The Emerald Storm

by Michael J. Sullivan

  The empress said nothing and the earl took this as an invitation. Pushing his all.into the room, he held a finger to his lips. “Shh, we need to be quiet, lest someone discover I’m here.” The earl stood wavering, his glazed eyes canvassing the full length of Modina’s small body. His mouth hung partially open and his head moved up and down, as if trying to save his eyes the effort.

  Modina was dressed in her thin nightgown but did not think to cover herself.

  “You’re beautiful. I thought so from the first. I wanted to tell you before this, but they wouldn’t let me see you.” The earl pulled a bottle of liquor from his breast pocket and took a swallow. “After all, I am the hero of your army, and it isn’t fair that Ethelred gets to have you. You should be mine. I earned you!” The earl shouted, raising his fist.

  Pausing, he looked toward the open door concerned. After a moment he continued. “What has Ethelred ever done? It was my army that saved Aquesta and would have crushed Melengar if they had let me. But they didn’t want me to. Do you know why? They knew if I took Melengar, then I would be too great to hold back. They’re jealous of me, you know. And now Ethelred is planning to take you, but you’re mine. Mine I say!” He shouted this last bit, then cringed at the sound. Once more, he placed a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

  Modina watched the earl with mild curiousity.

  “How can you want him?” He slammed his fist against his chest. “Am I not handsome? Am I not young?” He twirled around with his arms outstretched until he staggered. He steadied himself on the bedpost. “Ethelred is old, fat, and has pimples. Do you really want that? He doesn’t care about you. He’s only after the crown!”

  The earl took a moment to glance around the empty room. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said in a harsh whisper. He leaned in so close he had to put a hand on her shoulder to steady himself. “I want the crown too—anyone saying different is a liar. Who wouldn’t want to be emperor of the world, but…” he held up a wavering finger, “I would have loved you.”

  He paused, breathing hotly into her face. He licked his lips and let his hand caress her skin through the thin nightgown. His hand left her shoulder and inched up her neck, his open fingers slipping into her hair. “Ethelred will never look at you like this.” Archibald took her hand and placed it against his chest. “His heart will never pound like mine just by being near you. I want power. I want the throne, but I also want you.” He looked into her eyes. “I love you, Modina. I love you and I want you for my own. You should be my wife.”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her mouth, pressing hard, pinching her lips to her teeth. She did not struggle—she did not care. He pulled back and searched her face. She did not respond except to blink.

  “Modina?” Amilia called, entering the room. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Ballentyne said, sadly. He looked at Modina. He searched her face again. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

  He turned and left the room.

  “Are you all right?” Amilia rushed to the empress, brushing her hair back and looking her over. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Am I to marry Lord Ethelred?”

  Amilia held her breath and bit her lip.

  “I see. When were you going to tell me? On my wedding night?”

  “I—I just learned about it recently. You had that fainting spell and I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “It doesn’t upset me, Amilia, and thank you for stopping by.”

  “But, I—” Amilia hesitated.

  “Is there something else?” Modina asked coldly.

  “Ah—no, I just—you’re different suddenly. We should talk about this.”

  “What is there to talk about? I will marry Ethelred so he can be emperor.”

  “You’ll still be empress.”

  “Yes, yes, there’s no need to worry. I am fine.”

  “You’re never fine.”

  “No? It must be the good news that I am to become a bride.”

  Amilia’s expression looked terrified. “Modina, what’s going on? What’s happening in that head of yours?”

  Modina smiled. “It’s okay Amilia. Everything will be fine.”

  “Stop using that word! You’re really frightening me,” Amilia said, reaching toward her.

  Modina pulled away moving to the window.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself. I’m sorry there was no guard at the door. I’m sorry you had to hear such a thing from the brandy soaked breath of—”

  “It’s not your fault, Amilia. It’s important to me that you know that. You’re all that matters to me. It’s amazing how worthless a life feels without someone to care for. My father understood that. At the time, I didn’t, but now I do.”

