Tomorrow's Kingdom

by Maureen Fergus

  Since news of the victory over Mordecai and the birth of the prince had long since spread throughout the kingdom, the progress back to Parthania was like a victory parade. Indeed, when, at last, they passed through the great gates of the city, it seemed to an exhausted but exhilarated Persephone that there was not a single person in all of the realm—and most especially in Parthania—who was not utterly mad with joy at her triumphant return.

  Most unfortunately for her, Azriel and the baby, she was wrong.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  MORDECAI WATCHED from the shadows of the narrow, squalid alley as the litter carrying the queen and the little cockroach approached.

  After he and Murdock fled the battlefield, Mordecai had thought incessantly about the sound of her scream being cut short so abruptly. He’d imagined her dying a thousand different deaths—each more gruesome than the last, each resulting in the end of the unborn Gypsy infant. Over and over, Mordecai had told himself that the twisting pain in his chest whenever he thought of the queen’s violet eyes glazed over in death was nothing but the ill effects of common food and hard travel.

  Then, a fortnight ago, he and Murdock had learned from a man they’d met on the road that the scream Mordecai had heard had not heralded the death of the queen. According to the man—who’d fought in the battle and was hurrying home to his wife and six children—the queen was alive and safely delivered of a healthy son. Mordecai had first been stunned then electrified by the news. The crushing despair that had plagued him since the Valley of Gorg vanished upon the instant. After absently ordering Murdock to dispatch the lowborn wretch for making the mistake of suddenly recognizing them, Mordecai had decided that perhaps the business between him and the queen wasn’t finished, after all. If he couldn’t snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, perhaps he could snatch a little well-deserved satisfaction. His position, his wealth, his army and his dreams had been taken from him, but he yet had the ever-resourceful Murdock, and he had something no one would ever be able to take from him: the stomach to do whatever it took to bend those with soft hearts to his absolute will.

  Indeed, he had the stomach to do whatever it took to not only bend those with soft hearts but to break them into a thousand pieces.

  Mordecai kept his eyes on the queen as her litter drew closer and closer. Then, just as she was passing by the spot where he stood ankle-deep in muck, a grubby lowborn brat on his side of the cobblestone street darted toward the approaching litter. If it had been Mordecai, he’d have ordered the horsemen to trample the brat and her pathetic posy of wilted wildflowers, but of course the queen did no such thing. On the contrary, she ordered the litter to halt, then she accepted the posy as reverently as it if were some priceless treasure. As she was doing so, the little cockroach in her arms suddenly began to scream like a terror. The queen laughed aloud as the brat in the street clapped her hands over her ears, then she discreetly offered the screaming cockroach her very own breast instead of passing him to a wet nurse for feeding as a proper royal woman would have done.

  Deep within the filthy, stinking, homespun hood that hid his all-too-familiar face, Mordecai smiled broadly at this touching display of motherly love.

  For it made it very easy to believe that if the little cockroach’s life were at stake, the beautiful queen would get down on her knees and do anything to save him.

  SIXTY-SIX

  PERSEPHONE SHIVERED as she listened to the wind tearing at the shutters as though it would rip them right off the hinges.

  “It sounds like the storm is growing worse,” she said as she drew her chair closer to the fire.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” replied Meeka, looking up from the shift she was mending. “I certainly hope the prince consort is not caught out in this weather.”

  “I hope not either,” said Persephone wryly. Since learning that Persephone and Azriel were married, Meeka had never again tried to hand-feed Azriel quail’s eggs, and she’d not once gazed at him like he were a giant sweetmeat, but Persephone knew that the girl would ever be enamoured of her handsome husband.

  Pulling the cozy Khan wool blanket tighter around herself, Persephone turned her attention back to the dispatch from the Marinese Elder Roark. It stated that he wished to come to Parthania to act as ambassador for his people. Persephone sighed. She knew that Miter, in particular, was going to make trouble out of this. Since the battle at the Valley of Gorg, he’d been even more insufferable than usual, taking every opportunity to remind anyone who would listen that if it weren’t for him, they’d all have been annihilated. He was not going to respond well to the news that the Marinese were to have a voice on the Council when they’d contributed nothing whatsoever to the war effort.

