“Please,” said the mother, her voice frantic. “Please leave us. He’s our only child. You took our baby two-years ago. We’ve already paid our duty to Valdasia. Please, leave us.”
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” said Ophelia. “Your son—what’s his name?”
“Gilbert.” said the father, stepping forward. “His name is Gilbert. Please, promise—”
“Little Gilbert here is going to have a tea party with Princess Agana.” said Ophelia, talking over the man. She looked him square in the eyes as she tapped the pommel of her star-metal broadsword. “You and your wife are going to let them play, and you’re both going to remain silent and keep to yourselves.”
The man looked at his wife and nodded softly to her. Her face sank.
“Get some light in here.” said Ophelia.
The man whispered something to his wife and she set about lighting the lanterns in the house as he went to the fireplace and started stoking it with logs. Ophelia clomped across the polished, wooden floor to Gilbert and knelt beside him. He trembled as she placed an arm around his shoulders. “How old are you, Gilbert?” she asked. With a finger she wiped a tear from his eye.
“T-T-Ten.” he said, staring at the floor.
“Ten? You’re a big boy for ten-years old. Did you know that’s exactly how old your Princess is?”
Gilbert shook his head, his cheeks jiggling.
“Well, Princess Agana is ten-years old, just like you, and her favorite thing to do is to have tea parties. Wouldn’t you like to have a tea party with your Princess?”
Gilbert shook his head.
Ophelia smiled softly at him. With a finger she gently lifted his chin so that he was looking at her. “Come now, Gilbert, be a sport. How many of your friends can say that they’ve had a tea party with a real Princess? Wouldn’t that be something great to tell all your friends about?”
Gilbert hiked his shoulders.
“I’m going to bring Agana in now, and I want you to play nicely with her, okay?”
Gilbert nodded.
Ophelia patted him on the head and stood up. Now that the soft glow of lanterns filled the room, the cottage was a much warmer and cheery place. The cottage’s living room walls were all bare cobblestone hung with various paintings. There was a cozy looking couch along the far wall and a couple chairs adjacent with a small table between them. In front of the fireplace was a small, red rug and Ophelia thought it would make the perfect setting for a tea party.
She strode back to the broken door and saw Agana standing in the middle of the road. Her black hair was all matted from the rain and her white dress clung heavy and tight to her small frame. The front of it was all pink with washed-out blood and she clutched Jackson to her bosom. There was a hopeful look on her face.
Ophelia smiled. “It’s okay, Agana. Gilbert’s parents said he can play inside for a little while.”
Agana’s face brightened. “Really!” She hopped up and down and then ran to the house.
Ophelia turned her head down the road to the squadron of knights. She wasn’t happy that they had held back so far from Agana. She scanned the rooftops, and then with a disapproving gaze gave Sir Spengle a thumbs-up, the signal that the house was secure and they could wait outside.
Ophelia put her arm around Agana’s back and led her into the cottage. Gilbert was standing between his mother and father in the far corner of the living room. With a hand Ophelia motioned for Gilbert to come over.
“It’s okay, son.” said the father. The mother placed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her tears.
Gilbert slowly padded forward in his leather shoes.
“Agana,” said Ophelia. “This is Gilbert.”
Agana smiled. “Hi, Gilbert.”
“H-Hello, Princess Agana.” said Gilbert cautiously. He bowed. “W-W-What do you want to play?”
Agana held Jackson up by one arm and Gilbert’s face went ghost-white. “This is my baby brother Jackson. Do you want to have a tea party with us by the fire?”
Gilbert recoiled from the terrible thing dangling in her hand and looked over his shoulder. His father nodded at him as his mother buried her head in his shoulder and wept. Gilbert looked back at Agana. “S-Sure.”
“Get a teapot and some cups.” ordered Ophelia, looking at the mother.
She nodded and scurried into the kitchen.
“Come on, Gilbert!” chirped Agana. “We’re going to have so much fun!” She took his pudgy hand in hers and skipped over to the fireplace and sat down in front of it, crossing her legs on the carpet. Gilbert sat down across from her as she propped Jackson up against her belly. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I h-had a baby b-brother, but after he was born Saint—”
“Gilbert!” hissed the father. Gilbert looked at him and the father wagged a finger in warning.
