Monsters & Mist

by Taylor Fenner

  When Pavo’s father’s advisors received the correspondence from King Dao they didn’t want to bring it to Pavo. But in the end they had to but suggested that Pavo turn the offer down. The Princess was all wrong for Pavo, they reasoned. She was much younger, only seventeen compared to Pavo’s twenty-nine. And she would bring nothing to the marriage as Lostero’s army was small and subpar, their lands harsh and nearly untenable.

  Pavo, who had always admired the fair-skinned, fiery-haired women he’d seen working in Vanyia as slaves, was intrigued. He sent a letter back inviting King Dao and Princess Sapphira to Vanyia.

  A month later the Losteroan King and the Princess and their guards arrived at the palace astride massive ravens they called wujus. Pavo was immediately attracted to the unusual beauty.

  Princess Sapphira was once described by a passing noble as the world’s best kept hidden beauty. Her skin was the color of unblemished marble in contrast with her long waves of coral-colored hair. And her gray eyes held a wealth of knowledge and a sparkle of mischief.

  King Pavo was besotted, and the princess fell equally hard equally quickly. Pavo and Sapphira were married within weeks and courtiers remarked that they’d never seen a young king and his consort more in love.

  Though their marriage was one of envy and their only son was born within a year, their marriage would not be without struggle or tragedy. First when Shroudania invaded Lostero and overthrew King Dao’s rule, declaring all Losteroan citizens — even the royal family - to be slaves up for trade and sale throughout the two more prosperous kingdoms. Then seven years into Pavo and Sapphira’s marriage the Queen Consort was struck by a mysterious ailment during her second pregnancy that left her weak and coughing up blood and caused her to have a miscarriage.

  The Queen Consort was placed on bedrest by the royal healer but Sapphira’s health continued to deteriorate. She grew so thin her skin sunk into her bones and she was unable to eat. Pavo sat at her bedside day and night often neglecting his kingly duties. He brought in healers and nursemaids and priests, but it would do no good. Sapphira would die before her twenty-fifth birthday creating a ripple affect of events that would plague the kingdom and effect the rest of Esternwhorl for years to come.

  Chapter 10

  Thane

  Thane and the other Watierai Warriors searched the warrior camp and the hills and valleys in the surrounding lands for three days, even going so far as to travel on horseback to the nearest villages but there was no sign of Andromeda. It was like she had evaporated into the mist that had thickened and clung to the air around the camp.

  Thane was furious. Garlyn and his men had refused to join in the search for Andromeda, but they were up for creating discord among the Warriors. Garlyn railed against Thane openly, often ranting about the waste of time and resources they had spent searching for the ‘Mistborn scum’ who had escaped and instead of trying to protect her, Thane should be sending his men to the coastline to finish her off if she reappeared.

  Cutter had had enough listening to Garlyn’s rants at the tables at dinner and waded through the crowd of supporters until he was toe to toe with Garlyn and he reared back, punching Garlyn in the mouth and knocking out half of the bigger man’s rotten teeth.

  Tensions were high ever since. But it was about to get much, much worse.

  History of Esternwhorl #11

  Rise of the Watierai Warriors

  With the disappearance and thought extinction of the Order of the Thorn and the beginning of a new rule for the Kingdom of Vacantia, a new faction was formed.

  The new king of Vacantia feared the Mistborn as much as the other kingdoms and chose his best warriors to form a new defense against the sea-dwelling enemies beyond the shores of Vacantia. These warriors became known as the Watierai Warriors from the old Vacantian word for water. These warriors were larger, faster, and braver than the average soldier in the Royal Vacantian Army. Instead of training to keep the masses in line or defend against an attack from Shroudania or Lostero, the Watierai Warriors were trained exclusively to defend the people from Mistborn attacks and invasions.

