***
The rocking motion brought her
back to consciousness as a fierce
headache pounded through her skull.
Wincing, Jaisyn attempted to sit up,
finding that she couldn’t. She made
another attempt but her body would
not move. Her eyelids flickered once,
twice, and finally she could see dark
shadows around her. Where was she?
“Ah, the queen is awake,” said a
voice that was broodingly familiar. It
all came back to her in a rush. The
maid forced to drink the concoction.
Isolde taken. Leaving the castle.
“Isolde,” she croaked, before she
lapsed into a coughing fit. She felt
hands lifting her. Someone was
pressing something to her lips. A skin
—a water skin.
“Drink,” the voice urged once more.
Jaisyn shook her head.
“You can drink this the easy way or
I can force it down your throat. The
choice is yours.”
Her parched lips opened. The skin
fit between. She felt the cool rush of
the water as it slid over her tongue
and down her dry throat. She choked,
and a strong arm lifted her until she
was sitting up. Her head fell forward,
even as she tried to keep it up. She felt
firm fingers against her chin, and then
her head was being lifted once more.
The skin came to her lips and she
drank. Minutes later, she was being
lowered once more.
“Very good, Jaisyn,” the voice said.
“Sleep. You will need your rest for
what is to come.”
She fought she exhaustion, trying to
figure out where she was. She knew
that she was moving. That something
was carrying her somewhere. It was
dark. She made out four shadows
before her eyelids fell. What had they
done to her? Where was her sister?
She remembered leaving the castle
with the red-haired maid, and walking
into the city, her head and face
covered. Her mind went blank after
that. Isolde, she thought miserably, as
feelings of doubt entered her mind.
Had they released her sister? Was she
in Morden Castle, under Vulcan’s
protection? A groan escaped her lips
and she knew no more.
***
Vulcan was in one of his moods
again. Fierce warriors avoided him
and servants feared his presence. It
had been two days since he’d been
made aware of the disappearance of
his queen. His warriors had combed
the city and the provinces surrounding
them but had found nothing. They’d
questioned innkeepers and room
renters about large parties consisting
of golden-haired men and redheaded
men: no one had housed them. To top
that off, one of his soldiers had been
found murdered in his castle. His
castle had been breached, his queen
taken, and no one knew anything.
Asha, the maid who had been
drugged, had told him that she had
come to serve the queen, when
someone had grabbed her. She
remembered nothing else except
waking
in
Jaisyn’s
bed.
The
apothecary confirmed that it was a
potent, yet foreign drug meant to
knock the person unconscious.
He lifted the tankard of ale that had
been brought to him by one of the
servants and took a long drink. His
wife could be anywhere. She could be
in a neighboring kingdom, or hidden in
one of his provinces. She could be
dead. He refused to think of that. If
Malcolm was behind this, then Jaisyn
was alive. That thought did little to
appease him but it quelled his fear
somewhat.
The tankard of ale in his hand
crashed loudly against the fireplace
that graced the opposite end of his
study.
Two
guards
immediately
rushed in only to rush out once more
as their liege ripped into them about
manning their posts. His wife’s guards
were currently locked in the dungeon,
awaiting trial. Until he found out
exactly how the guards had managed
to let his wife be taken from the
castle,
he
was
holding
them
accountable.
A knock sounded at the door and
Vulcan bellowed for the person to
enter. He spun to face the person and
noticed that it was Ingrid, of the sour
countenance. His castle keeper.
“Yes?” he asked, struggling to keep
the rage running through him in
check.
Ingrid curtsied before saying in a
voice that trembled only slightly,
“Liege, it has come to my attention
that a young woman pretended to be
one of the maids recently.”
She had his full attention. Grey eyes
locked onto her and he nodded.
“Continue.”
“The servants describe her as having
pale skin and red hair,” Ingrid said as
calmly as she could muster.
“Pale skin and red hair,” Vulcan
repeated to himself. The villager from
Montak had spoken of Lytherians and
other foreigners. It was high time he
found out which country had people
of that description.
“Send Anhur to me,” he told her
quickly, referring to one of the Seers,
the knowledgeable holy men of
Morden. Her eyes widened but he
continued, “And have General Tarkon
assemble my generals and lieutenants
before the day is out.”
Ingrid, unaccustomed to being sent
on such important tasks, bowed and
immediately went about doing it.
***
Anhur entered the study no more
than half an hour after Ingrid set out
to tell the guards to escort him thither.
Vulcan had remained where he was,
staring into the fireplace.
“You seek answers to questions that
trouble you, Majesty,” Anhur said
firmly, bracing slightly on the stick he
used to help him maintain balance in
his old age.
“Yes. Do you know the questions
for which I seek answers?” Vulcan
demanded, turning to face the Seer.