  As she pondered how best to break the news to him, Persephone heard a single knock on the door.

  Casting her mistress a perplexed look—visitors normally being announced by the royal guards posted outside the chamber door—Meeka set her mending aside and went to see who was knocking.

  “There is no one there, Your Majesty—not even the guards,” said Meeka as she ambled back over to the fire. “There was only this.”

  Persephone smiled at the sight of the note in the girl’s hand. In the six weeks since their triumphant return to Parthania, Azriel had taken to leaving little presents under her pillow and slipping her love notes when she least expected it. He said he was doing so because he’d never gotten a chance to properly court her and also because their duties left them so little time together that he feared she would someday forget him altogether.

  Smiling again at the notion that she could ever forget the man who slipped into her bed each night to remind her of his presence in such delicious fashion, Persephone took the note from Meeka, eagerly unfolded it …

  And felt her whole world come crashing down around her ears.

  Greetings Your Majesty,

  I have your husband and son. Unless you would like their scalps delivered to you within the hour, come alone to the royal harbour at once.

  Flinging the note aside, Persephone bolted to her feet and was halfway to the chamber door before the note hit the floor.

  “Your Majesty, what is it?” cried Meeka, dashing after her.

  Persephone did not reply. Wrenching open the chamber door she tore across the ominously deserted corridor to the royal nursery. Seeing that the door was already ajar, she did not check but put down her shoulder and slammed full force into it. The door flew open with a bang to reveal the baby gone, Zdeno on his knees with a dagger in his belly, and the nursery walls awash with the blood of the three nursemaids who lay dead on the floor.

  “H-he came through the window, Your Majesty,” groaned Zdeno. “I tried to stop him but h-he had a knife to the baby’s belly and—”

  A scream behind Persephone cut him off.

  Whirling, Persephone grabbed Meeka by the arm, jerked her into the chamber and slammed the door behind her. “After I’m gone, you must bar the door and tend to Zdeno,” Persephone commanded tersely, giving Meeka a shake to make sure she was paying attention. “You’re to stay here until I’ve returned, and you’re to let no one know what has happened, do you understand? The lives of Azriel and the baby depend upon it!”

  When Meeka said nothing, only continued to gaze about the chamber in shock and horror, Persephone slapped her hard across the face. Meeka gasped and her eyes snapped into focus at once.

  “Will you do as I’ve commanded, Meeka?” demanded Persephone harshly. “Can you?”

  “I … I can, Your Majesty,” replied the girl, sounding shaky but sure. “I can and will.”

  Persephone was gone without another word. Knowing she’d never be able to make it to the harbour alone if she were to leave the palace through the front door dressed as she was, she returned to the royal chambers, wriggled out of her beautiful gown, threw on the shift that Meeka had been mending and, over top of this, a simple cloak of black. Pulling up the hood to hide her face, she fetched her dagger from the desk drawer and took a few seconds
to re-familiarize herself with its weight and balance before slipping it into the pocket of the shift and hurrying into the bedchamber. Ducking behind the tapestry on the far wall, she found the door to the secret passageway she’d used to flee the palace after Finn died. She followed the narrow, musty-smelling passageway until she got to a small door. Pushing it open, she stepped out into the tempest. The instant she did so, she heard a horsey squeal. Glancing over, she saw Fleet standing at the gate of the corral gazing adoringly at her. When he saw that she’d noticed him, he neighed again and then waited expectantly for her to hurry over and lavish him with praise, affection and cut turnips. But, of course, Persephone did none of these things. Instead, she turned, put her hooded head down to help cut the wind and began staggering toward the royal harbour as fast as she could.

  By the time she got there, it had begun to rain. Slipping and sliding her way down to the otherwise deserted quay, she found General Murdock sitting in a rowboat that was being battered so mercilessly by the crashing waves of the rising sea that Persephone thought it must surely be swamped at any moment.

