“I know you weren’t there Spirea, but you should know, when I testified against your mother, she wept for her life. Wept, do you hear me? Like a dog.”
She was unmoved by the barb. “It’s Queen now, actually.”
Dahlia laughed to herself. “No…no, it’s not. You can put a crown on a pile of dung, but that doesn’t make it a Queen.”
Tigera noticed something shift. Queen Sotol’s gown was deflating ever so slightly from within.
“What do you want?” The Queen demanded.
“I need your fastest ship, some supplies, and a powerful weapon, the best you have.”
“And what are you offering in return?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Can’t you make a better offer than that? It’s like you’re not even trying.”
“I’m not here to barter with the spawn of spice-running scum like Lady Sotol. I am here to settle my honor, to uphold the Buckthorn name, to bring swift justice to my enemy, and you will help me.”
“Simply because you ask it of me?”
“Precisely. I outrank you. That is our way, and you know it.”
Tigera watched as Queen Sotol’s feet became a black liquid, tracing along the tile lines of the hall, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, working their way towards Dahlia Buckthorn.
“And who is your enemy?” The Queen asked.
“I will kill the traitor Athel Forsythia. She brought my forest to ruin, brought my people to shame, humiliated me and my family, and I will make her beg for death before I give it to her.”
Queen Sotol leaned forward deliciously. “Now you have my attention, Dahlia. You should have opened with that. How do you expect to find her?”
“As if I would tell you. You have nearly every ship in Aetria looking for her. Why would I let you have her first?”
Tigera watched as the black liquid slowly encircled Dahlia, like a spider’s web.
“Because I’ve had a very long day and I’m perfectly willing to have you killed just for getting on my nerves.”
Suddenly the black liquid sprang to life, growing up into a thousand needles from all directions, each one pointed at Dahlia in the center.
“We both know you can’t use your magic now that the men are gone,” Spirea said, licking her lips. “You are no real threat to me.”
Dahlia gave a superior sniff. “Very well. I have with me Solanum Forsythia, Athel’s deranged sister. Their Ma’iltri’ia were to be fused together when Athel took ill. The ceremony was interrupted before it was consummated, but the residue remains. When she concentrates, Solanum can sense the pull of her sister no matter how far apart they are.”
The needles drew closer to Dahlia. The Queen smirked. “So you intend to use her as a living compass? I like that. Where is Solanum?”
“Do you really think I would be stupid enough to bring her in here with me? She is somewhere secluded, somewhere you will never find her. You can capture me, torture me, but I’ll never give up the place. You either give me what I want, or abandon this golden opportunity to see Athel slain.”
Queen Sotol grinned, revealing a mouth full of black fangs. “That’s the spirit.”
The needles withdrew and flowed back into The Queen’s body.
Chapter Ten
Athel sat on one of Deutzia’s top branches, Alder lying across her lap, sleeping softly as she gently stroked his hair. The dry wind blew by wearily, filling the sails and causing a strand of Athel’s faded hair to whip across her face.
“What’s wrong, sis?” Deutzia shimmered worriedly.
“You used to be able to read me like a book,” Athel whispered, trying to keep her voice down.
“I used to, but your mind has become distant to me. It’s been so long since we have really spoken.”
“It’s true, I’m sorry. Ever since you became a mast, I guess I just get in the habit of thinking of you as part of the ship.”
Deutzia reached out with a branch and slugged Athel playfully on the shoulder. “That’s not funny.”
Athel forced herself to smile, but her eyes were empty.
“I’m just…feeling sad.”
“Why?”
“Because…I used to love the skies. They were so open and inviting, like pure, flowing freedom. Endless possibilities, unlimited pathways. Like a hundred thousand roads all intersecting and stretching out until they melted together, forming a single blue tapestry. Now…now they just carry so many hard memories for me. I can’t look at them without remembering everyone that I failed.”
There was a rustle as Albashire climbed up Deutzia’s trunk to join them. Athel held her finger to her lips, asking him to be quiet.
“Don’t wake Alder,” she whispered. “It took me forever to convince him to take a nap.”
With a little boost from Deutzia, Albashire managed to make it up to their branch and crawled out to where they sat. He was so gangly and unsure, practically trembling from the height, it made Deutzia strobe dimly as Nallorn trees did when they giggled.
“How can you stand being up so high?” he complained softly, practically wrapping his legs and arms around the wood.
“Because I know Deutzia would catch me if I fell.”
Deutzia shimmered playfully.
“What did she say?”
“She said she’d probably catch you, too.”
“Probably, huh?”
Albashire reached into his jacket and pulled out a beautiful leather-bound book. “After that quip, I don’t know if I should give this to you, but…here.”
Athel took it carefully, trying not to stir Alder, and opened the cover to view the blank pages within.
“This may be some of your best work.”
“It should get better reviews than my Kingsmen Anthology,” he chuckled. “No, this is for you to write in.”
“Me?”
“You’ve always read the adventures of others. I think it’s time you write down your own story.”
