by Nathan Roden
Sterling scowled. He raised his right hand in front of him and squeezed his fist.
“Lamont,” he said between clenched teeth. “That wretched family is up to something—I can feel it!”
“How I would like to squeeze the breath from every last one of them—including our precious queen.”
“No, make that, especially, our precious queen.”
Raynard and six of his men rode east, to Islemar. Near the midway point, they caught up with Dathien. The giant walked at a pace almost equal to that of a horse’s trot. Raynard pulled alongside the wizard. Dathien remained focused on the road ahead.
“Where are you going?” Raynard asked.
“I do not answer to you.”
“Very well,” Raynard said. “We ride for Islemar, on Sterling’s orders. I brought along a horse—of freakish size.”
Dathien snapped his head around and glared at Raynard.
“Why has Sterling sent you?”
Raynard sighed.
“To bring home the king and queen, who seem to have forgotten where their thrones are. Have you seen Lucien?”
Dathien grunted.
“I see only backs and legs as your people flee from my path. As it should be.”
“Do you want the horse or not?” Raynard asked.
Dathien stopped and turned around, causing the six other soldiers to veer off the road to miss him. Dathien snatched the reins of the horse, swung his leg over it and rode away at full speed.
“Wait—!” Raynard swore and shook his head.
Raynard sighed and dismounted. He led his horse to a field of tall grass.
“My Lord,” a soldier asked. “Should we all dismount?”
“Yes,” Raynard said. “We may as well camp here tonight. If the giant kills someone at Islemar, I don’t want to be anywhere near the place. We will continue in the morning.”
Some of the men hunted rabbits and deer. A few fished in a nearby stream. Raynard looked to the sky when the sound of thunder rocked the earth.
“Hmmm.”
Fifty-five
The horses reared when the explosion sounded.
“By the gods! Are you all right, My King?”
Oliver jumped down from his mount. Lucien pulled himself to his feet, having landed hard on his backside.
“Yes, yes. I am fine. What the bloody hell was that noise?”
“Does Islemar have cannons?” Oliver asked.
“They have at least two,” Lucien said. “But they keep those at the harbor. That noise came from the west.”
“I pray that it’s not Sterling’s monster,” Oliver said.
Lucien scowled.
“What are you not telling me, squire? You profess to know what happened on the day the dragon escaped my dungeon. Some say that my brother has gone completely mad—that he will stop at nothing to see my child does not live to take the throne.”
“That is a lie,” Oliver snapped.
“There are few people I trust,” Lucien said. “But I am not sure of your loyalty.”
“My loyalty is to—”
Oliver stopped and turned his head to look down the road behind them.
“Do you hear—? Quickly. Someone is coming. We need to hide.”
They moved into the woods and tied up their horses. They crept to where they would have a view of the road.
“Oh, no. This is not good,” Oliver said.
The giant wizard, Dathien, rode hard toward the village of Islemar.
“What do we do now?” Oliver asked.
Lucien squeezed his head in his hands. He bent over.
“What’s wrong?” Oliver asked. He grabbed Lucien’s arm and helped him to sit down.
“I’m…I’m all right. A little dizzy, is all.”
“Did you see Sterling?” Lucien asked.
“No.”
“The monster has either come for me or for this…this magic child you speak of. Either way, we cannot just follow him into the village in broad daylight. We have no business there.”
“Do we stay here?”
“We wait until dusk,” Lucien said. He pressed his palms against the sides of his head. “And then we continue to near the village gates. We’ll camp in the woods where we can see the road.”
“But…the queen is there! And her father is not—!”
“Her father is—then where is he?” Lucien asked. “How is it that you know so much about the affairs of Islemar, squire? Who are you in league with?”
“You have no reason to doubt my loyalty, my king,” Oliver said. “I have sworn an oath to the crown. And that oath is my life.”
“The throne of Morgenwraithe has been usurped before,” Lucien said. “By men who knelt and swore their loyalty to the king.”
“I am not speaking of my oath on the day I was sworn into your guard,” Oliver said.
“I swore an oath to the queen.”
Fifty-six
Sterling woke up angry and in pain. His head throbbed. The bright morning sun hit his face and shone into his bloodshot eyes. He cursed loudly for his servants. Three of them ran into the room, tripping over each other to attend to his needs. Sterling cursed even more. He had been too drunk the night before to draw his curtains, or do anything other than fall onto his bed.
Sterling snatched his clean clothes out of the hands of a trembling old man. He clumsily began to get undressed. He almost fell attempting to remove a boot. All three nervous servants held their breath and prepared to catch Sterling before he hit the floor.
It was not the first time.
“Get…get away from me!” Sterling snapped. “Go! Go find something useful to do! And send Lucien in here, immediately!”
The servants were happy to comply. The least fortunate of them was forced to return minutes later with bad news.
