A Rule of Queens (Book #13 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (11 page)

She looked at them all, filled with a fresh
determination. She was determined to go—for their sake. It was time to pick up
the pieces. It was time to leave behind her sorrows. It was time to lead.

“They are right about one thing,” Gwen said. “It
is time to make a decision. It is time to move on.”

They all looked at her with silent expectation,
all, she could see, waiting to be led.

“Tomorrow,” she said, “we march. Live or die,
it is time to move on. To find a new home. A real home. Live or die,” she said,
looking them all in the eyes, “we are going to find the Second Ring.”

Alistair opened her eyes slowly, feeling a deep
sense of peace as she lay in Erec’s arms in the kingly four-poster bed, on silk
sheets, atop a pile of silk pillows, in the newly reconstructed King’s
chambers. Dawn was breaking slowly over the Southern Isles, visible through
their open air bedroom, and birds were already chirping on this temperate day,
soft ocean breezes rolling through the window. Alistair could smell the
fragrance of all the fruit trees blossoming.

It was another divine day here on the Southern
Isles, another day in Erec’s arms, the two of them finally happy together,
having all the time in the world to spend with each other, and never tiring of each
other’s company. As she lay there in his arms, his body warm, Alistair thanked
the gods for how lucky she was to have finally found peace and contentment in her
life. For once, the woes of the world were not intruding on their relationship.
She had been given a respite in the endless chaos of her life.

Erec slowly woke, sensing she was awake, as he
always did, and he looked at her and smiled. His light blue eyes were shining
in the morning sun, and she could feel his love as he stared at her.

“Before the dawn, my love?” he said.

She smiled.

“I am excited,” she said. “I am thinking of my
dress.”

He smiled.

“Our wedding is a week off still, my love,” he
said. “Try not to weary yourself.”

They kissed, and they held it for a long time.
Alistair laid her head on his chest.

She could already hear the distant sound of the
workers outside her window, already hard at work before the sun rose for the
preparations for their wedding to come. The entire island was abuzz with
activity. It had given them something to focus on, to be joyous about, at the
time they needed it the most. It had given them all something to rally around,
to shake off the gloom of the civil war that had happened one moon cycle ago. Now,
finally, they could all be united under Erec’s kingship. And by their love for
Alistair.

Excited, Alistair rose from bed, threw on her
robe, and drifted out to the balcony. She stood there, looking out on it all,
reveling in it, and enjoyed watching all the preparations, all the banquets
being laid out, dish after dish already being rolled out in preparation. Endless
rows of flowers were being set and shaped, casks of ail put into place, and the
tournament grounds set up. All with a week still to go.

Erec came up beside her, draping an arm around
her waist.

“I never thought this day would come,” Alistair
said.

“Are you sad your family will not be here?” he asked.
“Thorgrin?”

Alistair sighed. She had thought about that
many times.

“Of course, I would like them all here, Thorgrin,
Gwendolyn, and all those we love from King’s Court. Perhaps, though, one day we
can have a second wedding, in the Ring, in King’s Court.”

Erec smiled.

“I would like that,” he replied. “Very much. In
fact, after our wedding, why don’t we return? Visit the Ring?”

Alistair’s eyes widened.

“Really?” she asked.

“Why not?” he said. “We rushed here to see my
father before his death. Now that he is gone, I see no reason why we cannot
visit our homeland. We can have a second wedding. King’s Court would be
thrilled to host us.”

Alistair laughed at the idea.

“I can’t think of anything finer,” she said, “than
to be married to you twice.”

She leaned over and they kissed again, and Alistair
felt so at peace in the world. She was finally exactly where she wanted to be.
She loved this place with all her heart, loved Erec even more, could not wait
to have Erec’s children here, to build a life here. It felt like home to her.
For the first time in her life, she felt as if she had really found her home.