Athel closed the cover. “You know I can’t do that. I don’t have any natural talent for it.”
“It’s not just about talent; it’s about having something to share. You’ve led a hard life, Athel and I think there are things the rest of us could learn from it. I think there is a story only you can tell.”
“Isn’t it kind of silly to be thinking about this right now?”
“Well, it’s true the world might end soon. But until it does, I’m going to live as if it will continue.”
He watched as Athel stared at the cover.
“You don’t like it?”
Athel shook her head. “I’m sorry. I mean, I really appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. You’ve always been my favorite author, but…I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
“Why not?”
She glanced out into the distance. “The truth is, I really don’t have anything to say to anybody.”
She tried to hand the book back politely, but he pushed it back.
“Just, hang onto it,” he suggested. “You know, just in case.”
Deutzia sparkled in alarm.
Athel sat up straight. There, in the distance, a trio of League airships were heading straight toward them. Already she could see the crews running out their guns.
“They found us!”
* * *
The great god Quetah stood over the oceans like a mountain, his fiery mane flowing back over his shoulders like a waterfall of lava. The massive airship before him was like a toy floating before his face.
The metal plates groaned and strained under the heat of his breath, the rivets twisting in place, yet Queen Sotol stood on the deck in a posture of disgusted irritation.
“You’re late,” Quetah hissed, the air rippling with the heat of his breath.
“I am not your mongrel pup. You cannot just summo
n me whenever you feel like it.”
“Mortal, do you not realize that I could, with the slightest effort, reach out and crush you like an ant?”
“Go ahead. After all, I am the one working with the Kabal from the inside. I am the one modifying the Night of Rebirth spell for you. Kill me and you’ll have thrown away your last and best chance of avoiding what you have always feared.”
“And what is that?” he snarled.
She grinned wickedly, black spittle falling from her lips. “The end of the reign of the gods. It’s coming, and only I can stop it for you.”
Quetah snorted angrily. “You told us that you could sabotage the Night of Rebirth so that it would destroy Valpurgeiss forever.”
“And I would be doing just that right now were I not busy answering your childish questions.”
“The plans that were shown by the escapee, the runes carved into your tower. They are different than what you said they’d be.”
“Because you failed me!”
Quetah took half a step back, disbelieving the audacity. “We…failed you?! Absurd!”
“It is absurd! I asked you to prevent the invasion force from reaching Boeth. You should have incinerated them all, instead, you only threatened to take away their magic.”
“Which we did.”
“Which also didn’t stop them. The Kabal had to relocate their entire operation to Arianis Kultur. They had to restructure the sacrifices, they had to create a new circle, they had to acquire new sources of black shakes. All of those things altered the Night of Rebirth spell, and I have worked tirelessly to alter the tower to compensate for the differences brought on by your incompetence!”
“How dare you! I am a god, I will not be spoken to this way, you insolent little…”
Quetah raised his hand, as if he meant to strike her, but instead forced himself to take out his anger on an outcropping of rock jutting in the distance. The blast of fire shattered the stone, smoldering bits raining down into the thirsting seas.
Tigera could only watch in wonder as the god few away, leaving only the two of them behind.
“It’s amazing to watch you do that.”
Queen Sotol clutched her chest painfully and slurped down a fresh dose of black shakes. She coughed, nearly vomiting up the dose. “Do what?”
“Play both sides against each other. Panthers stalk their prey, while lions chase them down. But you, you lie to both the lion and the tiger so their focus remains on each other, while ensnaring them both. There has never been a predator like you before, not in all the history of Aetria.”
“That stupid kid has really fouled up my plans,” she coughed. “The one who made the broadcast. Everyone is suspicious now. They’re all reconsidering their options. If worst comes to worst, they’ll start moving against me before the tower is ready. I want him executed, immediately.”
“He’s just a blind kid. What will killing him now achieve?”
She spat on the deck, the black substance bubbling and sizzling through the wood. “It will make me feel better knowing he is dead. What do you care, anyway?”
“I don’t. It will be done, my Queen.”
She glanced over at him, wiping the spittle from her face.
“And what is your position in all of this, I wonder?”
“Me?”
The lower half of her body melted away into a dark goo, spreading out around him like tentacles. “Yes, you’ve become awfully chatty as of late. Giving your opinions, making little remarks. It makes me think you have a part to play. That you’re beginning to get…ideas.”
Each of the tentacles became razor sharp, sticking out at him like spears from all sides. Tigera didn’t even flinch.
“What good would ideas do? I am already dead, my Queen.”
The tips hovered just inches from his flesh. “Are you?” she asked, intrigued.
“If you kill the gods for the Kabal, I will die, for I am part of Sponatrion, and will perish with him. If you kill Valpurgeiss for the gods, the seas will consume everything, and I will also die. And if you destroy them both, leaving yourself to take their place, you will have no more need of me, and I will also die. Since there is no scenario in which I emerge alive, what else can I do but enjoy myself before the end?”
