Queen Yavara Ch. 46

YAVARA

It was two in the morning when Zander shook me awake.

"What?" I groaned.

"King Dreus is calling you."

"You think he'll break this time?" I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and sat up.

"I think he's ready."

I sighed. "Make me look pretty, Zander."

He cast a spell, and my disheveled appearance righted itself, makeup was applied to my face, and my eyes were cleared of redness. I threw on yesterday's clothes, walked over to the mirror, and palmed the glass.

"Yes, You Highness?" I asked.

"We can make a deal." He said.

"Your son confessed. We have nothing to discuss."

"You know damn-well that confession means nothing."

"The evidence means quite a bit. The calls between he and Bentius, the Lowland assassin, the stuff we found in the embassy; Your Highness, I wish it were not so, but it is."

Albert Dreus pulled at his beard. "What do you want?"

"There's nothing you can give me that will stay my judgement. Alexa was beloved, and my people demand justice."

"Matthew is beloved, and my people will demand justice!" He growled, "Can you not see that this was a frame-job by Leveria?"

"The crucial evidence wasn't what was found in the embassy; it was the communications, Your Highness. Did Leveria anticipate that Zander would find a way to monitor relay traffic?"

"It's possible."

"You know that's not enough."

His beard quivered. "He is my son. That should be enough."

I glanced at Zander. He nodded, and I looked back at the mirror. "Prince Matthew is guilty of conspiring against Alkandra, but I don't think he knew he was part of an assassination. He loved Alexa dearly, and would never knowingly bring harm upon her, or anyone for that matter. He's a gentle soul. I think he was led astray by someone he trusts and admires. If you can provide me with the knowledge of who that person may be, then Prince Matthew will find himself on a boat tomorrow instead of on scaffolding. Zander will cast an illusion spell, and we'll give the crowd a fun little snuff show. As a show of good faith, I am willing to delay the execution a day. This will give you time to think on your answer."

"I don't need to think on my answer! There is no conspiracy!" Dreus growled.

"Perhaps there's simply not one you know about."

"Speak it then."

I beckoned to Zander, and he handed me his notepad. "Something we found rather interesting, was that the majority of Leveria's communications to the Lowlands weren't with you; they were with Arthur. Do you know that the crown prince is in regular contact with her?"

"No." He said implacably.

I glanced at Zander once more. He made a continuing motion with his finger, and I looked back at the mirror. "Your Highness, Leveria could never send an assassin to Alkandra; every corner of the Great Forest is being watched. She had to use contacts within the Lowlands to get the assassin there. Her only contact with the Lowlands besides you, was Crown Prince Arthur Dreus. So either you sent the assassin, or he did."

He stared back at the mirror, his face not emoting anything.

I looked at Zander a third time, and he nodded. It was time. "Your Highness," I said, looking back at him, "we found out which sigil is Lord Lucas Ternias's sigil, and we know which one yours is. You and Lucas Ternias talked many times a day, but then you stopped. When I asked you if you could relay a message to him, you told me I would be disappointed. Was that because you had stopped sending aid to Ternias before then?"

"It was."

"And I understand that you supported Ternias because he was vehemently against peace with Alkandra."

"And he was trustworthy."

"'Was' being the operative word." I smirked, "You were afraid that he changed his stance on Alkandra. You were afraid that I would make a deal with him. When you left that meeting, Zander saw a communication pop up between you and an unknown sigil in the Highlands. A day later, another communication between you and that unknown sigil popped up, and the conversation was very brief. So brief, in fact, that it hardly registered on the mirror at all, like it was just a single word. An hour later, someone tried to kill Elena Straltaira."

King Dreus did not say anything. He did not even flinch. He stared back at the mirror as though he were looking through me. It enraged me.

"Who sent the assassin to Alkandra, Albert?" I asked, my voice quiet, but tense, "Was it you, or was it that bastard son of yours?"

He took a slow breath through his nose, and let it out, the air flowing through his thick mustache. The gears of his mind worked behind his eyes, but he said nothing.

"Do you even know who you're talking to right now?" I whispered shakenly, "Can you fathom it at all? I have a horde of seasoned butchers that would blacken your streets with their numbers, but I wouldn't need a single orc if I wanted to turn Ardeni to ash before noon. I would just need to wake up early."

