Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (3 page)

Tigera could not believe his luck. For a moment he felt the desire to say a prayer of thanksgiving to Sponatrion, the God of Hoeun and his people, but then he remembered that he owed Sponatrion quite a bit of money, so he discarded that idea. After some searching, the keys to the brig were located hanging neatly on a hook on the wall.

Struggling under the weight, the small bird carried the keys back and placed them in Tigera’s waiting hands. After a minute of fidgeting, he was able to wrench his arm around enough through the bars to insert the key from the other side and release himself. That was when he noticed a second, gold-colored key on the ring. It was the key to the ship’s wage chest where the crew’s pay was kept until distributed.

He felt like shouting for joy at his good fortune, but decided to keep his mouth shut. After all, the wisdom of the hen is that she clucks only after the egg is laid. Carefully, he made his way through the corridors, listening for any sound of approaching footsteps.

Quiet as a mouse, he entered the captain’s quarters, which nearly rattled from the noise of Mina’s loud snoring. Tigera knew he was taking a terrible risk, but luck was with him tonight, and fortune favors the bold. After a quick search, he found the wage chest underneath some dirty clothes.

Tigera picked up an article of lingerie and held it up for examination. “So tacky,” he whispered to himself, then tucked the small metal chest snugly under one arm.

One minute later, he had reached the top deck, and moving swiftly and silently, made his way over to Privet’s sloop, where it hung moored to The Dreadnaught. The sliver of moonlight bathed everything in an eerie blue fog as he loosened the ropes and rolled back the canvas that covered it.

“Took you long enough.”

Tigera yelped in fright and nearly jumped out of his skin, falling backwards and dropping his chest onto the deck.

Athel stood up from within the sloop, looking exceptionally pleased with herself as she held her staff.

“H-how did you know I’d be here?” Tigera asked aloud, pulling himself up on his haunches.

She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Escaping with a sloop the night before we set sail? Who do you think left the porthole open? Who do you think put the tithe keys together with the brig keys?”

His eyes grew wide with understanding. “That was you? Oh man, why didn’t I see it? It’s just like in
Migration
.”

Athel clapped her hands. “Yes, when Janiro leaves the night before the autumn campaign against the lizard-tribes.”

He slammed the palm of his hand down in amusement. “Oh, I totally should have seen that one coming.” Alder stretched as he sat up, stiff from being curled up under the canvas for hours.

Tigera lifted up his finger and pointed it at Athel. “You are too good, do you know that?”

Athel gave a quick curtsy, then jumped down onto the deck.

Seeing her standing over him, Tigera’s smile quickly dissipated. “So, I suppose it’s back to the brig for me?”

“Hardly,” Athel said, running her finger over the top of her staff. “In fact, I came to hire you for another job.”

“Another job?” Tigera asked, eying her suspiciously.

“Or an extension of your previous one, depending on how you want to look at it. Spirea ran off, and despite all of our efforts we have been unable to locate her. Chances are she found a way off-island by this time. Only your animals can track her now.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to give you this sloop.”

Tigera could only stare at her stupidly. “I-I’m sorry. You've lost me now, what book is this from?”

“I want to hire you to track Spirea down, no matter how far she goes. She is dazed and confused. It will take some time for the afet you placed in her body to allow her real personality to surface again. Once you locate her, I want you to monitor her and continue making adjustments to the necklace around her neck that controls the afet.”

Tigera scratched his black goatee as he considered her offer. “As a beast-master my time is precious. What you are asking could take the better part of a year.”

Athel placed an armored boot over the chest he had dropped. “And you will be properly compensated. Consider this a good-faith payment. You'll receive ten-times as much when the job is done.”

In the near-darkness around the ship, hundreds of small animals were quietly gathering, answering the voiceless call of Hoeun magic, unseen by Athel and Alder,.

Tigera smiled. She wasn’t just beautiful like a swan; she was cunning like a fox. By leaving the keys out, she had tricked him into stealing the ship’s treasury. If he accepted her offer, his theft would become legitimized and he could leave in peace; if he refused, he would be tried for theft, and the captain would probably have him executed on the spot. In one single move, she presented herself as being simultaneously merciful, generous, and dangerous.