“The King is not here. He rode away early…with his squire.”
Sterling swore and looked around for something to break or to throw. He settled for one of his boots.
“Send in Captain Raynard!”
Raynard tapped at Sterling’s door and walked in. He squinted, pulled the curtains closed, and massaged his temples.
“Why is it the more you drink, the brighter the next morning’s sun?” Raynard said.
“Have you seen Lucien?” Sterling asked.
“No,” Raynard sneered. “The cat is away—perhaps the little mouse is at play.”
“The queen is away as well?” Sterling said. “Does no one feel the need to provide this village with an authority figure?”
“She accompanied her mother home to Islemar,” Raynard said. “With Lucien’s blessing.”
Raynard dropped into a chair.
“The king has gone off for more bow practice, I presume.”
“The boy has become less…predictable,” Sterling said. “Dathien and his god-forsaken towers have kept us out of the village for too long. Maybe the king intends to stop being the frightened little boy we have come to expect.”
Sterling’s eyes narrowed and his face reflected the worst of his nature.
“This will never do.”
“I knew that you would not easily forget his outburst at the feast,” Raynard said.
Sterling pulled on his gloves and flexed his fists.
“Do you know what it means to be the most respected—the most feared—man in the kingdom? It means that I can close my eyes at night without the least bit of apprehension. If I was not capable of making the people soil themselves and quake in their boots this would not be so.”
Raynard picked up a pitcher of water and drank half of it.
“It helps to have the right friends and the coin to buy them.”
“I want Lucien watched,” Sterling said. “And every attempt made to keep him near the castle. The child will be born soon. I do not want any surprises.”
“Surely you do not fear anything from the boy,” Raynard said.
Sterling started to snap something in anger, but stopped himself.
&
nbsp; “No,” Sterling said. “But something….something has changed. I do not know what it is. I do not like change. Change is unpredictable. Change can become…a problem.”
“Well, cheer up,” Raynard said. “The dragon now has nowhere to hide. He’s as good as dead. Just think of it—the grand celebration that will happen when that deed is done. The few who still dare whisper about the return of the ‘rightful king’ will have their day of mourning.”
“You mean, their first day of mourning,” Sterling said with a sly grin.
Raynard raised his brow.
“There are few who love our dear King Lucien,” Sterling said.
“But every sentimental fool will mourn the unfortunate death of the fallen king who has just become a father to a baby boy.”
Sterling finished dressing; to the best of his ability. He splashed water onto his face and stepped out into the day. He was still a little intoxicated and had a difficult time walking in a straight line.
He walked toward the stables. He passed different bunches of servants and soldiers who did their best to avoid him. A few of them saluted or addressed him. He dismissed them with a few grumbled words.
Sterling overheard laughter and the spirited talk of young soldiers. He spotted the clean uniforms of three of Lucien’s closest companions outside of the blacksmith’s shop. Sterling turned in their direction.
The blacksmith and his apprentice hammered in the background. Their dark clothes and grizzled skin made them fade into the shadows. Their white eyes watched warily as Sterling approached.
The three young men had advanced quickly since joining the army. They were promoted to the King’s Guard ahead of many others. All three were physically impressive and gifted with both sword and bow. They garnered as much attention from the ladies of the village as they did from their military commanders. They each stood taller than Sterling and were broader at the shoulders.
“Good morning, Lord Sterling,” the boys said together.
“Yes, yes,” Sterling waved them off.
“I am looking for Lucien. Have you seen him?”
Sterling saw something change in the boys’ expressions.
Something he did not like.
“He left early. With Oli—with his new squire.”
“I’ve already heard that much,” Sterling said. He squinted. A bolt of pain shot through his skull.
“I need to speak with Lucien, today,” Sterling said. “Where was he going?”
“He did not say,” a boy said.
Liar, Sterling thought. He looked at the other boys. He did not trust any of them, and he knew that they were hiding something.
“Which way did they go?”
“East,” a boy said.
“How do you know that?” Sterling asked.
None of them had an answer.
“The three of you. Take horses and find Lucien. Bring him back here at once.”
“But, Lord Sterling,” the boy fidgeted. “We have no assigned duties today. We have plans with…well, with some young ladies, My Lord.”
Sterling shifted his weight on his feet. He closed one eye.
“You had no duties today. And now you do.”
Sterling eyed the biggest young man, who towered over him by almost a head.
He saw the young man’s nostrils flare.
“My Lord, Lucien is the king. Would it be unspeakable that he might have made plans of his own? He’s not yet of age, but there are certain…urges—even at fifteen.”
The other boys smiled.
“You can remember that, can you not, My Lord?”
Sterling stared ahead and then allowed the slightest upturn at the corners of his mouth.