  The Watierai Warriors were granted a plot of land on the southern coast of Vacantia and there they built a stone fortress to keep their strategies and training a secret from the outside world. The Watierai Warriors rose earlier in the morning and often worked long into the night, traveling the whole of Vacantia and occasionally loaning Warriors to the other kingdoms to aid in outcroppings of Mistborn rebellions.

  Any man wishing to join the Watierai Warriors had to complete seven trials to prove his cunning, strength, and agility. These legendary trials became known as The Luminous Trials. Upon the man’s passing of the trials he would be fitted for an aquaswift sword, the mystical swords sacred to the Warriors. These swords were said to be gifts from Zarouk himself, for each saber was forged with a piece of the owner’s soul. When wielded the sword glowed blue in the presence of a Mistborn and could cut through flesh and bone as easily as if cutting through air itself, but the true uniqueness of the swords was that they could only cut through the skin of a Mistborn. This not only was to prove the true lineage of a Mistborn, as they were known to lie and disguise themselves to avoid detection, but also to protect the Warriors and Vacantian civilians from becoming injured in the crossfire of battle.

  The Watierai Warriors became the stuff of myth for they kept to themselves and only made themselves known when they were needed, often to disappear without thanks or ceremony.

  Eventually twenty moons ago, so few hopefuls had been admitted into the Watierai Warriors and many of the active members were aging and dying of natural causes King Pavo’s hand was forced to demand changes to the practices of the Warriors. The Luminous Trials would be forgotten to time and for the first time women would be allowed to try out for the Warriors. Any man or woman interested in joining the ranks would only have to train with the Warriors for a period of time deemed appropriate by the high General of the Warriors.

  While the Warriors have become a faction of equality between its members some still miss the old days of exclusion and needing to prove oneself. It remains to be seen if those that are unhappy with the new ways of the Warriors will go calmly into their end or rise up to overthrow the current General.

  Intermission

  Pavo

  “Curse the gods,” King Pavo growled as the pen slid from his hand for the third time. He felt like a fool. Not long ago he’d been strong and virile, a warrior and a king to fear. Now he couldn’t even keep grip on a pen without losing sensation in his fingers. And that was only one in a long line of things his hands were no longer capable of. Buttoning his shirt, holding a fork, and menial every day things. Pavo had summoned healers from far and wide but his illness stumped them all. No one had ever seen anything like the ailment that struck Pavo down.

  A tentative knock interrupts Pavo as he crouches down to retrieve his pen. Ignoring the knock he picks at the pen three times while running his tongue over his top lip, a bad habit he often displays when trying to concentrate. Finally his fingers close around the body of the pen.

  “Your Majesty?” His manservant calls through the door causing Pavo to drop the pen once again.

  “Shi’ite.” Pavo curses and straightens, giving the pen up for lost. “Enter.”

  His manservant Inko, a small balding man in his middle forties, enters Pavo’s chambers as Pavo slumps onto a chaise in defeat.

  “I have your wine, Your Majesty,” Inko sets the silver tray he carries onto the side table beside the chaise and places the goblet in Pavo’s hand careful to make sure the stem is fully in his grip before letting go.

  “Thank you, Inko,” Pavo acknowledges his appreciation for Inko’s care in making little changes to accommodate Pavo’s illness without making a big spectacle of it.

  “Is there anything else you require, Your Majesty?” Inko inquires.

  “No, that will be all, Inko.” Pavo reaches for a hard bound book on the side table and manages to get hold o
f it after only two tries. “I’m going to enjoy some reading before turning in.”

  “Very well, Your Majesty.” Inko bows. “I will retire to my quarters.”

  Pavo opens the tome to where he left off and sips his wine as he reads. Though he didn’t feel too tired before it isn’t long before his eyes begin to droop and he sets the book and the empty wine goblet back on the table.

  His balance is shakier than normal and he has to grab onto furniture for support several times as he stumbles into his bedchamber and to his bed. Pavo has never felt so dizzy after one goblet of wine before but he brushes it off to yet another symptom of his mysterious illness. He doesn’t bother undressing as he slides into bed.