“You really are my angel,” he mused as he rose to his feet and dusted himself off. “But your plan is naïve. You forget, I’m not part of your crew. I have no loyalty to any of you. I’m not one of your ‘good guys,’ okay? Ten times this chest is tempting, but not worth risking my life over. I can just accept your offer and leave, and you'd never see me again.”

Alder shrugged. “At least he is honest about it.”

Now numbering in the thousands, the gathered animals began to move. Up the mooring lines they skittered and climbed, their beady red eyes occasionally flashing in the darkness.

Athel smiled wickedly. It made Tigera feel afraid.

“Do you know why I trust you?” Athel asked, spinning her staff around.

“You trust me?” Tigera asked with wide eyes.

“Absolutely. You see, you are a selfish person...”

“Please.”

“Let me finish. And a selfish person can always be trusted to do what is in their best interest. Selfish people are the simplest to predict, and the easiest to manipulate. It’s something my mother taught me.”

The nearly invisible crowd of approaching animals was now all around them, dropping silently onto the deck, moving as one, surrounding their prey.

“Then there is hope for you yet,” Tigera praised.

“So,” Athel concluded. “As long as I create a situation where doing what is in your best interest is also what I want, then I can always trust you to do what I want.”

Tigera held his hands out. “And that is where you have failed. Money is simply not enough to make me stick my neck out.”

In the darkness around them, the ever-tightening circle of thousands of teeth and claws drew within just feet of the trio, ready to strike.

Athel held up her fingers. “Do you know what this is?”

Tigera squinted to see in the dim moonlight. It looked like little more than a grain of sand.

“This is a cruisao seed. Your dinner tonight was quite special, you consumed hundreds of them.”

Tigera touched his hand to the bones on his necklace and the mass of animals halted at his command. “And what can it do?”

Athel took her boot off the chest and dropped the seed down through the keyhole. She twisted her staff in her hand and the chest nearly came apart as dozens of razor sharp thorns tore right through the metal. From the tip of each spine, a steaming clear liquid dripped down.

Tigera clucked his tongue. “Okay, you have my attention. And what about the...uh...the oozing stuff, there?”

“Well, that’s the best part. Alder, tell him what a tree-singer can do with cruisao seeds.”

Alder cleared his throat and stood up straight. “It’s pure evil, the kind of thing we wish we could undiscover. Forbidden except in times of war, which I’m afraid we technically are, the venom in the barbs destroys your ability to control your body. Your muscles freeze, you cannot breathe, your heart cannot beat. You spasm so hard, you break your own spine. But that is after your skin melts off.”

Tigera took a step back. “You're not an angel, you're a demon!”

“See? And Privet said you could never be intimidating,” Athel slugged Alder on the shoulder with enthusiasm.

“Thank you, my Lady.”

Athel stepped forward and looked Tigera straight in the eyes. “It will take about a year for the seeds you ate to fully leave your system. Until then, I can activate them at any time. It doesn’t matter where you go. Even if you are on the other side of the world, I can impel them.”

For several moments, neither one of them said anything. Alder looked back and forth between them, wondering what would happen next.

Tigera fingered his necklace, and the hidden hoard of hungry animals slowly retreated back into the darkness. “It would appear that I've been done in by the boy’s cooking,” he said with a smile.

“It was very difficult to design a dish that would mask the taste of the seeds,” Alder admitted, relieved.

Tigera smiled brightly. “You know, princess, I have reconsidered. Your offer is most appealing.”

“I’m glad you see it that way,” Athel said, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“A sloop to use and a chest of gold to fund my expenses; that is quite generous,” Tigera said, standing over the ruined chest. “Oh, would you mind?” he asked, pointing down.

“Not at all,” Athel agreed politely, and with a tap of her staff, the barbs retracted.

“I give you my word as a Beastmaster of Hoeun,” he said, hefting up the broken chest. “You will not be disappointed in the services you have contracted.”

“I trust so.”

A few minutes later, Tigera was on his way, surrounded by a small flock of tracking birds he had called to himself. As they watched him sail off into the night, Alder leaned in close to his wife. “My lady, can your magic really reach that far?”

