Revolution (Cartharia Book 2)

by Spencer Reaves McCoy

  "I will be miserable," Catherine said, "Utterly unconsolable."

  Sullivan's tone softened a bit, "I grew up with Lee Sanders. He is a good man, and I'm certain he would have passed those traits to his son. You will not be miserable with him. I am sure that he can offer you much. You may even grow to love him."

  Catherine went silent.

  "Catherine," Sullivan said, "You need this. You need the structure it provides. I have let you get away with far too much here in our castle. In Terifille's court, you will learn humility and generosity."

  "I don't want to be humble, or generous!" Catherine burst out. Matilyn heard the scraping of chairs and could only assume she'd stood up. "I don't want to go to Terifille! I don't want to marry that stupid prince, just so you can win your war!"

  Sullivan sighed, "Sometimes you remind me so much of your mother that I forget you are still quite young. I should have realized you needed more time, more attention -- from someone, at least, if not myself. You have developed a knack for punishing those who disagree with you, frightening those who anger you, and killing those that perceivably get in your way. I have not forgotten the girl in the cells."

  Matilyn's brow furrowed. She hadn't heard about a girl in the cells. She looked over at Samuel, raising her eyebrows.

  He shook his head. Then he sighed, and leaned over, speaking in a soft voice, "Catherine had a young teenager killed because she suspected her of stealing her mother's bracelet. There were rumors that the girl hadn't taken it at all, that it had been planted in her pocket by Catherine herself."

  Matilyn glanced at the door and sighed, "We're going to have our hands full," she whispered back.

  "Don't I know it," Samuel sighed, "I haven't even had a chance to go home, and spend some time with my family. This is such a waste of my time."

  Matilyn couldn't help but agree. When she'd been granted commander status in the Lamonte military, she hadn't known she'd be assigned as a babysitter to a selfish, cruel teenager.

  From the room, she heard Catherine say in a loud, angry voice, "Fine!"

  A moment later, the doors burst open. Catherine came storming out. She didn't so much as acknowledge Matilyn and Samuel but instead flew down a corridor.

  Matilyn and Samuel looked at each other. Samuel pulled a coin out of a pocket. One side had a face, the other side had an emblem on it.

  "Seriously?" Matilyn said.

  Samuel shrugged and flipped the coin into the air. "Heads," he said. Matilyn sighed but moved over to see what the coin had landed as. The silver coin was dull, but empty of a figurehead.

  "Damn it," Samuel said. He let out a long sigh, "I'll go after her," he said. Then he quickly set off in the direction Catherine had gone.

  Matilyn glanced back at the open door. Sullivan was sitting inside, looking upset. She hesitated and went inside.

  "I assume you heard that conversation?" Sullivan asked.

  Matilyn blushed, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," she said, "We couldn't help but overhear."

  Sullivan waved off the apology, "My daughter is strong-willed," he said, "She gets that from me. Unfortunately, she has not yet learned to channel her perseverance in appropriate ways."

  Matilyn said nothing.

  "I know that neither you nor Samuel have much interest in taking Catherine to Terifille," he said, "But you have to understand; this alliance will win us the war."

  "I understand, sir," Matilyn said.

  "Catherine will be difficult," Sullivan said, "but perhaps you can speak with her. You are both women in positions of power -- I believe she may listen to you more than others."

  Matilyn nodded, "I'll try my best, sir."

  "That's all I ask," Sullivan said, "I know you'd rather be in the field. Complete this mission and I'll make sure you're deployed once more."

  "Thank you," Matilyn said, surprised.

  Sullivan nodded. "Fail this mission, though, and you're going to have to answer to me."

  Matilyn glanced outside, where she'd been standing. The implications of his statement were quite clear. She cleared her throat and said, "We won't fail."

  Matilyn stood on the top deck of the ship, looking out at the expansive sea before them. The wind was blowing slightly but it was warm outside and she enjoyed the breeze.

