THE SIGHT OF HIS WIFE

I am not a queen because I rule, I rule because I am THE QUEEN.

Birthed in my heart. Alive in my veins…

***************

Elias Demetrius noted Helga’s stare and wanted to ask if she recognized the man- but he remembered the soldier’s announcement earlier and he held his tongue.

There would be time later.

Zorgan’s gaze then fell on the soldier who had brought the bindings. A faded red mark marred the center of his forehead.

“You are a captain now, right?’’ Zorgan asked, even though he already knew the answer.

He takes pride in recognizing as many soldiers – heroes as he likes to call them – as possible in the South. In a way, it made soldiers feel special, feel seen. The man smiled and nodded.

“Then why were you being used for target practice?’’

To Zorgan, nothing soured a command more than cruelty among its own.

The arrow, though dulled and wooden had been aimed at a man whose station should have spared him such folly.

The soldier was bewildered and frozen.

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t admit that the wife of he who was questioning him had fired the shot.

That the leather veil- a ceremonial mask worn in olden drills – had barely softened the blow of her wrath. He had tried to possibly harm her brutally and she had tried to kill him.

Zogan’s eyes narrowed.

‘‘Are you being punished or has the command’s code been rewritten in my absence?’’

‘‘No, Prince Commander. I… volunteered.

The recruits needed demonstration, they didn’t understand what it meant to be a moving target.

I thought… I thought to show them’’ he lied clean.

“Very well,’’ Zorgan said and patted his shoulder in encouragement.

Ivan Juno Cassius felt the quaking of the soldier. He remembered him. The whip… the arrogance.

Retribution would come… most definitely.

*****************

Tonas Garveth was taken from the Infernal Keep to one of the Stonehalls of Valcresh, a somber, ancient chamber reserved for rare councils between rulers.

Crafted from ironwood and duskstone, the stonehall carried the weight of old diplomacy- quiet, cold and merciless.

At the high table sat the King of Valcresh, King of Adabbon, King of Uthmere and four leaders of the Free Lands.

Tonas recognized each face of The Free the moment he entered.

Commander Zorgan led the procession with grim silence. Tonas followed, flanked by two guards in midnight armour.

As they reached the center, Zorgan stepped aside, allowing the gathered rulers a full view of the prisoner.

‘‘Come forward Tonas’’ One of the Free Land leaders called.

‘‘Remain,’’ came the cool interruption of the King of Valcresh.

Tension drew taut like a bowstring.

‘‘We had an agreement!’’ a Free Land chief hissed.

‘‘Did we?’’ The King of Valcresh replied, raising a goblet lazily to his lips.

‘‘I recall no such thing.’’

‘‘What more do you want?’’ another barked, eyes sharp. ‘‘You have taken more than you need. More than you should.’’

“Nothing,’’ said the King.

‘‘Not now.

What I want is understanding.

Why is this man so valuable to you? You crossed into my lands, sought my son- feared by most – to recover someone lost twelve moons ago. I want to know why.’’

He cast his gaze slowly from one leader to the next. ‘‘Tell me what he is.’’

None spoke.

Their silence was loud- not of respect but of entrapment. This was a moment they had hoped would never come. They knew the danger of the truth, but they also knew Valcresh – where silence was often taken as invitation for worse.

At last one of the leaders gestured to Tonas.

‘‘It’s-” Tonas began, voice hoarse, “-it’s been long My Chiefs. My time in the Keep has weakened me. I fear I-”

Steel kissed his neck, a whisper of death from the soldier behind him. The Free Land leaders rose half from their seats, startled.

‘‘Lower your blade,’’ one snapped.

‘‘You will speak as commanded,’’ the soldier said into Tonas’s ear. “Or speak no more.’’

Tonas nodded quickly and the knife dropped. The soldier shoved him forward and all eyes became solely centred on him.

Tonas closed his eyes and for a moment, he struggled with the beats in his chest.

His lips moved and for a moment, nothing happened- then he vanished, leaving only a dark shadow on the floor.

‘‘Heavens preserve us!’’ The King of Adabbon cried, diving from his chair. A gasp of horror broke out.

The shadow remained, stretching across the cold stone floor like a scar left behind and Zorgan narrowed his eyes as he studied the silhouette.

The world held strange things and this was certainly one of them.

Magic- old magic – stirred in the Stonehall.

‘‘Incredible,’’ The King of Valcresh muttered as the shock of what their eyes was beholding confounded them further.

‘‘I wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t seen it myself.

But isn’t his province extinct? Even before their last ruler died?’’

‘‘What if he doesn’t return? He may be the last of his kind!’’ One leader snarled in apprehension.