No one knew Anhur’s true age, but
Vulcan guessed, from his grey hair
and the wrinkles on his body, that the
man was truly ancient. Frederick had
consulted Anhur over his every
decision and Anhur had given good
advice. Vulcan was not as religious as
his father and although Anhur still
resided within his own section of the
castle, Vulcan had hardly had need
for him over the years.
“Perhaps,”
Anhur
replied
cryptically. “I would still have you ask
them.”
Vulcan looked back to the fire. The
orange flames licked greedily at the
wood that had been provided for their
amusement. “Where is my wife?”
“Traveling,” was the response.
Vulcan’s glare might have put the fear
of Rika into any other man but the
one standing before him. Anhur
answered only to the Old Gods, the
gods who’d given birth to the various
religions, for they were the ones to be
praised and feared.
“If you could be more specific,
Anhur,” Vulcan bit out angrily.
Anhur chuckled easily. “You asked
where your wife was and I gave you
an answer, Majesty. Methinks you do
not ask the questions for which you
seek answers.”
Vulcan growled and contemplated
calling the guards to take him away.
“Which kingdom has people known
for their red hair and pale skin?”
Vulcan asked of the Seer.
“The kingdoms to the South. The
largest kingdom to the South is
Sulan.”
“Sulan?”
Vulcan
repeated,
remembering that once in a while his
father would talk of Sulan. Like the
Morden, they were powerful, with
armies numbering into the upper
hundred thousand, and great wealth.
Because they were so distant from
each other, the South usually had little
to do with the North, and vice-versa.
“Why are the Sulanese in Morden?”
Vulcan asked, remembering that
Sulan and Morden had a longstanding,
unwritten agreement not to enter into
the affairs of the other.
“The Sulanese are no longer in
Morden, sire.”
“What is my wife’s destination?”
“Your wife does not know her
destination.”
“What is the destination of my
wife’s captives?”
“They are unsure, sire. They ride
east.”
“Lytheria?”
“East, sire.”
He had one more question for
Anhur, but he wasn’t sure he wanted
to hear the
answer. “Did my wife leave of her
own will?”
Anhur lifted a brow as if knowing
why the question troubled Vulcan.
“Yes and no, sire.”
“What in the name of—what does
that mean?” His Majesty practically
roared.
The Seer was unfazed. “It means
that the queen left of her own will, but
was lured into doing so out of emotion
for another.”
Vulcan sighed and ran a hand
through his hair. He would not get a
solid answer from Anhur. He never
had. His gaze returned to the fire
burning at the hearth.
“I intend to gather my armies and
march against whoever holds my wife.
If the Sulanese have had any part in
her disappearance, they will feel my
wrath. Do I have the blessing of the
Gods?”
Anhur bowed his head but Vulcan
did not see. His response was quick,
easy, to the point. “The Old Gods
have always shown their blessing to
the kings of Morden. You are no
different, Vulcan, son of Frederick.”
There was another knock at the
door. Vulcan called for the person to
enter.
One of his guards bowed low to him
and announced, “A messenger has
arrived from Lytheria, sire.”
***
She could not—nay, she
would
not,
believe it.
Isolde grasped at the round door
handle and pulled. The door did not
budge. She stared in shock. Varian
had locked her in one of the guest
chambers. That had to be why she
was in a foreign room, feeling slightly
confused as to her surroundings. He
had promised to do so if she defied
him and left the castle without guards
again but she never imagined he was
serious.
After weeks of feeling caged in her
home, as Varian had appointed two
soldiers to follow her every move,
she’d finally seen the opportunity to
escape for a few hours. With the
number of nobles who’d been filing
into St. Ives to pay tribute to the new
king through his infuriating brother,
Isolde had felt like she was living in
bustling market. Aristocrats, who
came in droves, and were louder than
the disciplined men of war, had
replaced the numerous warriors.
That was why, when she’d stepped
from her room and had found no
guards before her door, she’d jumped
at the opportunity. She’d made it to
the waterfall, and being alone, had
stripped down her shift and dived into
the lake. A slight chill was on the air
but the sun had been high and that
warmth coupled with the cool lake
had made for fine swimming. After
her swim, she’d allowed her shift and
her hair to dry while she lay on the
rock.
Isolde backtracked from the door as
her memory came back in full sweep.
She’d been slowly drifting to sleep
when the sound of a twig snapping
brought her up. Her eyes scanned the
trees but she saw nothing. Driven by
instinct, she’d stepped into her dress,
ignoring the dampness of her shift,
and had buttoned it. No sooner had
two men, their entire faces covered
but for their eyes, stepped through the
foliage. Heart pounding furiously,
Isolde had hiked her skirts and ran,
screaming loudly as she did so. She’d
barely made it back into the forest
when a hand tugged her hair and she