  He has no way of knowing the wine he drank was laced with poison. Or that Inko will be hanged for poisoning him even though someone else tampered with his drink before Inko even went to fetch it. By the time he realizes anything is wrong he will be standing at the gates of Baster’s palace waiting to be ferried into the Undrawhorl.

  Part II

  “And the blood of my enemies shall pave the way for a whole new world where the slaves become masters. And I will feast upon the hearts of those that try to stop me.”

  - Queen Lyra

  Vanyia

  A scream shatters the calm of the palace grounds as a maid makes a gruesome discovery and drops the breakfast tray she carries. Glass and porcelain explode into thousands of pieces at her feet as she retreats back into the hallway.

  ❖

  Cygni

  It is an unwritten rule that Prince Cygni, heir to the throne of Vacantia is never to be bothered early in the morning. Yet this morning Cygni wakes to the sound of loud wrapping against his bedchamber door.

  A naked blonde lays nestled in the crook of his left arm and an equally naked busty redhead lays on his right. The thick wool blanket atop his bed is pushed down to the redhead’s waist allowing the chill air of the bedchamber to stiffen her delectable nipples into hardened peaks that Cygni happens to know firsthand taste as sweet as fresh starberries during the ripening season.

  Cygni’s father, King Pavo, has been on him quite hard as of late to find a bride — any bride - and stop embarrassing the royal family with his dalliances.

  In Cygni’s mind, at age twenty, he’s far too young to tie himself to one woman — one flavor - for the rest of his life. For now he prefers to sample the wares of Vanyia.

  Cygni found the blonde at the market showing off exotic smelling perfumes in colorful bottles. He cannot recall from where he found the redhead but she was well worth sampling. She’s feisty, just the way Cygni likes them.

  The insistent pounding at the door is beginning to give Cygni a headache.

  “Go away,” Cygni bellows to whoever is on the other end of the door. The wenches on either side of him startle awake at his tone. He frowns as the redhead clutches the blanket and covers herself.

  “It is urgent, Your Highness,” his father’s valet replies. Cygni can hear his voice quivering through six inches of solid wood.

  “Fine,” Cygni mutters as he leaps from the bed leaving the two beauties behind as he steps into the sparring leathers his manservant has laid out for him and the silky black robe he tossed onto a high-backed chair as he stalks across the chamber. His bare feet slap against the marble floors making a kissing sound.

  “What?” Cygni growls as he rips the door open and peers down at the cowering man.

  “It is the King, Highness.” The valet’s eyes are red and blotchy like he’s been crying. “He has been murdered.”

  Cygni feels a force sucking the air from his lungs making it impossibly hard to breathe. “What?” His voice comes out strange, strangled.

  The valet looks startled at Cygni’s confusion and sinks to his knees. Bowing his head he says in a voice loud enough to be heard down the corridor,”Long live King Cygni of the House Golongai.”

  “Long may he reign,” voices of servants echo in answer bouncing off the stone walls of the corridor.

  Still standing in the doorway and glancing warily at the valet, Cygni misses the cogs and wheels turning in the heads of the wenches lying repose in the massive bed behind him.

  “I want to see him,” Cygni clears his throat. His voice waivers, “Take me to my father.”

  The valet looks up in alarm, “Are you quite sure, Your Majesty?”

  “Never mind,” Cygni pushes past the valet, “I’ll find him myself.”

  Black robe billowing in his wake, a murderous look upon his face daring anyone to try and stop him, Cygni sends servants scattering out of his path as he thunders down the corridor. The valet who brought Cygni the news struggles to catch up, yelling protests as Cygni turns the corner into the northern wing of the palace.

  The doors to his father’s chambers are thrown open. A kitchen maid barely old enough to have employment in the palace sobs in the arms of one of the stablehands in the hallway but Cygni barely spares them a glance as he storms into his father’s bedchamber.

  Cygni stops short just inside the room. The bank of windows that overlook the royal gardens are thrown open letting the brisk, moist air inside.