No one paid him any mind, their gazes fixed on the shadow.

Tonas reappeared moments later, gasping for breath as if he had run miles. Blood streamed from his nose and immediately he lifted his fingers to it, he collapsed.

‘‘Tonas!’’ two leaders called out in alarm, but the King of Valcresh held up a hand. “He’ll live,’’ he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

‘‘Such gifts cost dearly and his blood remembers a strain of power the world has forgotten. But he’ll live.’’

The Free Leaders looked at him with thinly veiled fury. They exchanged uneasy glances, knowing he wasn’t done asking for more.

They had to divert his attention.

One of the leaders turned sharply to Zorgan.

‘‘You recall the man you sent to rot in the Keep a cycle past? Yes this is him. One of your very bad decisions.’’

Another added, ‘‘You might even be likeable if you weren’t so intent on destroying us, you just seem determined to bathe every solution in blood.’’

A thin smile curled on Zorgan’s lips. ‘‘Order, Leader Margo.

A world without it descends into madness and it must be kept at all times.

I believe you of all people comprehends.’’

Margo’s hand slammed the table. ‘‘You speak of order while grinning like a jackal. You enjoy this. Death, fear, power- it all excites you.’’

Zorgan knew the truth. He became a soldier because of his brother and a part of his life was for his brother’s promise.

Before the tension could explode, King of Uthmere cut in with sharp authority. ‘‘Enough! You will not speak to Commander Zorgan that way.

Sit. Now!’’

Zorgan moved towards the table. For a moment he remained still, calm. Then his hands pressed against the polished obsidianwood table, a rare relic forged from trees found only in the depth of depths of forests.

His voice was low, but no one missed a syllable.

‘‘I don’t believe your stories here today. I know you’re lying and you know I do. Those Strays caught, I believe they are yours.

I know one of them bled with your clan’s mark.

You trained them. Hid them. Lied for them.’’

He leaned in.

‘‘I revel in the death of what threatens us. You threaten us.

Perhaps you are one of the superiors they swore would come and I should have your tongue this instant.’’

His voice dropped.

‘‘You are in luck, I have somewhere to be Leader Margo. A soul expects me, otherwise this would have ended…very… very differently.’’

He turned to leave when Margo sneered.

‘‘A soul expecting you?

Must be a stray hound- only a mutt could wait for a brute like you.’’

Zorgan turned mid-step, smile sharp.

‘‘No stray hound,’’ he said softly. ‘‘Just my wife.’’

He turned again to leave.

Leader Margo laughed bitterly.

‘‘Then your wife is the stray hound,’’ he spat. ‘‘Everyone says she acts like one. Drinks like a sailor, talks above her station. A proper mongrel.’’

The room froze, then tightened. The air grew heavy and even the fire in the hearth dimmed.

Like a phantom, he crossed the room in heartbeats.

Soldiers from both sides- those from the Leaders of the Free and the kingdoms of the South present- surged to block him, but he smashed through them like a beast unchained. Five men hit the floor, noses bleeding.

Zorgan’s hand wrapped around Margo’s throat and slammed him against the stone wall. His grip tightened, knuckles pale, and the leader’s boots kicked uselessly against the air.

‘‘Zorgan!’’ barked the King of Valcresh. ‘‘Let him go. Now!’’

‘If you will not punish him for his words,’’ Zorgan growled, ‘then kill me when I’m done.’’

Margo’s face began to turn a deep purple, his life was easing away gradually and painfully.

‘‘Zorgan,’’ another voice called, sharp and familiar.

Queen Maeve stood at the far entrance. Graceful and unbending, her presence struck like lightning.

Her eyes, cold and commanding, focused on her son.

Zorgan paused.

He looked at his mother and then back at Leader Margo who no longer had a willing bone in his body to fight back.

His fingers trembled once- then unclenched.

Leader Margo collapsed to the floor in a scrambling and gasping heap.

Zorgan stood over him, his voice low and burning. ‘‘The next time my gaze falls on you, I will not stop.

The next time I see you, your life will be mine’’

Everyone stared, some in fear and others in wonder. He has always been a principled man and one of high conduct.

But now, he was something else- something they could not predict.

Only one name was responsible, a girl from Isoloth- Nadezhda.

Without another word, Zorgan strode past his mother. She watched him with eyes that did not blink, eyes that no longer saw her son as she once had.

Outside the air was crisp and alive with distant storm light. He mounted his horse without hesitation and galloped toward his home, leaving behind a room of rulers, cowards and consequences.

He desired the sight of his wife and he needed her immediately.