Stone Queen

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “What?” Merrick demanded.

  “It is not done,” Kalen said.

  “What is not done?” The king stood above him.

  “The evil child leads the queen toward King Lucien where he waits for her.” The nobleman looked up, his dark eyes bloodshot and encircled with black. Blood marred his flesh. “If the girl gets Queen Juliana to jump into the fire in the palace’s main hall, Lucien can draw her out. The baby is overdue and will kill her almost instantly, but Lucien will have power over the child to keep or dispose of as he pleases.”

  “Tell him,” the crone demanded. “Tell him all, psychic.”

  “What else did you see?” Merrick demanded. “Tell me.”

  “Lucien will kill the child.” Kalen looked away. “A sacrifice to the blackest magic to help him create a demon army of half breeds. I saw your son, my king.” A tear slipped down Kalen’s cheek, pinked with blood. “I saw blood on him. But I cannot be certain. It was a fragment. Hands and blood.”

  Merrick’s ears rang. Kill Juliana? Kill his son? His body weak, he didn’t even have the strength to unlock his knees and fall to the ground. He thought of the vision he saw when first he learned of the possibility of Juliana’s pregnancy. He’d asked to see the future, to see his son, in hopes of gleaning when it might be. All he got was the image of Juliana screaming, tears falling over her pale cheeks. Then he saw his own hands covered in blood. And now Lucien’s words confirmed his worst fears.

  Merrick felt the world spinning past him, felt the magic, his rule, the forces of fate and destiny. Suddenly, the realm felt too big. Helplessness did not suit him, but he could not fight its effects as they seized upon his heart.

  “Merrick, you must find your brother and bring him here. The only way we can free her is with King Ean’s blood.”

  “But, Juliana’s knife…” Merrick was spurred into action. A blade formed along his side, growing with a scabbard at his waist as he readied himself to ride out.

  “Check behind your throne,” Kalen said.

  Merrick waved his hand, striding across the floor. His throne disappeared, revealing a knife behind it. “How?”

  “I do not know,” Kalen admitted. “I merely felt it there when I searched the crone’s power for its location.”

  “What?” the witch screamed. “Nay, you cannot!”

  “Quiet, hag,” Merrick ordered, slapping another stone gag over her throat, letting it squeeze tight in his anger. She struggled anew, but could not escape. The Unblessed King pressed his wife’s dagger against his chest, letting the material of his tunic swallow it against his flesh. A scabbard formed, protecting his chest from the blade while holding it into place. “Are you well enough to ride?”

  Kalen pushed to his feet swaying back and forth. “Do not ask it of me. I will be of little use astride a horse.”

  “Then stay. Mend.” Merrick began to reach for Kalen, only to stop before touching him. He tried to help him, but there was little the Unblessed King could do. Shouting, he ordered, “Iago! Come!”

  “Aye.” The old goblin wobbled around the corner into the hall. It was no surprise to the king that his unblessed subjects had been spying on the torturous show. For once, he didn’t care what they overheard. There were more important matters than goblin gossip. More of the small creatures ambled in behind Iago, coming though they were not summonsed.

  “Anything Lord Kalen wants, fetch for him. He has free run of this castle.” Merrick walked past them toward the front gate. “Kalen, I’ll take your horse.”

  “Back away,” Kalen ordered. Merrick glanced back in time to see Iago rolling away from the elf noble. Undoubtedly, the goblin had touched him.

  The others began to dance around the witch, their small arms and legs pumping excitedly as they shouted taunts. Each tried to outdo the other, seeing who could insult her the worst.

  “Fate,” Merrick whispered so none could hear him. He strode down the narrow passageway, intent on going to the battlefront to find his brother. “Since taking my reign, I have never asked for anything from you. But today I am begging. Help me find Ean and free my family. Do not let Lucien harm Juliana and our son. Even if it is your desire that I do not have her for myself, do not let death take her.” He ran faster. “Please, fate, keep her safe.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Prince Wolfe is getting worse,” Adal reported, coming from the makeshift cot strapped to the back of King Ean’s unicorn. His nose was red and his eyes watered from the nip of the cold wind. “I can barely feel his heart beating.”