Gilbert swallowed hard. He looked back at Agana. “No.”
“That’s too bad.” said Agana, a little sad. “My brother Jackson here isn’t even a year old. Isn’t he so cute?”
Gilbert turned his eyes to the floor and nodded.
“Would you like to hold him?” Gilbert looked at her, eyes wide, and vigorously shook his head, causing his cheeks to flap. Agana’s lips puffed out into a frown. “Why not? Is there something wrong with him?”
“He’s… He’s de—”
“Gilbert!” barked the father.
The boy looked away from Agana. “I-I-I don’t want to h-hurt him, is all.”
“Why do all you boys talk like that?” asked Agana. “Always stuttering.”
Gilbert licked his lips and hiked his shoulders as he stared at the floor.
“You need to stop it. I don’t like it.”
“Here’s a pot of tea.” said the mother, bringing in a porcelain kettle upon a silver platter. There was a small honeypot along with a few teacups and some pastries on a saucer. “I had some water already boiled. You just need to let the tea steep for a moment. I… I hope it’s to your liking, my Princess.”
Agana’s brow furled as she watched the lady set the platter down between her and Gilbert. Steam rose from the kettle’s spout and filled the room with the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. The woman stood and did a little curtsy for Agana. “I… I can pour you a cup, if you like?”
“What is that?”
The woman’s face seemed to sink as she looked down at Agana. “It’s… it’s tea, Princess.” She quickly bent over and poured a cup for Agana, her trembling hands causing the little cup to clatter against the kettle. “I-I’m sorry it’s not much. Just a spice tea. I hope it’s to your liking.” The woman set it on a saucer before Agana and then poured her son a cup.
“What is this?” said Agana, disgusted. She pushed it away. “I can’t drink this!”
The woman froze as she stood looking down at Agana. “I-I-I’m terribly sorry, Princess. I-I’ll make another kind.”
“Step aside!” ordered Ophelia, taking the mother by the arm and practically tossing her away. Ophelia grabbed the two cups of tea the woman had poured and tossed the contents across the room where it splashed on the couch. She set the empty cups back down before Agana and Gilbert. “There you go, Agana,” said Ophelia. “You make your own tea.” Ophelia patted Agana on the top of her head and then stepped away.
“Me and Jackson are so hungry.” said Agana. She looked at Gilbert and smiled. “Gilbert, would you be so kind as to pass the tea, please?”
Gilbert nodded, his cheeks bouncing. He reached for the kettle but Agana grabbed his thick wrist and brought it toward her. Gilbert flinched and pulled his arm away.
“How very rude.” said Agana. “Is that anyway to treat your guests?”
“Gilbert, pass her the tea.” said the father.
“S-Sorry.” said the boy. Once again he reached for the kettle but Agan
a grabbed his arm.
“Not that, silly.” she said. She brought his wrist close to her and stroked it. “This is the tea.”
Gilbert’s eyes went wide.
Agana giggled. “It won’t hurt much. Don’t worry, I’ll only pour enough for me and Jackson.”
“No!” boomed the father. “Don’t you—” Ophelia’s fist impacted the man’s face and he stumbled into the wall and slid down it until he was sitting. He looked up at her in fear, holding his broken jaw, his hand full of bloody teeth. His wife began to scream but Ophelia grabbed her around the neck, choking her.
“Not another word from either of you.” growled Ophelia, throwing her at her husband. “Let them play.”
Agana brought Gilbert’s wrist to her mouth. “Hold still,” she said. Gilbert whimpered as fangs revealed themselves from her little, red lips and sank into his flesh. Agana sucked at his wrist for a moment, blood trickling from the sides of her mouth, and then she brought his wrist over her tea cup. Gilbert clenched his eyes shut and turned his head. Crimson liquid pattered into the porcelain as she stroked his arm. “There we go.” said Agana. She licked her lips. “You fat boys make the sweetest tea.” She filled the cup to the brim and then let go of Gilbert’s arm.