  She couldn't help but think of the time she'd last been on a Lamonte ship. She'd been stealing it from the division of Lamonte men she'd run into on the shore. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  Matilyn hadn't sailed much before then. She'd gone out on a fishing boat a time or two with Eldrin, but that was it. She didn't quite have sea legs, and felt herself growing rather nauseated a time or two.

  As she stared out at the water, she thought of the mission she was deployed on. Her and Samuel were to deliver Catherine to the Terifille court and then stay and witness her marriage. When the ceremony concluded, she and Samuel could go home. Catherine was to stay in the Terifille court, learning their traditions.

  She didn't know how Samuel had convinced Catherine to come along willingly, but she was pleasantly surprised when he brought a silent, brooding Catherine to the ships. She hadn't said much to anyone and for the most part stayed in the captains' quarters that had been converted to her own chambers.

  No sooner had she thought of Samuel did he appear. Matilyn glanced briefly at him and then returned her eyes to the sea.

  "Malevus," he said.

  Matilyn thought about ignoring him, but he wasn't moving. She finally consented to his greeting by curtly nodding her head, "Frien."

  Sullivan stepped up next to her, "Enjoying the view?"

  "Somewhat," Matilyn said.

  "My wife loves the sea," Samuel said, "She's only been to the shore twice, but each time, she was pleased with the expansiveness of it. She said it made her feel small, but in a good way."

  "What do you want?" Matilyn asked.

  "Well, polite conversation would be a good start," Samuel said. "Look, I know neither of us are particularly happy about serving together, or about this mission at all, but we have a job to do. It'd be easier if we're not constantly at each others' throats."

  Matilyn couldn't deny the truth of this. As much as she wanted to stay angry at Samuel, she felt some of that draining away. "I agree."

  "Good," Samuel said, "Let's talk about Arinford."

  Matilyn blinked, "What is it you want to know?"

  "What sort of defenses will we be looking at once we deploy?" Samuel asked.

  "I don't know," Matilyn said, "I was on an offensive team, not defensive. I've only ever been to Westwood and Teirford. Westwood has a fortified training center where I learned to fight. There are stone walls surrounding the city. They separate the farming fields from the city itself."

  "So in the case of a siege, we would be able to burn their crops," Samuel said.

  Matilyn nodded. "Teirford might be a bit more difficult," she said, "The city is easy to hold if you know it well. That's how we managed to win the first battle that was there. We outnumbered Lamonte, but we knew the layout."

  Samuel nodded, "That'll be all of Arinford, though," he pointed out, "Anyone native to an area is going to have an advantage."

  Matilyn shrugged.

  "Is it going to be difficult for you?" Samuel asked. When Matilyn shot him a sharp look, he held up his hands defensively, "I'm not trying to pick a fight," he said, "I'm just curious about how you'll feel fighting your own countrymen."

  "I'll do what needs done," Matilyn said. "I won't hesitate if that's what you're wondering."

  Samuel looked at her for a long moment, "You really believe in it, don't you? The Good King's vision?"

  Matilyn nodded. "I've been in Arinford and Lamonte," she said, "I've seen the difference. It's hard to believe that two places so close could suffer such drastic differences in their economy. But I've seen it. King Sullivan is right -- those who have the ability to help should provide aide to the less fortunate."

  "But you're from Valishna," Samuel said, "We destroyed
the city."

  "It's not something I'll forget," Matilyn said, "If there was another way, I wish it had been used. I lost a lot of friends there."

  Samuel nodded.

  "You're from Lamonte though, right?" Matilyn asked.

  Samuel nodded again, "Born and raised," he said.

  "Was it difficult?" Marilyn asked, "I knew a woman from Lamonte. She spoke of the way starvation and poverty ruled the kingdom."

  "I had three little sisters," Samuel said, "My family couldn't take care of them. They often went hungry at nights. I did as much as I could to help -- I took any spare jobs that were offered in the neighboring towns, I fished when I couldn't find work, and I made sure everyone was safe."

  "It wasn't easy," Samuel said, "There were a lot of petty criminals that wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of village folk. I often defended my family against thieves."