Sterling looked inside the blacksmith shop. The smith and the apprentice were gone.
Sterling stepped toward a table that was just inside the double doors of the shop. He picked up a helmet and began looking it over.
“Does this belong to one of you?”
The biggest boy nodded.
“It was too small. It hurt my head—”
Sterling swung the helmet as hard as he could.
The boy was too stunned to move.
The helmet struck the side of his head with a sickening thud.
He folded to the ground.
“My Lord?” one of the boys questioned as he stared.
The other boys dropped to their friend’s side.
They looked up at Sterling.
“He’s…he’s dead.”
“And you,” Sterling seethed. “You seem to have forgotten your oaths! Obedience! Respect for your superiors! You are unfit to serve in the Guard! Get that worthless, treasonous dog out of my sight! This instant!”
Fifty-seven
Jaclyn spent the evening with her mother and the inquisitive ladies who waited for them in front of the castle. Jaclyn covered her mouth several times when she could not stifle a yawn. The ladies used Jaclyn’s pregnancy as an excuse to relive every one of their experiences with babies and children.
At her own insistence, Jaclyn was not assigned a handmaid while she was in her family home. She sat at her dressing table until very late. She hummed and brushed her hair to pass the time. Until the time she would leave her room and go to her special place.
The dark, high tower that faced the sea.
She knew that it was not wise. It had not been wise then and it never would be.
She had kept the note.
Simon’s note.
She kept it where she thought it would never be discovered. She put the note inside the covered wardrobe that stood in the corner of the ancient tower room. It was the same room where she had met Simon, almost six years ago. She had been back there only once since she became queen; on the night that she first found the note.
She knew now, what she knew then. Keeping the note was the ultimate foolishness. It spoke the secret, private thoughts of the cursed and hated dragon—the boy who should have been king.
The boy…who should have been her king.
The boy…who should have been—
her husband. And the father of her child.
She did not need to read the note again. She had memorized every word. She recited it to herself when she was at her lowest. She had recited it in the few moments when she was her happiest. And she had quoted it, aloud, many times, to her baby.
But the note was one thing to her.
It would be something altogether different to the rest of the kingdom.
It was treason. It was heresy. And the single piece of parchment could cost innumerable people their lives.
Jaclyn could not bring herself to do the wise thing—to destroy it. The reason was simple.
It was the feeling in her heart as she climbed the tower steps. The excitement, the anticipation, and the joy—it was no longer hers alone.
She could feel her baby moving—and she knew deep in her heart that he shared the feelings that carried her faster and faster up the stairs.
It was only a worn and weathered piece of parchment; with words written in fallible ink. The note was like any other living thing. It would not last forever.
But it was the most tangible piece of her dreams that she could touch with her hands. To pick up the parchment and read the words again—will be another homecoming. It will be like falling into Simon’s arms; like touching his face for the first time.
Jaclyn exhaled a ratcheted breath when she reached the landing. She could see her breath in the cold night air. She opened the door.
Every single thing was as she remembered it. The bed remained covered by a heavy cloth. The wardrobe was covered as well.
Jaclyn jumped when a window shutter clattered against the wall. She shivered when a blast of frigid wind blew past her. She wrapped her arms around herself and ran to the window. She grabbed the shutter and pushed.
A giant hand appeared next to hers.
Jaclyn screamed.
A wave of brilliant blue came through the window. The ten-foot tall g
iant stretched himself to his full height.
“What are you doing in my home?” Jaclyn screamed at the wizard.
“Get out! Now!”
Dathien laughed.
He raised his chin in the air and breathed in.
“Can you smell it, little queen?”
The giant lowered his head. His eyes met Jaclyn’s and seemed to burn into her soul.
“The stench of dragon flesh!”
Jaclyn looked away.
“You are mad! Invading the castle of the kingdom’s Viceroy!”
“Ah, yes! The fearless wolf hunter! Is that where your dear father is at this moment, little queen? Chasing wolves?”
“It is none of your concern—”
Dathien sniffed the air again.
“My concern is with the dragon—and any who might get in the way of its capture, and its death. There is one with powerful magic within the walls of this village. For some reason I cannot find him. But I have found something else instead. The dragon has been here. I can feel him as though he stood here now.”
Dathien narrowed his cold blue eyes.
“Perhaps the little queen feels him as well. Perhaps…she has—”
“No!” Jaclyn shouted.
Dathien closed his eyes.
He opened them. His gaze fell on the wardrobe. He stepped toward it and jerked the cover from it.
“I told you to leave!” Jaclyn said. “I don’t care what arrangement you have with Sterling, you have no right to—!”
Jaclyn ran at the wizard. He held up one hand and Jaclyn’s feet left the floor. She tried to run but her feet found nothing but air. Dathien opened the door of the wardrobe as Jaclyn swore at him.