There came a sudden bang on the door, the
familiar knock of their steward, two short quick knocks, and Erec turned and
hurried over to the thick, oak door, opening it.

In marched Erec’s chief steward, bowing quickly,
looking frazzled.

“Your grace,” he said.

Erec laughed.

“It’s too early in the morning to be harried,”
Erec said. “You must learn to pace yourself.”

The steward shook his head.

“Too many matters of court pressing, I’m
afraid,” he replied.

Entering behind him was Alistair’s lady in
waiting, a kind, portly woman in her fifties.

“Your grace,” she said, then turned to
Alistair. “My Queen.”

“Forgive me, your grace,” the steward said,
“but there are many pressing matters of court to attend to.”

“And what matters can be so pressing before the
sun has even risen?” Erec asked.

“Well, let us see,” the steward said, checking
a scroll. “There are matters of the treasury. Matters of the wedding
preparations; matters of the reconstruction; matters of the training grounds; matters
of our soldiers and armor and weaponry and supplies; matters of ports; of
broken ships; matters of agriculture; matters of…”

Erec put up a hand.

“I shall come,” he said. “But I shall not sit
in another meeting past midday. I want to get out and plan the Royal Hunt.”

“Very well, your grace,” the steward said,
bowing.

“My lady,” Alistair’s attendant said, coming up
beside her, “there are many queenly matters for you, as well. There are new
designs for you to review of all the new buildings and orchards; there are wedding
dressed to be examined; there are matters of entertainment—”

Alistair raised a hand.

“Whatever you need,” she said, bracing herself
for another long day of court matters.

Erec waved them both off.

“Please leave us,” he said. “Let us get dressed
and we will follow.”

They both bowed and hurried from the room, and Erec
turned to Alistair with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he said. “The days come
upon us too quickly.”

Alistair leaned in and kissed him, and as Erec
turned to get dressed, Alistair turned the opposite way and drifted back out
onto the balcony. She stood there alone, at the open-air arched stone entrance,
looking out over the island. Standing here, looking down, it was even more
beautiful, more perfect, the fresh breeze caressing her face.

I love this place,
she thought.
With
all my heart, I really do. Please, God, never take it away from me.

*

“But how do I know he’s
genuine
?” came
the question.

Alistair turned and saw Dauphine sitting beside
her, asking the same question for the third time, as Alistair stood there, arms
out, getting fitted for her wedding dress. Attending her were all her ladies-in-waiting,
Dauphine and her mother-in-law-to-be among them, getting outfitted in their
own dresses as they joined her on this joyous occasion. They all stood on a
marble plaza, high up on a plateau overlooking the countryside, all the girls
giggling, happy.

“Alistair?”

As Alistair looked back at Dauphine, lost in
thought, she marveled at how much their relationship had changed. Every day over
the last moon cycle, Dauphine had sought out her company, had nearly clung to
her side, having become more than a sister-in-law-to-be: she was now also a
best friend. Dauphine confided everything in her, seeing her, clearly, as the
sister she’d never had, and oddly enough, Dauphine was now even closer to
Alistair than she had been to Erec. They had become nearly inseparable over the
last moon, and Alistair marveled over the twists and turns of life. She could
not help but remember back to when she had first arrived on the islands, and Dauphine would not even look at her. Now, she not only had Dauphine’s respect, she had her
love.

“You never answered me!” Dauphine said.

“I’m sorry,” Alistair said, snapping out of it.
“What was the question?”

Dauphine
sighed in exasperation. “Weddings really do
make brides air-headed! I’ll ask again: how do I know if he’s
genuine
?”

Alistair remembered now. Dauphine had been
going on about her new suitor, a famed knight from the lower regions of the Southern
Isles, who had been wooing her intensely the entire past moon cycle.

“Last night, he took me on a boat ride beneath
the moonlight,” Dauphine said. “He professes his love for me daily. And now he
asks for my hand in marriage.”

“And why shouldn’t he?” her mother said.