King Dreus reached forward, and palmed the glass.

LEVERIA

The watchmen had ranged their ballista down the bridge, and chased the guardsmen back behind the first wall. The watchmen poured in after them, their ballista blowing open the gate before the guardsmen could close it. The golden-armored royal guard formed a crescent about the gate, and slaughtered the watchmen as they came, but there were so many. Little by little, the crescent thinned, and soon the guardsmen began to tactically retreat, syphoning off men to hold a secondary position while those before them died.

I snuggled in Elena's dress upon the bed, trying to ignore what was happening. I wished beyond anything to feel her upon me, but the fantasy was a good enough escape. I would join her soon. I didn't believe in an afterlife, but there was some comfort in the idea of becoming the same nothing she was.

The mirror illuminated behind the drained corpse of my husband. King Dreus was calling for me. Well, wallowing in self-pity and waiting to die were hardly the best ways to live out my last moments. I would die doing what I loved. I walked over to the mirror, not bothering to move Eric out of the shot, and I palmed the glass.

"Albert." I smirked.

"Your... Highness?" He asked, his eyes going wide, "Is that...?"

"We broke up." I said, "Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Do I hear... Your Highness, is there a battle happening over there?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" I giggled, "The watchmen have decided they don't like me very much. They want a new queen. So congratulations, Albert, and well done."

His face contorted. "The plan was never for there to be a coup!"

"Plans do change. Have you gotten a call from Yavara yet? I had hoped Zander would've put two-and-two together by now, but perhaps I gave him too much credit. The idiot did leave his staff out in plain view while disguising himself as a child."

He scowled at me. "She called."

"And does Matthew still have his head?"

"Matthew isn't my concern right now." He growled.

"That's a hell of a thing for a father to say." I grinned, "But of course, there's always a favorite child. It's too bad yours turned out to be a bad seed. My father made the same mistake."

"What were you and Arthur planning?!" He said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, nothing good. Not for you." I tittered musically.

"Tell me."

"Why, so you can ruin it?" I asked, then shrugged, "I guess it doesn't much matter now. I wanted to start a war between you and Yavara, but I knew that no matter what happened, you'd only ever go so far as sanctioning her. That wasn't good enough for me. I needed someone with the balls to use the Lowland navy. Perhaps the naval commander would do it?"

His mustache quivered.

I grinned, "Did Prince Arthur issue a naval training exercise three days ago? Did he tell you the fleet was promenading to the summer isles? Or was he concerned that the dock was vulnerable to a storm, and set the galleys to sea?"

He collected himself admirably, and let out a slow breath. "He would never wage war against my will. He knows that violence is the cheapest form of power."

"You're right about him, of course. Arthur is on his way to blockade the Alkandran Bay and force Yavara to the negotiating table. That is, until he hears about the unjust murder of his beloved little brother." I grinned, "Oh, you thought he knew of it? Arthur was never as callous as you or me. I sent the assassin through a portal to Ardeni, then filled the relay traffic with talk between Arthur and myself, and let Zander pick up the breadcrumbs. By the time the assassin's boat docked at Alkandra, your son and I had quite a repour in the wizard's eye."

"And the talks you had with Matthew?" He growled.

"Why would I ever talk with that pathetic fool? I had Adrianna draw his sigil when she called me."

His mustache quivered again. "You made a fatal error, Your Highness." He hissed, "You thought you turned Arthur against me? He's my son!"

"You made a fatal error, Your Highness," I gave him a pitying look, "you sent an assassin to kill the woman I love. Ever since you made that choice, your days have been numbered." I leaned in, and grinned wolfishly at him. "How can you not see it? How could you listen to my confessional, and think you would breathe a second past its finale? How could you look in the mirror, and not once see your own reflection? I'm dead, but at least I realize it." My smile broadened, "The realization tends to hit us quite suddenly."

There was a moment where King Dreus's face went beautifully pale, and he saw the pair of eyes over his left shoulder. Then a sliver appeared in his throat. His eyes went wide, and he coughed. Blood speckled the glass, and the sliver moved across his throat, and parted his neck. He pitched forward, his head wobbling on the half of his neck that was still attached, his bulging eyes writhing, still disbelieving of what had happened. He collapsed out of view, and my assassin came into view. She wiped her blade clean, gave me a curt bow, and palmed the mirror. In all the times I'd used her, I'd never once learned her name. It saddened me for some reason.

