will be the last time I allow it.”

  “What do you mean?” Veria asked, her veins filling with ice, but her head filling with furious steam. “I still get to visit the children once a day after today, correct?”

  “Correct,” Browan answered with a nod.

  “Won't he be living with them?” Veria interrogated.

  “No, he will not,” he stated plainly.

  Veria's fists clenched and she fought the urge to storm right up to the man and slap him across the face.

  “It is bad enough you do not let me live with them, but to keep their father from them, too?” she shrieked at him, feeling her face go red with fiery blood.

  “I am not keeping him from them,” he argued. “He will have scheduled visits, they will just not be at the same time as yours.”

  “They need at least one parent more often than a few scheduled visits a day, Browan! They are little children!” Veria shouted.

  “I am sure they will be just fine with your mother and stepfather. That's what Irea is used to anyway, isn't she?” he said icily. “And the little one won't even remember any of this. If you start weaning your visits, by the time he is school-aged he won't even know you're his mother. You will just be the Queen to him.”

  Veria's body went numb, her heart plummeted, and her head spun. She didn't even realize she was dropping to her knees until they hit the stone floor with a painful crack. Browan quickly jumped the gap between them and slid his hands under her arms to hoist her up.

  “Don't you touch me,” Veria snapped, shoving his hands away as soon as she was back on her feet.

  “I apologize,” Browan muttered, “my words were insensitive.”

  “You meant them to be as such,” Veria spat. “And I'm sure that 'weaning' me from my children is part of your plan.”

  “It would be better for them, Veria,” Browan sighed.

  He was right, and Veria hated it. And to continue to cling to them, to want them to remember her and long for her presence and love her, would be selfish on her part. At some point, she should let them move on. She should let them all move on. She might never leave the castle grounds again...she didn't want any of them to live the rest of their lives waiting for her. Not even Andon.

  Andon, she thought, her heart leaping again.

  “May I be dismissed to the infirmary, Your Majesty?” she asked.

  “Please don't do that,” Browan groaned. “Don't call me that.”

  “What shall I call you? You are the King,” Veria retorted, knowing full well what his answer would be.

  “Call me by name,” he said softly, “like you did before.”

  “Before was different,” she snapped sharply, and he pulled back as if she had slapped him in the face, an action she very much wanted to take. “May I go?”

  “You are dismissed,” he answered.

  She spun on her heels, causing the flowing, silken emerald dress she wore to billow out around her, and she stormed away from him and out of the library. Once in the hallway, with her dutiful unit of guards on all sides of her, it was all she could do to not sprint to the infirmary to see Andon.

  -II-

  Veria managed to sneak into the infirmary unannounced, the guards still in the hallway, and watch the man she loved silently from behind as he sat up on the cot and drank from a vial, his leg wrapped in a bandage hanging over its side. The smell of drying herbs and pungent steam assaulted her but she couldn't bring herself to focus on anything other than him, his long, unruly blackish waves falling gently on his strong, sculpted shoulders, attached to the long lean arms that had held her so many times, held their children, ending in those rough and nimble hands that had explored every inch of her and wiped her many tears.

  He slumped over and coughed, and without even thinking, Veria rushed to his side.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, placing a hand on his back.

  He jumped and looked momentarily shocked, but the look was replaced rather quickly with profound affection, tears tinging his eyes as he stood with effort and grabbed her f
ace in his hands.

  “I am now,” Andon whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “What was the matter?” Veria asked.

  “That elixir she's been having me drink tastes like sour eggs and ox piss,” he groaned. “You shall see in a moment when I kiss you.”

  He leaned in, closing the distance between their lips, and her entire body ached for him.

  “Did you finish the vial?” came Claryain's voice, interrupting their almost kiss.

  “Yes,” he groaned, pulling away with a frown. Veria felt like she might cry, again. He slid his hands down from her face, over her shoulders, finally resting them on her waist, and his frown deepened.

  “You haven't been eating,” he said, his tone accusatory but concerned.

  “You must eat, dear,” Claryain chimed in. “Your body has been through a lot recently, with—”

  She cut off quickly, then scurried back to her pungent pot on the stove. Andon's grip on Veria's waist tightened as his body tensed, his eyes closed, and he took a sharp, audible inhale, letting it out with an anguished sigh.

  She knew very well what Claryain was going to say. 'With the miscarriage'. The hollow, nauseating pain in her gut that had consumed her and kept her from eating or sleeping for the past two weeks swelled and made her sick, and she suppressed a gag. “I am so sorry, Andon,” she managed through her tight throat and overwhelming sorrow.

  “Oh, vina...” he sighed again, pulling her into his arms and wrapping her in their strength, “that is not your fault, my love, and you cannot carry guilt for it, please. None of this is your fault,” he added, his voice full of pain. “It is mine.”

  “Andon, that is not true,” Veria objected.

  “I left you—you and the children—I...I left you for even a moment and that is what they were waiting for—”

  “We didn't know that! How could we have known that?” she argued, pulling away from him just enough to look him in the eye.