Athel snorted. “Of course not, but he doesn’t know that.”

The throne room felt dark to her as Queen Hazel pressed her royal seal into the hot wax. The scroll was quickly gathered up by two of her husbands and placed into the waiting hands of Lady Holly Cypress.

“With this decree you have the authority to move as many items as practicable from the Wysterian Academy libraries to the royal vaults,” the Queen announced steadily. Several of the courtiers present tapped their staffs in approval. As always, the Queen’s judgments were fair, but impartial, even to the point of being cold.

“Thank you, my Lady,” Lady Cypress praised. “I do not wish for disaster, but should it come I am grateful that our treasures will be protected.”

Through the trees, the Queen could feel Holly’s concern. It was a token gesture at best, and they both knew it. The Academy Libraries contained countless volumes of classic literature, thousands of paintings and sculptures. Irreplaceable art. Their cultural heritage. The vaults were deep and expansive, but even they could contain only a fraction of what existed, and Lady Cypress would be the one forced to select the items to be preserved. The Queen could feel Holly’s consternation. How does one even begin to select which will be protected and which will be exposed to destruction? For someone who loved beauty and truth in all its various forms, as Lady Cypress did, the task was nearly overwhelming.

“You and your academy instructors are our greatest treasures,” the Queen praised in a formal tone. Her words were kind, but devoid of emotion. “I will see to it that they continue to train our young Treesingers for many seasons to come once this conflict is resolved.”

Through the trees their souls touched and Lady Cypress took strength from The Queen’s confidence and resolve. Her face became calm and determined. With a bow, Lady Cypress and her staff turned and glided out of the hall.

With a wave of the Queen’s elegant hand, the living branches that made up the roof of the room parted, allowing a full view of the skies above. Despite the increase in light, it did little to brighten her spirits. Thousands of tiny dots floated on the horizon. Warships. Like a gathering storm of locusts, their numbers grew by the hour. Not just Federal Navy ships, but specialized warships from the armies of other islands. Fire-Triremes from Iber, Lightning-Galleons from Hazari. Even the reclusive poison masters from Paxillus had come, bringing their specially designed Plague-ships. The entire league was gathering to make war on one small island.

Queen Hazel took her hand off her staff and removed herself from the link. Away from scrutiny for a moment, she allowed herself to feel powerless and small. She allowed herself to feel doubt. Could this have been avoided? Was there something more she could have done? Something more she might have sacrificed?

She even felt fear. What could one little island do against the entire world? If they were destined to lose, then wouldn’t it be better to surrender now, and save the lives of those who would be lost in the battle?

“Forgive me, my Lady, but Mr. Norsoto has arrived,” a male attendant announced.

Hazel wiped a tear from her eye and grabbed her staff once more. Her icy demeanor returned, and her strength and resolve again flooded out into the link. The song of the forest was strong, but a few voices were beginning to separate, their resolve wavering, and it took Hazel several moments to soothe each of them.

“Please send him in, Croton,” the Queen requested dispassionately.

Mr. Norsoto had no chin, no neck, and rounded shoulders. He looked to Hazel like a big potato, but she kept her face calm and expressionless.

“I trust that your offices have been safely packed?” Hazel asked stately.

“Yes, they have, Sire, I mean, Your Worship.”

“My Lady will do fine. When does your ship leave?” she asked coldly.

“Within the hour.” Mr. Norsoto fidgeted as he stood before her.

“You may speak,” she granted solemnly.

“I just wanted to thank you for allowing me and my staff to dismantle the recruitment office peacefully. I’m no spring chicken, you know. I know how these things normally go down.”

“May I ask how old you are?” Hazel inquired, tilting her head ever so slightly.

“Forty-two, my Lady.”

Although she kept her face completely expressionless, inside, Hazel felt like smiling. To someone who had lived multiple centuries, he seemed little more than a child to her.

“Normally, in conflicts like this, any foreigners are used as bargaining chips,” he continued. “I just wanted to thank you for allowing us to go without a fuss. It is most kind of you.”