A low boom alerted me that the courtyard below had been taken, and the inner doors had been blown off their hinges. I grabbed a tincture of opium, and measured out a lethal dose into a syringe. I decided that self-defenestration was wholly out of character for me. Death by lethal injection seemed more apropos, and a lot less terrifying.

ELENA

The noble district was in utter chaos. Flames leapt from house to house, the gentry flooded into the streets in their nightwear, and the watchmen surrounded the dwindling pockets of royal guards, leaving a dozen of their own dead writhing on the cobblestones, hacked to pieces by the great-swords of the golden-shelled warriors. Two guardsmen were in the middle of Oak Street, fighting back-to-back against a hundred watchmen, and exacting their toll. Their long blades cut through armor like butter, splitting their enemies into grotesque shapes, every sweep sending limbs and detached torsos toppling from their bearers. I needed to get past them, but I saw no way between the burning rows of buildings and the spinning meat cleavers at their center.

"Sister, bless me." One watchman groaned. He was gone beneath the ribcage, a horrific diagonal cut turning him into a quarter of a man. I touched his brow with one hand, and put my dagger into his brainstem with the other.

"Sister, deliver me." Another man croaked. This one was still one piece, but he'd been split from the clavicle to the navel. I performed the same blessing on him.

"Sister!" One man screamed. He tried to hold his pink entrails in, but the rupture of his abdominal wall had caused them to burst. I gave him my fatal farewell.

I did this all along the street, following the carnage until my sleeves were soaked in blood, and my shoes squelched with it. I stopped when I reached the edge of the carnage, waiting patiently behind the backs of the watchmen who stabbed desperately at the guardsmen. One of the guardsmen had been brought to his knees, but still he felled his foes, even more ferocious now that his life had been taken. The watchmen thrusted their pikes at him, and he took the blows, letting the points stab into his armor and flesh so that they could not be torn out. Those who had dealt the mortal blows were caught in the lightning arc of his blade, and they were all split by it, their bodies dropping before me. The guard's eyes fell upon me, and he roared, "STOP!"

To my amazement, they did. The fifty watchmen who remained turned to look at me, and they shuffled out of the way. Many touched their brows, and muttered, "Sister," and others averted their gazes in shame. Bewildered, I walked through the path, and blessed each man along my way. I touched the brow of the dying guardsmen, and an expression of great peace crossed his face. I blessed the other guardsmen, and he nodded gravely. To the watchmen at their flanks, I offered more meaningless consecrations, and many of them took my words as if they'd been spoken by god herself. Then I walked past the last of the men, and the fighting immediately continued. I did not stand to watch it. I sprinted down Oak Street, rounded the corner, and came upon the castle moat. The gate had been broken open, the inner doors had been breached, and the ground was littered with dead. I looked up at the high tower, where a light still flickered.

"Why are you still there, you stubborn fucking woman?" I growled. I raced around the moat to its channel in the Bentius bay, then dove in. The cold water seized me, but I gritted through it, riding the current until the stream took me into the bay itself. There, at the base of the castle, was a wrought-iron drainage outlet. I swam to it, climbed onto the slippery rocks, and pulled it. Of course, it did not budge, but I only was trying to ascertain where the hinges were. I prayed that the coverings had been corroded, and reached between the bars to feel the hidden hinges on the other side. Rust flaked away with the brush of my fingers. I found the screws, and felt the notches. There were four screws, two for each hinge, and by the girth of them, I expected that they went into the stone at least four inches deep. I didn't know how much time I had. I estimated that at least sixty of the hundred guardsmen were dead outside the castle. The rest would be fighting backwards up the steps to the high tower, exacting a terrible toll on those who pursued them. The further up the castle the fighting went, the narrower the corridors became, and the less numbers mattered, but even the royal guard got tired, and the watchmen always had fresh legs to charge.

"Twenty minutes." I told myself optimistically.

I slipped my dagger through the bars, and slid it into one of the notches. I twisted, and felt the metal of the screwhead give way.