  “Understand what?” Amilia asked, shaking.

  “That living has no value—it is what you do with life that gives it worth.”

  “And what are you planning to do with your life Modina?”

  Modina tried to force a smile. She took Amilia’s head in her hands and kissed her gently. “It’s late. Goodbye, Amilia.”

  Amilia’s eyes went wide with fear and she began shaking her head faster and faster. “No, no, no! I’ll stay here. I don’t want you left alone tonight.”

  “As you wish.”

  Amilia looked pleased for a moment then fear crept back in. “Tomorrow I’ll assign a guard to watch you.”

  “Of course you will,” Modina replied.

  ***

  True to her word, Amilia remained in Modina’s chamber all night, but slipped out before dawn while the empress still slept. She went to the office of the master-at-arms and burst in on the soldier on duty, unannounced.

  “Why wasn’t there a guard outside the empress’s door last night? Where was Gerald?”

  “We couldn’t spare him, milady. The imperial guard is stretched thin. We are searching for the witch, the Princess of Melengar. Regent Saldur has commanded me to use every man I have to find her.”

  “I don’t care. I want Gerald back watching her door. Do you understand?”

  “But milady—”

  “Last night the Earl of Chadwick forced his way into the empress’s room. In her room! And has it occurred to you—to anyone—that the witch might be coming to kill the empress?”

  A long pause.

  “I didn’t think so. Now, get Gerald back on his post at once.”

  Leaving the master-at-arms, Amilia roused Modina’s chambermaid from her bunk in the dormitory. After the girl had dressed, she hurried her along to Modina’s room.

  “Anne, I want you to stay with the empress and watch her.”

  “Watch her, what for? I mean, what should I be watching for, milady?”

  “Just make certain the empress doesn’t hurt herself.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Just keep an eye on her. If she does anything odd or unusual, send for me at once.”

  ***

  Modina heard Anne enter the room quietly as footsteps, probably Amilia’s, walked away. She continued pretending to sleep. Near dawn, she stretched, yawned, and walked over to the washbasin to splash water on her face. Anne was quick to hand her a towel, and grinned broadly to have been of assistance to her.

  “Anne, is it?” Modina asked.

  The girl’s face flushed, and her eyes lit up with joy. She nodded repeatedly.

  “Anne, I am starved, would you please run to the kitchen and see if they can prepare me an early breakfast? Be a dear and bring it up when it is ready.”

  “I—I—”

  Modina put on a pout, and turned her eyes downward. “I am sorry. I apologize for asking so much of you.”

  “Oh, no, Your Gloriousness! I will get it at once.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “You are most welcome, Your Worship.”

  Modina wondered if she kept her longer how many elaborate forms of addressight come up with. As soon as Anne left the room, Modina walked to the door, closed it and slid the deadbolt. She walked tow
ard the tall mirror that hung on the wall, picking up the pitcher from the water basin as she passed. Without hesitation, she struck the mirror, shattering both. She picked up a long shard of glass and went to her window.

  “Your Eminence?” Gerald called from the other side of the door. “Are you all right?”

  Outside the sun was just coming up. The autumn morning light angled in sharp, slanted shafts across the courtyard below. She loved the sun and thought its light and warmth would be the only thing, besides Amilia, that she would miss.

  She wrapped her gown around the end of the long jagged piece of glass. It felt cold. Everything felt cold to her. She looked down at the courtyard and breathed in a long breath of air scented with the dying autumn leaves.

  The guard continued to bang on the door. “Your Eminence? He repeated. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Gerald,” she said, “I am fine.”

  ***

  Arista entered the palace courtyard, walking past the gate guards, hoping they could not hear the pounding of her heart.

  This must be how Royce and Hadrian feel all the time. I’m surprised they don’t drink more.