Gilbert opened his eyes and then wailed as he saw his wrist. He scooted away from her, crying.
“Come here, Gilbert.” said Agana. “We’re having a tea party with Jackson.” She took a sip from the cup. “Mmm” she hummed. She placed it to Jackson’s mouth and tipped. Crimson liquid filled the corpse’s mouth and then pattered out onto the floor.
“I don’t want to play!” cried Gilbert, holding his wrist to his chest, smearing his shirt with blood. Tears rained from his eyes. “Mama! I don’t want to play! Make them go away, Mama! Mama!”
“Son!” barked the father, his voice muffled as he held his bloody jaw. “Just play! Be done with it!”
“Go on.” said the mother, wiping at her eyes and trying to compose herself. She stood up from her husband and sniffled. She forced a smile at Gilbert. “Just play. It will be all right.”
Gilbert sniffled and scooted back toward Agana, clutching at his wrist.
“Would you like a sip?” asked Agana.
Gilbert stared at the floor, tears dripping from his eyes. He shook his head.
“Let’s play a game.” said Agana. “You be King Verami and I’ll be Queen Loretta and Jackson here can be Princess Agana.” She sipped at her tea and then set the cup down on the saucer. “Verami,” she said, making her voice as dignified and queenly as she could. “Pass me one of the pastries, would you, my dear?”
Gilbert sniffled and placed one of the sweet rolls on a saucer and handed it to Agana, all the while staring at the floor.
“Thank you, dear brother.” said Agana. “You look pallid today. Perhaps we should have the physician try a new liver?” She pretended to nibble at the pastry. She set it down. “Oh Agana, my dear. You must eat your lunch if you want to go play.”
“But it’s not fair.” pouted Agana as she moved Jackson’s arms, trying to give him some animation. “Why can’t I have a sweet roll like you and daddy?”
“Now, now, dear.” said Agana in her queenly voice. “You know you can’t have that. It will just make you sick. Now drink your lunch like a good girl.” She tilted the tea cup to Jackson’s mouth and blood dribbled down its chin.
Gilbert made a heaving sound and turned away.
Agana immediately snapped her head in his direction and scowled. “You’re sick again, aren’t you.”
Gilbert glanced up at her but didn’t say anything.
“You’re disgusting.” she said. “Your seed is as diseased and rotten as you are.” She glowered at the boy. “You have to say something!” she demanded. “You have to pretend you’re King Verami!”
Gilbert looked at her and swallowed hard. “I-I-I’m sorry. W-What should I say?”
“Stop stuttering!” shrieked Agana. She stood up and Jackson fell over, his head thumping on the floor. “You disgust me! You’re always so sick! You’re diseased and pathetic! You’re a pathetic little man! Why can’t you give me a child?! Why can’t you give our daughter a brother?!”
Gilbert flinched away from her.
Agana’s face twisted into an angry, red mask. She grabbed the sweet roll and whipped it at Gilbert’s head. “These are as dry and withered as you are!” Agana stormed over to him and grabbed his crotch, twisting. Gilbert wailed. “You’re pathetic!” She spit on him.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” screamed Gilbert.
Agana released her grip on him and composed herself. She stood up straight and then walked to her spot and sat down again. “It’s not your fault.” she said coldly. She picked up Jackson and sat him on her lap, stroking his head. “We’ll get you a brother or sister, dear, I promise. Me and your father will try again.” She drank down the last of her tea. Then she sighed. “I don’t want to play this game anymore. I don’t like this game. I’m hungry.”
Gilbert sniffled and put another pastry on a dish for her.
“I can’t eat that. It’ll make me sick.” She swatted it away and the saucer fell to the floor, shattering. “Let’s play How much blood do you have.” said Agana.
Gilbert stared at her.
“Give me your wrist.” said Agana. “I say you have enough for five cups of tea. How much do you think you have?”
“No!” cried the mother. She ran to Saint Ophelia and collapsed at her feet. “Please! Please! You already took our baby! We have already paid our duty to Valdasia! Gilbert’s a sweet boy, he’s all we have left!”