  Samuel shook his head, "When I was old enough, I helped my father build my house, and I got married. I didn't want to have children at first, not in a land like Lamonte, but even with precautions, my wife became pregnant. I swore my child would never have to face the same problems that I did."

  "King Sullivan came from nowhere," he said, "Nobody had even heard of him when he took the throne. But he promised this vision, this life that we'd be able to live once his mission had become accomplished. For the first time in my life, I felt hope."

  "I feel that hope too," Matilyn said.

  Samuel nodded, "I'm starting to believe you."

  Janice woke to the sound of screams. She held her breath, waiting to see if it would go away. The dungeon had a few regular screamers, as she'd come to think of them. Some of the prisoners had been down in the dungeon for years; it had a way of ebbing at your sanity. Those were the ones that screamed.

  She wondered if she'd become one of them -- if she lived long enough.

  Standing, Janice made her way over to the bars of her cells. She peered down the half-lit walkway, trying to see which one of the cells the screaming was coming from this time. She saw several sleeping figures and grimaced. She didn't understand how anyone could sleep through screaming.

  Behind her, Sean gave a little snore.

  The screaming was coming from a woman four cells down and across the walkway. She had greying hair, and a gaunt, narrow face. She was sitting up now, knees held to her chest, face lifted to the ceiling, just screaming.

  "Stop," Janice told her. She had to raise her voice so the woman would hear. "Stop. You're alright."

  The woman actually stopped. She moved her eyes to Janice and then opened her mouth again, and let out the longest scream yet, their eyes locked. Janice felt a shudder rip through her body. Then the woman closed her mouth and laid back down.

  Janice let out a sigh of relief and turned back to her own cell. Sean was sitting in a half-sitting position, his back against the wall of the cell. His hair was longer than she'd ever seen it. When they'd travelled with the Arinford Guard, he'd kept it trimmed and neat. He'd asked her to cut it a few times, which she had.

  Part of her wanted to go over to him now, to wind her fingers though his hair, and to kiss him. The urge was so overwhelming that she actually took a step towards him. Then her eyes fell on Will. The prince was next to Sean, fully on the floor, curled up in a fetus position. He looked so young in his sleep.

  Then his face changed. It twisted and hardened. Then he gave a sharp gasp. He murmured something, his eyes still closed. They moved beneath his lids.

  Janice realized she was watching him dream. Her eyes widened. She'd never had a dream herself, not in all her years. Her sleep was mercifully empty. She'd known a few people who had dreamt -- or claimed that they had-- but she'd never seen it happening.

  She took a step closer, watching Will's face. He was talking to someone, she realized. From the way it looked, he was arguing with someone. Pleading with them, perhaps. Then his face twisted into one of fear, and he gasped again. Tears began to run down his face.

  He looked so young and so scared.

  Janice knelt down beside him, touching his shoulder, "Prince William. Will. Wake up. You're dreaming. Wake up, Will."

  Her voice startled Sean at least, because he opened his eyes, looking over at her, "What is it?"

  "He's dreaming," Janice said, "or having a nightmare. I'm not sure which." She touched the prince's shoulder again, "Wake up, Will."

  Will stirred a little, and then opened his eyes, looking at Janice. For a moment, his eyes were distant as though he didn't see her. He was still in some distant land, of sleep and dreams. A land that Janice had never visited, but had heard of. Dreams were prophecies, they said.

  "You're alright," she said, wiping a tear from his face, "You're alright, Will."

  He shook his head and then sat up, "I was dreaming," he said. He looked like a child but his voice was full and commanding -- the voice of a man. "And we have a problem."

  Once again, Will thought it was his mother who was waking him. He thought she'd been brushing his hair back, and at any moment, she'd kiss his head. He'd open his eyes and he'd be in his bed, in his home.

  But when he opened his eyes, it was Janice kneeling over him. She wiped away one of his tears and told him he was dreaming. Then she told him he was alright. It was a good sentiment, a nice one, but Janice didn't know. She didn't know what he'd seen.