"Shit!" I gasped. I felt the notch with my finger once more, praying that I hadn't stripped it completely. The metal was soft with rust, but the notch was still intact. I chewed on my lip, slid the dagger into it once more, and meticulously sawed toward myself, and into the notch. Once I was sure I was deep enough into the head, I gradually applied torque to the screw until mercifully, it gave. From there, it was just a painstaking task of finding the notch and applying a half-rotation of torque before doing it again. I counted the seconds with my heartbeats, forcing myself to remain composed. Just one moment of impatience would strip the screwhead, and all would be lost. I looked up at the length of the high tower. Torchlight flickered through the arched windows, and violent shadows moved just four floors beneath the top.

"Ten minutes." I growled. Three minutes later, the first screw came out. Three more to go.

SHERMAN HUNTIATA

The stairway was a waterfall of corpses. Men ran up it, and pieces rained down it, bouncing off the walls, rolling down the brutal stone steps, now slick with red.

"Go!" I yelled. The boy before me shook his head, his eyes wide with terror. I grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him up with me. "Don't stop pressing!" I yelled to the men behind me as I dragged the lad up, "They can't fight forever! Wear them down, and they will break!"

The clash of steel sounded louder with every footfall. The curved walls of the spiraling staircase became dark between the torches, then grew lighter as we rounded the bend. The violent shadows of battle shown on the bricks, the screams of agony, the roars of manic wrath. The boy tried to shake himself out of my grip, but I held him fast, my other hand gripping my sword.

"Son, there's only one way out of this for the both of us." I growled, "You better find your juice quick." The screams and clashes became louder and louder until we were right behind the backs of the platoon ahead of us. "Relief!" I shouted, "Relief! Relief! Left side! Left side!"

The men in front of us began peeling off from their attack, rolling down the left side of the corridor, their faces haggard, their eyes unfocused. I hustled to fill the spaces they left, not wanting to give the beleaguered defenders a moment of reprieve. When the last watchmen rolled down the left side, a wall of dead bodies was revealed, and behind them, the golden-shelled guardsmen bared their teeth behind their great-swords.

"Kill the fuckers!" I yelled, and rushed into the pointy ends, dragging the boy with me. There was a concurrent roar behind me, and we surged up the steps. The guardsmen came down to meet us, and we clashed over the wall of dead. I cross blades with a man whose eye had been put out. His breath was stinking in my face as he screamed, his other eye bulging. We pressed together, our blades shearing, matching muscle to muscle. He overpowered me, and my arms gave way, shot to the left, and imbedded my blade into the boy's neck. I ripped it out as he went down gurgling, and hacked at the man in front of me. There was no space to swing. All we could do was drive against each other, the men behind us adding their weight. Slowly, the line pushed up the steps.

The men behind me thrusted over my shoulder, glancing their swords off the armor of the one-eyed bastard. His wrists torqued against mine, our blades grinding, angling for position. He heaved forward, and the edge of my blade pressed against me, splitting into my chest.

"Die, you fucker!" He snarled, "Die! Die!"

My grip failed me. The sword twisted in my hand, and the flat of my own blade smashed me square in the face. I toppled back into the man behind me, and he pushed his weight up into my shoulders, forcing me against the one-eyed bastard's sword. His blade cut into my nose, splitting the cartilage, working slowly into the bone. I was screaming, the blood pouring into my mouth, the pain rushing into my head.

"Die, you fucker!" He snarled, spittle peppering my face, his stinking breath filling the new hole in my nose. My arms were pinned against me, my own sword was flat on my chest. I let go of the handle, and grasped desperately for the knife at my side, leaning back into the man behind me, trying to escape that searing blade that cut into my nose.

"DIE!" The man screamed. I wrapped my hand around the knife, dragged it up my body, and shoved it into his eyehole. He shrieked, and I stabbed into it over and over, the pink stuff flying out, the shrieks becoming higher until they cut out, and he slumped against me.

"Push!" I roared, and then men behind me heaved against me. The line gave way suddenly, a row of guardsmen fell backward, dead. Those behind were retreating up the spiraling staircase. I could see the end of them. There were less than twenty left, and only two floors before the royal chambers.