  Brodor was behind Adal’s mount, strapped to a cot like Wolfe. Both ill men were covered from neck to foot, their wounds bandaged and hidden from view. Adal had constructed a canopy over their faces, blocking them from the weather.

  The landscape had become dismal, matching their dark moods, as rain pelted the ground. Gray, sinister skies consumed the day hours, turning the ground into a seemingly bottomless pit of sticky black mud. The muck blemished the glistening coats of the unicorns and clung to the riders’ tunics. Thick trails dug into the path where the end of the cots pressed into the earth with the weight of their cargo.

  “The Black Palace is close. I can feel its unblessing.” Ean took a deep breath, even as his entire being seemed to sicken the closer they went toward Merrick’s palace. Cold soaked his clothing and he cursed the wizards for choosing today to make foul weather. The land needed rain as much as it needed light, but why today? The cold air pressed against his face, stinging his cheeks to a sharp red. He worried that his brother and friend might catch their death in the evening wind. They were too weak from the lycan’s bites and the Blessed King smelled mortality on their still forms. “Even the trees seem sick with despair and sadness. It is as if the heavens cry.”

  “And King Merrick? Do you sense him?” Adal asked. “Is he near?”

  “I…” Ean frowned. “I am not sure. All of this feels of Merrick—every leaf, every stone, every droplet of rain—but I cannot say where he is. We must go toward the Black Palace. Merrick will feel me and he will come. How can he not?”

  Even as he said the words, he wasn’t so sure. It was possible his brother would ignore him.

  “Or if he will not come to me, he will come if he senses Wolfe,” Ean added. “How could he resist? At the very least, curiosity will bring him to us.”

  “He will come,” Adal assured the king, though he didn’t sound confident.

  “Aye, he will,” Ean agreed, still trying to convince himself. He looked back at Wolfe’s pale, sweaty face. The prince’s cheekbones were sunken, his eyes more so. I just hope he comes in time.

  “This place…” Juliana hesitated, looking at the strange carved stone. It looked like a large fire blazing as high as the castle. With each movement of her body, she bumped against frozen droplets of stone rain. They were suspended in the air, only falling to the ground when touched. The storm had just appeared within a blink. She ran her hand in front of her, clearing a space, turning around in a circle. The stones tinkled. When she again faced the castle, the droplets she’d cleared were replaced by others.

  “This palace is meant to frighten you,” Anja said, her big eyes blinking innocently. “Please, come with me.” When Juliana didn’t readily move, the child stepped closer and slid her hand over the queen’s and tugged gently. “Please, come with me, lady mother.” Anja placed a little hand on the swell of Juliana’s stomach. “If you do not get out, I cannot leave. Don’t you want me in your world? Don’t you want me?”

  Juliana took a deep breath. Every instinct told her to run, but looking down at the small hand pressed against her, so tiny and helpless, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave the girl to fend for herself.

  “Lead the way,” Juliana said softly, patting the girl’s soft hair. “I am right behind you.”

  The atrocities he had witnessed when he touched the witch were dreams Lord Kalen would not wish upon any man or creature. Where a soul should reside was only darkness and, where a hear
t should be found beating, there was only pleasure derived in the suffering of others. The crone carried so much evil and now it was his. Once seen, such things could not be rid of.

  Unable to stomach riding, it had been all he could do to make his way abovestairs to a guest chamber he often used when staying at the palace, not that he stayed often. The chamber was simple, with bare furnishings and a fur rug against the stone floor. At the end of the bed, a trunk stood, filled with clothes for his use. Other than a chair by the narrow slit of a window looking out from the high tower spire, there was nothing else. Kalen rested on the large bed. He ran his arm over the empty side, wishing he had company to take his thoughts from his troubles and knowing that no amount of female company could make him forget.