  "I was dreaming," he told her, "and we have a problem."

  "Alright," Janice said immediately. "What is it?"

  Sean stepped over to join them, "We have a problem?" he repeated. "What sort of problem?"

  Will felt his heart go out to both of them with their concerned faces. Neither of them had made a despairing joke, or told him it was nothing to worry about right now. Neither of them questioned the fact that they had other problems, larger problems to deal with. Neither of them doubted his sincerity.

  "There's going to be a storm," Will said. He tried to recall all of the details of the dream, "It might have already happened, I don't know. If it has, it'll get worse."

  "What sort of storm?" Janice asked.

  "I don't know," Will said. He shook his head. "I started studying dreams and prophecies before the war. I don't know much about them but I think I remember reading that they're not always what they seem. But this was about a storm."

  Sean knelt down with them. He gave Will a contemplative look, "Tell us what you do know. Don't worry about what it means, or if it was real or metaphorical. Just tell us what happened in the dream. Don't leave anything out."

  Will was quiet for a moment and then he opened his mouth. It all came out in a flood of tangled words. He told them about the dreams he'd had when he was in Arinford, and the ones from traveling with Rafinnel.

  The dreams always had one central theme; there was a storm, and it was everywhere. It was a violent storm, larger than anything anyone had ever seen. It was all powerful, consuming, and deadly. People ran from it, terrified.

  It didn't care about the people who ran. It could catch them easily. It swept through the land like a plague, ending lives and destroying homes and crops and then feasting upon the misery it left behind.

  "You speak of it as though it relishes the idea of what it's doing," Janice interrupted, frowning. "But you also say it's a storm. Not a person."

  Will met her eyes, his own round. "Doesn't it think?" he asked, "Doesn't it know what it's doing?"

  Janice didn't know. Will didn't either so he continued. The dreams had become more frequent and turbulent. He'd told nobody but the battle-master he was having them. He was afraid he'd be ordered home, so he could discuss and deliberate over the dreams with priests or teachers.

  Will paused there, thinking it might not have been so bad to have gone home. He remembered how much he'd wanted to be part of the war though. Now he was definitely a part of it -- a prisoner in it. He'd never wanted to see his mother so much as now.

  "It was purple," he concluded at the end. "The storm was purple."

  Janice and Sean
were both quiet, soaking in the information, each thinking about it in their own way.

  "Purple," Janice repeated, "and there was someone else there at the end?"

  "I don't know who it was," Will said, "It was another woman, but I don't know who she was. She was beautiful, though."

  Sean gave a soft smile at that. Will met his gaze and then looked down, cheeks red, "What do you think it means?"

  "We haven't studied dreams," Janice said, "I don't know. Perhaps it's the war. It's certainly caused enough trouble, hasn't it? It's been going through, sweeping through cities, destroying homes and families."

  Will thought about this for a long moment and then shook his head. "It doesn't feel right," he told her. He looked between, "I don't know what this means, but I know this much. I'm part of it. And I'm stuck here. How am I supposed to help?"

  Sean looked down the row of cells. Most of the prisoners looked like they were sleeping -- even the screaming woman -- but he couldn't know for sure. He beckoned Janice and Will closer. "I think," he told them in a quiet voice they could barely hear, "that it's time for us to start making plans."

  Will looked up at Sean's face. When they'd first joined him in the cell, Sean had told him that they were going to get out alive, but he was still afraid. Now, though, he was afraid of something else: he wasn't afraid of not making it out. He was afraid of they'd have to face once they were free.

  SEVEN

  Makes Marriage Vows

  DEYNETH DELANU PUT A HAND ON THE shoulder of the girl sitting next to her. "You missed the third note again. You have to focus. You keep missing it because your mind is wandering. You must learn to control your focus."

  The girl looked up at her, frowning. She was a beautiful wisp of a girl with long brown hair and large brown eyes. People were already saying she would grow up to be a beauty. Certainly her looks must have been from her father's side.