Dauphine
sighed.

“Why shouldn’t he?” she repeated. “It has
hardly been one moon cycle!”

“Any honorable men would not need more than one
moon cycle to know if he loves you,” her mother said.

Dauphine
turned to Alistair.

“
Please
,” she implored. “Tell me.”

Alistair examined her, seeing how in love Dauphine was.

“Do you feel that he loves you?” Alistair
asked.

Dauphine
nodded, her eyes aglow.

“With my entire heart.”

“And do you love him back?”

Dauphine
nodded, tears in her eyes.

“More than I can say.”

“Well then, you have answered it yourself. You
have a great blessing.”

“But isn’t it all too soon?” she asked. “How do
I know if he’s genuine?”

Alistair thought it over carefully.

“When the time comes you won’t need to ask the
question,” she said. “You will know.”

“And will you accept his proposal?” her mother
asked sharply.

Dauphine
reddened and looked down.

“I…don’t know yet,” she replied.

Finally, Dauphine fell silent, lost in her own
thoughts, and Alistair looked out at the countryside, enjoying the views of the
vineyards and orchards spread out amongst the cliffs, the distant glimmer of
the sparkling ocean. She could not get enough of this place. She felt her
attendants wrapping the lace on her wrists and arms, fitting her perfectly, and
she was getting more and more excited for the big day.

A sudden cool breeze wisped by, and as Alistair
looked out at the horizon, she noticed a darkening of clouds hiding the
brilliant sun, a shade passing over all of them, before the sun revealed itself
again. Alistair didn’t know why, but in that moment, she felt something dark, a
premonition, almost a vision. It had to do with her brother. Thorgrin. She suddenly
felt him in a very, very dark place. And the feeling chilled her bones.

“Alistair?” Dauphine and asked. “What’s wrong?”

Alistair, still staring out at the horizon,
shook her head quickly.

“It is nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.”

But Alistair could not stop watching the
horizon. She sensed danger. She caught her breath, feeling numb with terror, as
she sensed dark things on the horizon, and as she sensed her brother, Thorgrin,
entering a land of death.

Loti’s heart swirled with mixed emotions as she
labored in the fields with the others, using her long wooden rake to break up
rocks and soil, preparing the Empire fields for planting. It was a monotonous
and tedious exercise, one she had done nearly every day of her life, hoisting the
long wooden rake high, the shackles around her wrists preventing her from using
it as a weapon, and scraping the endless waste of the desert. As she brought it
down low, the metal cut into her wrists, scarring them, as they had for years.
She had learned to ignore the pain.

But that was not what pained her on this day; as
she dragged her rake along the earth, she thought not of her shackles, her
scars—but of Darius. She felt awful for having brushed him off the way she had,
for not having been more grateful to him for saving her life. An entire moon
cycle had passed and finally the shock of it over, she’d had time to process it
all. She still could not believe what had happened with the taskmasters, how Darius
had saved her from a life of certain hell and slavery and possibly even death.
She owed him her life—more than her life. And she had responded with cold
indifference.

Yet at the same time, she had been overwhelmed,
unsure how to react. She had never seen anyone use a magic power before, and it
stunned her to see Darius use it. Her entire life she had been taught by her
parents and elders to view magic as witchery, something to be condemned in the
strongest possible terms, the only real taboo in their village. It was magic,
she had been told, that had led to doom for her people to begin with. And to
see Darius use it—well, she did not know how to react. She had reacted impulsively,
in a way her parents would have wanted her to.

But now, as she brought the wooden rake down
again and again, dragging it into the dirt, she felt terrible for what she had
done. She wanted to run to Darius, to apologize to him, to be with him, this
boy who had overtaken her heart more than she could have imagined. She had
always suspected there was something different about him, though she wasn’t
sure what it was. He was indeed different from all the others, with his great
ability. But even more so, with his big heart. His fearlessness.