  “Greetings, Your Majesty,” called General Murdock over the wind. “His Grace asks that you join him on yonder ship.”

  Teeth chattering with cold and fear, Persephone glanced briefly at the small merchant vessel anchored not far away, then she stepped into the rowboat. General Murdock immediately cast off and began rowing hard. The sea was a frothing beast—twice, the rowboat was hit by waves so big that they nearly capsized, and before they were halfway to the ship, Persephone had to pick up the rusty pail beneath her seat and start bailing to avoid them sinking, but at last they pulled alongside.

  “After you, Your Majesty,” called General Murdock, gesturing to the hanging ladder.

  Hands shaking so badly she could hardly hang onto the wet rungs, Persephone forced herself to climb. She was almost at the top of the ladder when, over the sound of the storm, she heard the baby crying. As she scrambled up and over the deck rail, her mind registered the fact that Azriel and Mordecai were there, but her entire being was focused on Baby Finn. He was lying naked on a pile of rags inside an open wooden chest. The chest was sitting on a spindly legged table whose top was even with the starboard deck rail. Even as she started toward it, a particularly large wave crashed against the ship, causing her to stagger and sending the chest sliding toward the unprotected edge.

  “I wouldn’t go any nearer if I were you, Your Majesty,” sang Mordecai, who was standing at the end of the table. Slipping his hands under the tabletop, he managed to lift it just enough to send the chest sliding a few inches more.

  Persephone froze. Wrenching her gaze away from Baby Finn, she locked eyes with Azriel, who was standing not far from her with his hands tied behind his back.

  Mordecai caught the look they shared. “Ah!” he crooned as General Murdock walked over to stand beside Azriel. “Young love. It warms the heart. It really does.”

  “What do you want, Mordecai?” shouted Persephone.

  “I want many things,” he shouted back. “But you have taken them all from me, and so now all that I want is to give you a choice.”

  Guessing what was coming, Persephone began to shake her head.

  “Yes, Your Majesty!” said Mordecai in a jolly voice. “The choice involves the lives of your beloved husband and son—though I regret to inform you that it is not a simple matter of choosing one or the other. Rather, it is a matter of choosing one or both.”

  Another wave hit the ship; the chest slid again.

  Baby Finn kicked his little legs and cried piteously.

  “If you will order the death of the Gypsy right here and now and then watch in silence as your orders are carried out, I shall command General Murdock to row you and the brat back to shore at once,” explained Mordecai as Murdock drew a large knife from the scabbard at his belt. “Fail to give the order and you shall still bear witness to the cockroach’s well-deserved execution but thereafter you shall also watch me shut the lid of the chest, and then you shall sit by my side that together we may enjoy the cries of your infant son as he slowly suffocates to death.”

  Persephone said nothing, only searched her mind frantically for a way to save Azriel and the baby.

  Another wave. A few more inches.

  Suddenly, Azriel’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Wife, there is no sense losing me and the baby both,” he said with that little lopsided smile she knew so well.

  “What he says is exactly so, wife!” cried Mordecai, clapping his gnarled hands together.

  “Say what you must, Persephone,” said Azriel, his gaze steady upon her face. “Say it now.”

  “YES!” cried Mordecai, who was fairly shrieking with excitement. “YES, PERSEPHONE! SAY IT NOW!”

  For the sake of her son, Persephone tried to say it, she really did. Once, twice, three times she opened her mouth and then closed it again without uttering a word. Finally, feeling as though her heart was shattering into a thousand pieces, she shook her head.

  She was strong and brave enough to do many things, but she was not strong and brave enough to do this.

  Mordecai’s happy countenance vanished at once. And with an expression that said he’d always known that she didn’t have what it took to be queen, he nodded at General Murdock who, before Persephone’s disbelieving eyes, casually plunged the knife deep into Azriel’s belly.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  THE INSTANT MURDOCK slid the knife out of Azriel’s belly, a rogue wave smashed into the ship. As the ship listed sickeningly, the lid of the wooden chest snapped shut and the chest slid into the sea. Azriel and General Murdock were both flung off their feet, but while the General was able to stop himself at the starboard deck rail, Azriel slammed into Persephone, who’d lunged for the chest and missed. The force of the impact sent both her and Azriel toppling backward off the ship.