  While easy for Royce, for her it was literally death defying. She shook from both fear and the early morning chill. Esrahaddon’s robe was lost the night of Hilfred’s rescue, leaving her with only Lynette’s kirtle.

  Hilfred. He’ll be furious if he reads the note.

  It hurt her heart just to think of him. He had stood in her shadow for years, serving her whims, taking her abuse, trapped in a prison of feelings he could never reveal. Twice he nearly died for her. He was a good man—a great man. She wanted to make him happy. He deserved to be happy. She wanted to give him what he never thought possible, to fix what she had broken.

  For three nights they hid together, and every day Hilfred tried to convince her to return to Melengar. At last she agreed, telling him they would leave tomorrow. Arista slipped out when Hilfred left to get supplies. If all went well, she would be back before he was, and they could leave as planned. If not—if something happened—at least the note would explain.

  It had occurred to her, only the night before, that she never cast the location spell in the courtyard. From there, the smoke would certainly locate the wing and if lucky enough, she might even pinpoint Gaunt’s exact window. The information would be invaluable to Royce and Hadrian, and could make the difference between a rescue and a suicide mission. And as much as she did not want to admit it, she owed Esrahaddon as well. If doing this small thing could save Degan Gaunt, a good man wrongly imprisoned, ease the wizard’s passing, and vanquish her guilt, it was worth the risk.

  The gate guards had failed to arrest her. She took this as a good sign that no one had connected Ella the scrub girl to the Witch of Melengar. All she needed to do now was cast the spell and walk out again.

  She crossed the inner ward to the vegetable garden. The harvest had come and gone, the plants cleared, and the soil turned to await the spring. The soft earth would allow her to draw the circle and symbols required. She clutched the pouch of hair still in the pocket of her kirtle as she glanced around. Nothing looked amiss. The few guards on duty ignored her.

  As casually as she could, she began drawing a circle by dragging her foot in the dirt. When she had finished, she moved on to the more tedious task of the runes, which was more time consuming to do with her toe than with her hand and a bit of chalk. All the while, she worried that her drawing would be obvious from any number of upper story windows.

  She was just finishing the second to last rune when a guard exited the palace and walked toward her. Immediately she crouched etending to dig. If he questioned her, she could say Ibis sent her to look for potatoes, or that she thought she might have dropped the pantry key when she was in the courtyard. She hoped he would just walk by; she needed to be the invisible servant this one last time. Only it quickly became apparent he was specifically coming for her. As he rapidly closed the distance, her only thought was of Hilfred and how she wished she had kissed him goodbye.

  ***

  Amilia was in her office quickly going over instructions with Nimbus. They had only ticked off a few items for the wedding preparations and if she could give him enough to keep busy, she could return to Modina. The urgency pulled at her every minute she was away.

  “…if you get done with that, then come see me and I’ll give you more to do,” she told him curtly. “I have to get back to the empress. I think she might do something stupid.”

  Nimbus looked up. “The empress is a bit eccentric certainly, but if I may, she has never struck me as stupid, milady.”

  Amilia narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

  Nimbus had been a good and faithful servant, but she did not like the sound of that. “You notice too much, I think, Nimbus. That’s not such a good trait when working in an imperial palace. Ignorance is perhaps a better choice for survival.”

  “I’m just trying to cheer you up,” he replied, sounding a little hurt.

  Amilia frowned and collapsed in her chair. “I’m sorry. I am starting to sound a bit like Saldur aren’t I?”

  “You still have to work on making your veiled threats sound more ominous. A deeper voice would help, or perhaps toying with a dagger or swishing a glass of wine as you say it.”

  “I wasn’t threatening you, I was—”

  He cut her off. “I’m joking, milady.”

  Amilia scowled then pulled a parchment off her desk, crumpled it into a ball and threw it at him. “Honestly, I don’t know why I hired you.”

  “Clearly not for my comedic sense.”

  Amilia gathered a pile of parchments, a quill, and bottle of ink and headed for the door. “I’m going to be working from Modina’s room today. If you need me look for me there.”