  He thought of the mermaid, but the image wouldn’t stay with him long before being replaced by demons. Kalen liked mermaids. Inside they felt as cold as the sea and open and vast as the waters that kept them. They held no thoughts for him to read, no emotions for him to feel. They were easy companions for a man like him, even if they didn’t have the heart to really care past their own vanity.

  Only the fire’s soft crackle invaded the echoing screams in his head. The sounds weren’t his, but the witch’s, a small piece of what she heard when she dreamed. Kalen gave a nervous laugh, unable to do aught else. His mother called what he’d been born with a gift. He knew it to be a curse. Seeing the future held no pleasure for him. Sensing despair brought only pain. He tried to fight it, to deny his gift, but to do so made it worse. Until the insane visions invaded his life, coming to him like ghosts demanding to be heard until he couldn’t detect what was real and what was only a vision.

  Perhaps he really was the madman people accused him of being.

  No one ever asked to know the happiness and the visions rarely saw fit to share such moments with him. But, out of all he’d seen, he had never truly looked into the abyss of evil. Tonight he had. When he touched the witch, he’d seen hell.

  Pushing off the bed, he moved toward the fireplace, trying to heat his chilled skin. Nothing could erase the cold in his heart. The images crashed in on him, senseless in their timeline. Past mingled with present, future invaded the past until it was a jumbled, useless mess.

  Kalen had known it would be that way, so he had focused his thoughts on Queen Juliana. The whole picture was unclear, but he’d seen pieces of what would happen. He saw her son, her baby covered in afterbirth and held by bloody hands, taken from an unmoving black form. Juliana dead? The child ripped from her stomach?

  Then he saw another picture, surely before the first in time. Tears ran down her cheeks, spilling from her frightened blue eyes. She called for help, pounded her fist against the stone, screaming, pleading, begging. There was no answer to her cries, only the continual, endless screaming. No one could hear her. No one ever came.

  Kalen paced the floor, his feet falling on the thick pelt. The fur was hot from the flames and he welcomed the sting of it. Closing his eyes, he let the golden heat come over him and tried to calm his anxious thoughts.

  He wanted to join his king, but knew he’d be useless. Even now his limbs threatened to shake. And, with the thoughts filling his head, if he were to go near other living creatures, the thin thread left of his sanity would snap. Nay, the best way he could help his friends was to stay away from them.

  On the other side of the door he detected the tiptoeing feet of a goblin. He turned his head, watching the curved handle. The creature stopped and Kalen imagined the goblin to be pressing his ear to the thick oak wood of the door. The door was locked and he would not let anyone in. Not tonight.

  “Get away!” The words were hoarse. Kalen did not want to feel inside the being. “Leave me be or feel the tip of my sword for a fortnight!”

  Footfalls ran quickly away, thumping down the stairwell only to disappear. He slowly crossed, unlatching the door so he could pull it open. The dark stone passageway was empty.

  “Do not come up here again!” he yelled anyway, letting his voice carry. Loud irritation was a small comfort, but he took it.

  As he was pulling back inside, he paused. The goblin had left a polished silver tray with a large pitcher of ale and a silver goblet etched with dragons. Kalen again looked down the passageway toward the stairwell.

  “Bring more ale!” He leaned over, lifting the tray. “And I’d thank you to hurry!”

  He carried the tray in, kicking the door shut behind him as he set it on the trunk. Filling the goblet, he moved to put the pitcher down. He stopped, catching his reflection looking up at him from the polished silver. Red locks wove within the brown, concentrated heavily around the crown of his head. Even his eyes were changed, the color drained until they were purple no more, but a gray.

  “There is no going back,” Kalen told his strange reflection, giving a weak, nearly hysterical laugh. “The witch has tainted your blood, Kalen. There is no erasing the things you have seen.”

  Instead of the pitcher, he set down the goblet. Lifting the larger vessel to his lips, he took a long drink of the ale, letting it warm his stomach even as he wished for something stronger. It would take more than a barrel of the stout drink to numb his brain.