Now she had thrown it all away. All because she
was afraid, afraid of the condemnation she would receive from her parents and
the elders if she were caught with him, if they discovered his power. She was
afraid they would not understand; she was not sure she understood herself.

She had also been afraid during this last moon
cycle that any day the Empire would arrive and round her and Darius up for
having killed those men; each day she expected the bodies to be discovered. Yet
that day never came. Perhaps they were so deeply buried beneath that avalanche
after all that they would never be found. And as he fear was beginning to
dissipate, Loti was beginning to realize, even more, that she had nothing to be
afraid of, that perhaps she could even be with Darius—it he would have her
back. Perhaps it was already too late.

Loti paused for a moment, took a break as she
wiped the back of her brow, looked all about her and saw all the other girls
stationed with her on this field, all laboring away. Beside her, she was most
happy to see, was her brother, Loc. The taskmasters had added insult to injury
by assigning Loc out here in the fields with the girls, and her heart went out
to him. Then again, his entire life he had been slighted, all because of his
injury, his one leg shorter than the other, and one arm misshaped and shorter
than the other. He was even treated as an outcast in his own family, a house
full of warriors, where his mother and father looked down upon him as if he did
not even exist.

But Loti loved Loc with all her heart, and she
always had. She was determined that her abundance of love for him make up for
the lack of love he received from the others. Loti projected a tough image, she
knew, and on the outside, she was tough; but on the inside, she had a heart of
gold. In fact, she loved Loc more than all of her brothers and all of her
family. All of them overlooked what she saw front and center in Loc: a big
heart, a wide, gracious smile, and more joy and happiness than anyone she’d
ever met, even with his circumstances. Loti aspired to be like him, to be as
happy as he, to be as kind and compassionate and easygoing and as quick to
forgive as he was. She would do anything for him, and she loved his company, so
she didn’t mind that he was on work detail with her.

“You better keep working, sister,” Loc said to
her, turning with a smile, “or they’ll see you.”

Loc picked up his rake with his one good hand
and brought it down. His good arm was a strong arm, the arm of a warrior, like
his brothers, making up for the other one; yet still, without good balance, it
was hard for him. Loc was twice as slow as the girls, and it was hard for him
to pull in a straight line, each pull taking great effort. But he never
complained, and always set to his work with a huge smile.

“It is
you
who should take a break,” she
said, still catching her breath. “They assign you with a cruel task. They do it
on purpose.”

He laughed.

“I’ve been assigned much worse, my sister,” he
said. “That is of no concern to me. It is
you
I am worried about. Tell
me what has been troubling you. I can see it in your face.”

Without responding, Loti raised her rake and
went back to work. They toiled together in a comfortable silence as she
pondered how to express what was on her mind. She did not have the quick wit
that others had; she needed time to think her thoughts through. Loc respected
her, not invading her privacy, giving her time and space. That was one of the
things she loved about him. She could tell him anything, but if she wanted her
silence, he respected that.

They were falling into a steady rhythm, each
lost in their own thoughts, when suddenly, Loti heard running footsteps. Loti
turned and was horror-stricken to see an Empire taskmaster rush forward, raise
his whip, and lash Loc across the back.

Loc cried out in pain, stumbled forward, and
fell on his face.

“You fall behind the women!” the taskmaster
boomed. “You are no man!”

The taskmaster raised his whip and lashed him
again.

And again.

“Stop it!” Loti screamed, rushing forward, unable
to stand it.

All the girls stopped working and turned and
watched. Loti raced forward, not thinking, not realizing the consequences but unable
to control herself. Shackles bound her wrists with a three-foot chain between
them, and Loti rushed forward and stood between Loc and the taskmaster just as
the whip came lashing down.

Loti took the lash instead, across her
shoulder, and she screamed out in pain as she received the blow in place of her
brother, who was lying on the ground.

The taskmaster, enraged, backhanded her, and she
felt an incredible burn across her face, as she spun.