  “Of course,” he said as she left the room.

  Not far down the hall, Amilia saw Anne walking buy with a tray of food. “Anne!” she called, rushing toward her. “I told you to stay with the empress!”

  “Yes, milady but…”

  “But what?”

  “The empress asked me to fetch her breakfast.”

  A cold chill shot up Amilia’s spine. The empress told her. “Has the empress ever spoken to you before?”

  Anne shook her head on the verge of tears. “No, milady, I was very honored. She even knew my name!”

  Amilia dropped what she was holding and raced for the stairs. On any other day, she would not risk attracting attention by running through the halls, but today she did not care. The need to reach Modina was overwhelming. The closer she got, the more Amilia’s heart pounded in fear for what she would find. Nimbus was right; perhaps more than he knew. Modina was not stupid, and her mind filled with the many terrible possibilities. Reaching the door, she pushed Gerald aside and burst into the empress’s room. She steeled herself but what she saw was beyond her wildest imaginings.

  Modina and Ella sat together on the empress’s bed, hand-in-hand chatting.

  Amilia stood shocked. Both glanced up as she entered. Ella’s face was fearful, but Modina’s expression was calm as usual, as if expecting her.

  “Ella?” Amilia exclaimed. “What are you doing—”

  “Gerald,” Modina interrupted, “from now on, no one, and I mean no one, is to enter without my say so. Understood?”

  “Of course, Your Eminence.” Gerald looked down guiltily.

  Modina waved her hand. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. Now please close the door.”

  Hbowed and drew the door shut.

  Amilia meanwhile stood silent, her mouth agape, but no words came out.

  “Sit down before you fall down, Amilia. I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Arista, the Princess of Melengar.”

  Amilia tried to make sense out of the senselessness. “No, Modina, this is Ella—a scullery maid. What’s going on?” Amilia asked desperately. “I thought—I thought you might be—” her eyes went to the broken pitcher and shards of mirro
red glass scattered across the corner of the room.

  “I know what you thought.” The empress said looking toward the window. “That’s another reason you should be welcoming Arista. If I hadn’t seen her in the courtyard and realized—well—anyway, I want you two to be friends.”

  Amilia’s mind was still whirling. Modina appeared more lucid than ever and yet she made no sense. Maybe she only sounded rational. Maybe the empress had cracked altogether. At any moment, she might introduce Red the wolfhound from the kitchen as the Ambassador of Lanksteer.

  “Modina, I know you think this girl is a princess, but just a week ago you also thought you were dead and buried remember?”

  “Are you saying you think I’m crazy?”

  “No, no, I just…”

  “Lady Amilia,” Ella spoke for the first time, “my name is Arista Essendon, and I am the Princess of Melengar. Your empress isn’t crazy. She and I are old friends.”

  Amilia stood staring at the two of them, confused. Were they both insane? How could—oh sweet Maribor! It’s her! The long fingernails, the way she met Amilia’s stare, the bold inquiries about the empress. Ella was the Witch of Melengar! “Get away from her,” Amilia yelled.

  “Amilia, calm down.”

  “She’s been posing as a maid to get to you.”

  “Arista’s not here to harm me. You’re not, are you?” she asked Ella, who shook her head. “There, you see. Now come here and join us. We have much to do.”

  “Thrace,” Ella spoke, looking nervously at Modina but the empress raised a hand to stop her.

  “The both of you need to trust me,” Modina said.

  Amilia shook her head. “But how can I? Why should I? This—this woman—”

  “Because,” the empress interrupted, “we have to help Arista.”

  Amilia would have laughed at the absurdity if Modina did not look so serious. In all the time she took care of her, Amilia never saw her so focused, so clear-eyed. She felt out of her element. The hazy Modina was gone, but she was still speaking nonsense. She had to make her understand, for her own good. “Modina, guards are looking for this woman. They’ve been combing the city for days.”