  The cold stabs through him like knives as his eyes fall to his father’s bed.

  Cygni’s father lays peacefully tucked into bed, his hands folded gracefully over his broad chest. If it were not for the unnatural yellow pallor of his skin and his blood soaked pillow and nightshirt you could convince yourself the king was blissfully asleep. But Cygni’s father, the King of Vacantia, has been poisoned.

  In the doorway between his father and his stepmother Lyra’s chambers, Lyra kneels chastising Cygni’s younger half-siblings Veyla and Corvi for showing too much emotion while the servants are present. After all, they are of royal blood and should keep their feelings in check.

  “Their father lies dead in this very room and you are denying them the authenticity of their feelings?” Cygni’s voice echoes in the high-ceilinged chamber drawing attention to his arrival.

  The royal healer stops his examination of King Pavo and bows to Cygni.

  “It is improper,” Lyra glares at Cygni’s interruption. “What are you doing here? Who summoned you?”

  “He. Was. My. Father.” Cygni reminds her through gritted teeth.

  “Perhaps,” Lyra arches an eyebrow cruelly.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Cygni demands as Corvi’s lip begins to tremble and he clutches Veyla’s arm tightly.

  “It means we shall see,” Lyra shrugs.

  Cygni restrains himself before he takes a swing at her and makes a scene in front of his younger siblings and the royal healer. Turning back to the healer Cygni asks, “Any sign as to what the poison was?”

  “Oh, um, yes,” the healer pales, thinking Cygni is calling him out on listening to his argument with his stepmother. “Based on the color of his skin and the blood that exited his ears, nose, and mouth it appears that King Pavo was given a dose of Crackcuss venom. If you’ll come over here I’ll show you where I believe the venom was administered.”

  “This is outrageous.” Lyra shrieks, “Must you discuss such ghastly things while my young children are present?”

  “You’re free to leave the room any time you wish,” Cygni glares at her as he moves to join the healer at the side of his father’s bed. “But first, where were you last night when my father lay bleeding to death?”

  “How dare you accuse me!” Lyra launches herself at Cygni and starts pounding her fists into his chest.

  “I don’t accuse anyone,” Cygni retorts, “I merely wish to ascertain your whereabouts last evening.”

  “Pavo and I haven’t shared a bed in years,” Lyra snarls. “I sleep in the adjoining bedchamber.”

  Cygni raises an eyebrow but remain silent on the revelation. Turning his back to her he steps closer to see what the healer is looking at, “Show me what you wanted me to see.”

  Behind him, Lyra sighs dramatically and grabs her children’s hands in hers as she stomps f
rom the room.

  The royal healer watches Lyra go before turning back to Cygni’s father’s corpse. “If you’ll see here, there is a tiny puncture wound right here.”

  Cygni leans in closer still to see what the healer is pointing to, “What do you think caused it?”

  “A pin or some other sharp, small object.” The healer surmises. “Something long and slender that when poked into the skin would be light enough to not disturb King Pavo. But I also believe his wine was poisoned, or at the very least drugged, to make him sleep deeply so he wouldn’t awaken and put up a struggle when someone entered the bedchamber.”

  Cygni nods numbly as he stares at his father’s body. This was not supposed to happen. Cygni was not supposed to become king at this age. His father should have lived on for twenty or thirty more years at least.

  Straightening to his full height Cygni turns to the doctor, “Fetch the general of the royal guard and tell him everything you have just told me. Tell him to lock the palace down, doors, windows, all entrances and exits. Nobody comes or goes. There is a killer among us.”

  ❖

  By nightfall, the palace is on high alert and beyond the castle gates the city of Vanyia is in an uproar. Servants scuttle through the halls, their hurried footsteps echoing off the walls as they eye everyone they pass with suspicion. The palace guards search the castle from top to bottom, from the tallest spire to the dank basement dungeon searching for their killer. They will not rest until he or she is found.