Ophelia grabbed her by the hair and drew her star-metal sword from its scabbard. With a quick stroke the woman’s head came off and Ophelia tossed it aside as the body collapsed on the floor, spilling crimson everywhere. The husband howled in anguish as he jumped to his feet. He charged Ophelia but stood little chance. She flourished her sword and returned it to its scabbard before his head had even hit the floor. A second later his body lay atop his wife’s.
Gilbert began wailing. He stood up and began hobbling toward his dead parents but Agana grabbed his arm and pulled him down to her. She bit into his wrist and pulled her head back, tearing away skin, tendon and meat, exposing white bone. Gilbert screamed and struggled but Agana had a terrible grip on him and he could not escape no matter how hard he tried. A stream of blood poured down Agana’s dress and pooled in her lap as she brought the nearly severed wrist over her tea cup. It quickly overflowed. She held his wrist above another, filling that one and then another. Gilbert’s struggles weakened as his flesh lost all color. Moments later it was done. Gilbert lay lifeless on the floor amid gruesome puddles of blood.
Agana sighed as she looked at her filled cups. “Only four.”
“Well, you spilled a lot.” said Ophelia. “I’ll bet there were five.”
Agana hiked her shoulders and stared solemnly at the cups. Ophelia knelt behind Agana, brushing her hair with her hand. Agana sipped at her tea, all the while cradling Jackson in her lap as she held Gilbert’s colorless hand in hers, humming a somber lullaby. After she had drank her fill she looked at Ophelia. “I want to go home. I don’t want to play anymore.”
“Okay.” said Ophelia, taking her hand. “We’ll go home and have a nap. How does that sound?”
Agana nodded and wiped at her mouth and Ophelia helped her to her feet. Ophelia went to the door and peeked outside and looked around. It was still dark and cloudy but no more rain fell. The knights weren’t anywhere to be seen. Ophelia looked to the east, at the hill where the castle overlooked. A lantern was lit in the window of one of the high, crooked, abandoned towers whose spire was missing many red shingles. Agana started to walk past her but Ophelia reached down and blocked her with her arm. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Agana, hugging Jackson close.
Ophelia listened from the doorway: Boots on cobblestone coming around the back of the house. She scanned the rooftops across the street. Chimneys protruded from the golden thatch on all of them, but from behind one chimney she saw the barrel of a bolt-thrower poking out. Ophelia scooped Agana into her arms and whispered into the crook of her neck, “If something bad happens to me, you have to keep running. Don’t stop for anything. Make it to the hill. The trees will protect you. Hide in the secret tunnels like I showed you before, okay?”
“I’m scared.”
Ophelia stroked her hand through Agana’s hair as she scanned the streets and rooftops some more. “I’m going to carry you, but if something bad happens, promise you’ll run to the hill and you won’t stop.”
Ophelia felt Agana nod as her warm tears fell into her neck. She clutched Agana tight to her breastplate. Just as she was about to bolt from the door, she heard the back door of the cottage being kicked open.
JINK-JINK-JINK!—bolt-thrower blasts rocked the house. The floor exploded in fragments and the cobblestone wall burst apart into clouds of dust. Agana screamed as Ophelia leapt with her from the doorway. Heads and bolt-throwers popped up from the rooftops. Ophelia rolled on the street, turtling herself up with Agana beneath her. She felt bolts explode off the back of her breastplate, sending painful shockwaves through her chest. She scooped Agana up and in a blinding aura of Caliber energy, leapt with her into an alley between two cottages.
JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK-JINK!—the cottage walls next to them exploded; dirt was thrown up from the street; Ophelia felt the back of her right knee explode. She screamed and stumbled, nearly knocking Agana to the ground. She struggled back to her feet, but couldn’t get any support from her right leg. “Run!”
“I’m too scared!” cried Agana.
Ophelia grabbed Agana and with her star-metal bracer bashed through the wall of the cottage beside her. She fell inside with Agana, landing on toppled cobblestones just as more bolt-thrower fire exploded off the street and surrounding buildings.
“Shoot them! Shoot them!” Ophelia heard Sir Spengle shouting.
Here Shines the Sun Page 39