  She managed to grab a handful of his shirt as they fell but it was torn from her grasp as they plunged into the raging sea. Water filled Persephone’s eyes, her ears, her mouth; blind and choking, she thrashed this way and that in the churning madness in the hope of finding Azriel. Just before the urge to breathe overwhelmed her, her fingers touched hair. Grabbing hold, she kicked hard toward the surface. Rolling onto her back even before she’d taken her first gasping breath, she heaved Azriel’s head out of the water and frantically looked around for the wooden chest. She was terrified that she’d see fragments of it floating nearby. Or worse, that she’d see no sign of it at all and she’d know that it had sunk to the bottom of the sea.

  By some miracle, however, it had not shattered or sunk but was bobbing toward shore. More miraculously still, from within the chest she could clearly hear the sound of Baby Finn crying.

  The fall from the ship had not killed him and the airtight chest that had been intended to suffocate him had saved him from drowning.

  He was safe—for the moment.

  Turning her attention back to Azriel and her own rapidly diminishing strength, Persephone was chilled to see that the water around them had already turned red with his blood.

  “Azriel!” shouted Persephone, her voice sharp with panic.

  “I’m … here,” he said tiredly.

  Refusing to acknowledge that this was exactly how Rachel had sounded in her final moments of life, Persephone threw one arm across Azriel’s chest and, keeping her ears locked on the sound of the baby’s cry, she began kicking as hard as she could. As she struggled desperately to get Azriel to shore, the winds howled, and the rains beat down, and the salt spray filled her lungs, causing her to splutter and gasp. Mercifully, the storm waves that were surging ever more powerfully helped rather than hindered their progress. Indeed, being able to rest and ride these waves forward was the only reason they made it to shallow water before Persephone’s strength gave out.

  Too breathless and exhausted to speak, she dragged Azriel up onto shore, rolled him onto his side and, using her dagger, sliced the rope that bound his hands behind his back. As
he rolled back over, the sight of his deathly pale face and gaping belly wound made Persephone’s heart shrivel, but she did not linger. Splashing back into the water, she grabbed the wooden chest inside which Baby Finn was still crying—though not quite so hard. Dragging it up onto shore, she unlatched the lid and saw him lying half-buried in the pile of rags that had almost certainly protected him from being bashed to death by his fall from the ship.

  Reaching into the rags, she lifted up her wailing infant son and held him to her chest with a depth of gratitude that only a mother who had lost and found a child could ever understand.

  Then she heard the thump of an arrow. Looking up, she saw General Murdock and Mordecai in the rowboat. The general was calmly notching another arrow in the bow while Mordecai—wrapped in the cloak that Murdock had been wearing earlier—was grimacing and awkwardly pulling on one of the rowboat’s oars.

  Clutching Baby Finn to her, Persephone scrambled back to where Azriel lay unmoving, his legs half covered by the rapidly rising water.

  “Get up, Azriel,” she begged as another arrow whizzed so close to her head that she felt the feathers brush her cheek as it flew past. When Azriel did not answer, she gave him a gentle shake and tried again. When that didn’t work she gave him a vicious pinch on the leg and screamed, “GET UP OR I SWEAR I’M GOING TO—”

  Gasping like a drowned man coming back to life, Azriel clumsily manoeuvred himself up onto his hands and knees and staggered to his feet. Casting an anxious glance over her shoulder in the direction of the rowboat—which was now so close to shore that she knew Mordecai and Murdock would be upon them in a moment—Persephone placed her free hand on the small of Azriel’s back and was about to give him a shove in the direction of the quay when she saw that it was completely under water. Looking around, she realized that the narrow strip of beach upon which she, Azriel and the baby had landed was totally cut off from the path that would have led them back up to the safety of the palace.