She giggled cruelly, withdrawing her tendrils. “And that is why you are still alive. You live completely in the moment. I like that about you.”
Queen Sotol grew her tongue long like a serpent’s and licked it sensually across his cheek. It was lifeless and cold to the touch, completely lacking in any affection. It was a wholly selfish act, done for her pleasure and her pleasure alone. He looked into her black eyes as they swirled with silver, searching for any sign that the real Spirea was still in there somewhere, but he could find no hint of her.
Reforming her lower half, she walked down the steps to her quarters below. “I am drawing a bath, I wish you to join me.”
“Yes my Queen.”
Only once she was gone did Tigera allow himself to breathe again. He gripped the capstan, nearly falling over, his whole frame trembling with fear.
“I’ve got to stop her.”
* * *
Marc yawned, his long bright beak catching the sunlight as he wheeled the last of the crates through the swirling black portal and into the central plaza. He looked over his feathered shoulder warily. The men didn’t greet them anymore like they used to. There were no cheers or revelry. They ignored the Kabal as they sat about their porches and verandas, reading, knitting, sewing, and playing cards. While he couldn’t see any eyes on him, he could most definitely feel them. Every window slit, every parted curtain held a hostile presence behind it. The mood had shifted here, and it was getting darker by the day.
Sure as spit, their usefulness is near the end, he thought as he placed the crates with the others. He glanced up at the nearly completed tower. There was still so much left to do, and there was so little time.
As soon as they’re done, we’ll poison the final batch of food, he decided. They’ll probably expect a celebration, anyway. Dancing like pixies and drinking like gypsies. I’ll need a special poison for this. Odorless, tasteless, fast acting. Hmmm. So many to choose from.
Marc licked his beak, thinking about all the rewards Valpurgeiss would bestow upon him once the gods were dead.
He left without farewell, the portal closing and leaving the men once again trapped in their time prison.
Kudzu was the first to walk up and see what had been left this time. He opened one of the crates and was pleased to find a few cheese wheels from Kirdish. They would make some fine soup.
When he opened the second crate, he found some nice ripened purps, and something that didn’t belong. A small woman’s purse. The material was fine to the touch, and the clasp was embroidered with a language he didn’t understand.
Suddenly, the clasp pulled itself open, and Kudzu found himself staring at a green eye looking out at him from within.
“Hey, drop it!” a voice barked.
He snapped his hands away, and the purse fell to the ground. As he stepped back, he watched it squirm uncomfortably, and then a foot emerged. Though the purse itself was little larger than a fist, a second foot poked itself out as well, and then a pair of long, athletic legs began squirming free, struggling to stretch the purse over a pair of knees, then a pair of toned hips.
Kudzu tripped over a box of apples and fell on his haunches in disbelief. A full-gown woman emerged from the purse, gasping for breath and fussing over her now horribly tangled green pigtails.
Setsuna coughed, waving her hand to clear the air. “Oh, thank the goddess. Much longer and I would have suffocated in there.”
She reached into the purse she had just emerged from and pulled out a little vanity mirror, tidying up her hair and makeup as best she could. As she applied a fresh coat of green lipstic
k, she noticed him staring at her.
“What’s the problem, kid? You never see a Senndaisian before?”
“Uh…actually…no, I haven’t.”
She took a moment to straighten her jacket and mini-skirt. “Oh, well, this is quite a treat for you, then.”
She bent over and gave him a little peck on the cheek. “I know it’s hard, but try not to fall in love with me, okay? I’m currently on the rebound and I just don’t have time for a relationship right now.”
And then, just like that, she stepped back into the air and vanished before his eyes.
Hearing the disturbance, Willowood walked up, leaning against his finely carved alabaster cane.
“Is there a problem, son?”
Kudzu didn’t know what to say.
“I’m…not sure.”
Dwale could tell his cell was dark. He couldn’t see it, of course, but he could feel it. An ambient dank against his skin. To anyone else, the perpetual darkness would have been maddening, but for someone accustomed to being blind, it was little more than a reminder of just how much trouble he was in.
He tried to shift his weight, but the shackles pulling at his limbs held him in a perpetually uncomfortable position against the wall. His keen ears felt a scratching at the door. For a moment he thought his captors had come for another round of torture and questions. His lacerated skin still stung from the last visit.
But this time it was different; he realized someone was forcing the peep-slit ajar. It was just enough for Dwale to feel a little sliver of light caress his bruised cheek.
“Please, I already told you, I don’t know anything else!” he wheezed, his strength failing him.
Suddenly, there was a rush of air, like a door opening beside him, though he knew perfectly well there was no door there.
He could sense a person standing beside him. Even without sight he could sense the presence, the faint warmth of body heat, easily recognizable in his world of darkness, and a sweet scent of perfume.
“Wh-who are you?” he asked, tensing.
There was a long silence. The longer it went on, the more afraid he became.
Isle of Wysteria: Throne of Chains Page 25