  “Merrick is not going to let you in to the Black Garden to see her.” Hugh sat astride his stallion. His horse was of the old Bellemare bloodline, come with him from the Mortal Realm. William had conjured some sort of air beast, invisible to their eye but who carried the wizard like a horse would. Thomas rode his own horse, a younger animal with a fine, but stubborn temperament.

  “We are all together,” Thomas said. Though the ground was muddy and the sky wet, they were dry. Faery magic shielded them with a protective dome, causing the rain to roll around them as they rode through the forest. The surrounding forests blurred into a series of colors with each traveling droplet. “If we can somehow bring her back by all four of us siblings being together…”

  “Aye,” William nodded. His brown robes were pulled over his arms so that he was forced to grip his invisible reins from beneath the thick material. His long, unkempt hair flopped around his head with each bounce. “Juliana loves family. She would not want us estranged.”

  “I have wizards and faery elders working on how we might free her.” Hugh felt guilty but not knowing why. He couldn’t meet his brothers’ eyes. “It is not as if I’ve done nothing. I’ve done things, dealt with creatures who…”

  Hugh frowned. Though nothing too unsavory to his honor, he’d gone to questionable means for just a chance at freeing her.

  “No one is condemning you, Hugh.” Thomas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he let the horse’s reins rest lightly over his hand. Dressed in a plain wool tunic in the human style, he looked the most normal out of the brothers. Hugh’s own tunic sparkled in the light. Tania had made it for him. He’d asked for clothes that did not tinkle and, though he got ones that did not sparkle as brightly as the other faeries, the dark brown material still glimmered. “We know you have done more than either of us to free her.”

  “Food,” William said, more to himself. He wiggled around on his unseen horse, thrusting a hand out of his sleeve with a piece of dried beef. “Anyone else?”

  “Aye.” Thomas held out his hand. William leaned over, giving him the piece he’d bitten off of, only to reach inside his robes and grab another. Thomas sniffed the meat before shrugging and putting it in his mouth. Hugh shook his head in denial when William offered him one, not bothering to answer otherwise as he continued with the conversation.

  “But it is my duty as the oldest.” Pain rolled through Hugh. Thomas had been watching Bellemare. He was doing what he needed to. William searched for a cure, as that was what he needed to do. But, in the end, Hugh knew the responsibility to be his. He was the Earl of Bellemare. He was the head of the family. Banishment from the Mortal Realm and time would never change that. When he saw Juliana’s statue, he was reminded of how he failed her.

  “You cannot control everything brother.” Th
omas nudged his horse forward, taking point as they neared a rocky path only wide enough for them to go single file along the steep ledge. They’d ridden for hours from the edge of Feia where Queen Tania had materialized the Silver Palace so they could start their journey as close to the Black Palace as possible. The rolling fields around the faery palace turned into small hills. The small hills grew into larger foothills. And, as the day now turned into evening, the foothills finally rose in the distance to show a range of glorious mountains. They skirted around the edge, following it to where they would find King Merrick.

  “I do not try to—” Hugh began.

  “And definitely not the will of others,” Thomas interrupted him. “Juliana chose her fate, Hugh. No matter how you flog yourself for what has happened, it will never be your fault, nor was it ever your decision to make.”

  “Juliana may be sweet, but she is strong of will and set in her purpose once she decides it is her purpose,” William called from behind. Hugh glanced over his shoulder, frowning slightly.

  “Aye,” Thomas agreed. “Do you remember when we were younger and she wanted to be a boy so that she might leave Bellemare to train with us?”

  “She had no desire to be a knight.” Hugh remembered the tiny wisp of a girl standing up to the gruff old earl, their father. She’d refused to eat for a day, promising to never take another bite. Their father, easily swayed by his pretty daughter’s manipulations, had relented before the girl felt the first real pangs of hunger. He’d taken her with them to ride to the lord’s castle where the boys would train. But, after discovering she’d have to sleep out of doors with a group of obnoxious boys and that the lord’s kitchen was overrun with rats, she’d changed her mind.