“You interfere,” he said. “I can kill you for
that.”

He kicked her with his large boot and sent her
flying face-first on the dirt and rocks.

Loti quickly spun and looked back to see him
walking toward Loc, who still lay on the ground, raising a hand to protect his
face.

The taskmaster approached and lashed him again.

“No!” Loti cried.

She jumped to her feet, seeing the cruelty in
the taskmaster’s face, knowing that he would lash her brother to death.

Loti stood there, the taskmaster’s back to her,
lashing Loc again and again, Loc covered in blood as he lay there, crying out
in pain.

Loti saw red. She could take it no more.

Loti rushed forward, leapt high into the air,
and landed on the taskmaster’s back. She wrapped her legs around his waist and
in the same motion, she lifted her shackles and wrapped the chains around the
taskmaster’s neck twice—and squeezed.

Loti squeezed and squeezed with all her might,
locked in a death grip on the iron chains, knowing that if she let go, it would
be her brother’s life—and hers. She would not let go; not even the hordes of
the world could pull her off of him.

The man was huge, his neck all muscle, a foot
wide, and he leaned back and bucked. Yet still Loti squeezed with all her might.
It was like holding onto a flailing bull.

The taskmaster reached back, gasping, dropping
the whip, and tried to grab her, again and again. He clawed at her, scratching
her wrists.

And yet still she held on, squeezing tighter.

“You disgusting pig of a man,” she cried out.
“You know my brother cannot defend himself!”

“Loti!” yelled one of her friends, another
woman, running over from her duties, trying to pull her off of him. “Don’t do
this! They will kill you! They can kill us all!”

But Loti ignored her; nothing would stop her.

The taskmaster flung her about on his back like
a wild, crazy horse, throwing her left and right; Loti felt her strength being
tested to its limits—but still she held on.

He stumbled forward, then suddenly, he went
flying backwards, driving her back, down to the ground, and landing on his back
on top of her.

The weight of him landing on top of her nearly
crushed her.

Yet still she squeezed.

As she squeezed him, Loti thought of every
indignity she’d ever suffered, that every woman had suffered here at the hands
of these men. She let her rage loose, coursing out of her hands and arms and
shoulders, and she squeezed and squeezed, wanting this taskmaster to suffer as she
had. It was her chance for vengeance. Her chance to let the Empire know that
she was powerful, too.

Yet still he struggled. He leaned forward and
then threw his head back, head-butting her backwards, the back of his skull
crushing her cheek—and a horrific pain shot through her head.

Lot, coursing with adrenaline, still did not
let go, squeezing her shaking arms, the pain shooting through her head. She did
not know how much longer she could hold on. He was too strong for her, and he
just would not die.

Loti looked up and saw him lifting his head
again. His head came flying back and he head-butted her backwards again, bashing
her nose.

This time, the pain was too much, her eyes
blinded with the blood of her nose. Involuntarily, she loosened her grip.

Loti knew she was going to die. She looked up,
expecting to see the taskmaster about to kill her.

But what she saw surprised her: instead, she saw
Loc standing over them, scowling for the first time in his life. She saw, in
that moment, the warrior in his eyes.

Loc raised his wooden rake high, and he brought
the point straight down into the taskmaster’s belly.

The taskmaster gasped, leaning forward as Loc
brought it down, again and again, cracking his ribs. It was just what Loti
needed to regain her grip on the shackles.

Loti grabbed them, doubled her grip, and she
spun around, getting on top of him, pinning him face-first in the dirt.

She squeezed all her might, her wrists bleeding
from the shackles cutting into them. Blood and sweat stung her eyes, and she
lost all sense of time and space as she squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.

It was a long time after he stopped moving that
Loti finally realized he was dead.

She looked down. He lay there, perfectly still,
all the world perfectly still, and she realized she had just killed the man.

And that nothing would ever be the same again.