The heavy, ornately carved door opened. In sauntered Princess Jolende, still dressed as if preparing to go out for the evening. As her nature, Jolende's dress reflected her seductive, sensual edge: long, figure-hugging black dress, much silver jewelry, blood-red nails and lips, mile-high spiked-heel shoes. Not that seduction was on Jolende's mind this evening, on the contrary. She just wanted to keep her future father in-law company in these trying days. Surely, Vlaric would not forbid the princess to bring his favorite tonic personally.
Still smiling brilliantly, she said, "Sire, I met your servant in the hall, and I took this from him. I hope you don't mind, but I thought you could use the company tonight."
Vlaric returned the smile, albeit a weak one. Much was on his mind this evening, and he was grateful at least a handful of people could still be trusted. He counted Jolende as the daughter he never had. Often he would wonder, if his wife, Queen Consort Daglin had lived, whether more children would have made things easier. Oh, up until now, Vlaric loved his only child, Asen, although he never told his son he loved him outright. Such expression of emotion is never done in royal and aristocratic circles. Leave the hugs, kisses, terms of endearment, and other ways parents physically bestow affection upon their young to the common people.
"My dear, Jolende," he said with gratitude, "I indeed welcome your company. Yes, I am quite alone tonight, for Aughir has retired to his chambers, and Banes is taking care of important government business. Much is going on, my child, although I have yet to hear from my navy and army."
Jolende eyed her sovereign with a mixture of suspicion and contempt, yet Vlaric never caught on. Instead, she found it necessary to make small talk. No heavy emoting over her lost fiance now. No, just make pleasant conversation, hand over the herbal tonic, then be on your way. Tell him you've developed a tremendous headache yourself. No tonic needed for me, just a good night's sleep. But make sure he drinks every single drop. No need to linger to see if it works; I know it will do the job in a matter of minutes.
"Sire," she said, handing over the cup, "I've been thinking about my future, as Queen Consort. It's obvious that Asen has – as they say – flown the coop. Your suspicions are right: The Benutians have assembled their rebel alliance again, and they've persuaded your son to join them."
Just as he raised the cup to his lips, Vlaric's eyes widened in shock. He asked, "How do you know this?"
Jolende, ever the wily, skillful liar, said flatly, "The spies, sire. Banes has spread out the spies. So far, one has managed to infiltrate one of the rebel cells operating right here in Tyq. We're not sure what they are planning, but Banes suggest I return to Koror this very evening. He thinks the rebels will try something desperate within the next few days. Not to man any disrespect, sire, but I believe I need to return home. It is, as Banes suggests, for my personal safety. It is clear Asen is not coming home – ever."
King Vlaric stroked his generous gray beard then lifted the cup to his lips again. The heady fragrance of the herbs and sweet spice helped somewhat to put his mind at ease. Although what Jolende said was obviously true – Asen had abandoned his birthright and committed high treason – there was hope for the nation of Eldonia. Perhaps, if one can be persuaded, there could be a new heir to the throne. Of course, it will mean breaking with tradition, that is, thoroughly altering the usual procession to the throne. In the past, only males could inherit the throne, but just this once, to save his kingdom, Vlaric had to make this daring move. For what it was worth, the people would have to accept his decision; after all, the king's word is law.
"Jolende," he said before taking that first sip, "I thank you for your honesty, and for your steadfast devotion to the Crown and country. You are correct that Asen will never return home, not on his own, naturally. I have no other children, thus no one else to succeed me if..."
Princess Jolende held her breath. This was not quite in her and Banes' original plot. Yet, here was the king, willing to break with tradition and name his own successor. Since Asen is no longer, to Vlaric, worthy of the Eldonian throne, and there are no other children...
Could he be serious? Is Vlaric wanting me as ruler of Eldonia? This is turning out much better than I thought. All right, play along with him, let him know how grateful I am. But subtly suggest that I am in no way ready to assume such responsibility. Wouldn't Banes be more suitable? After all, he does have more experience in all affairs of state.
"Sire," she said with mock gratitude, "I assume you want me to succeed you as ruler."
Vlaric smiled, taking another draught of tonic, saying, "Yes, Jolende. You have shown much courage and fortitude. Why, you already have the ability to rule–"
Jolende shook her head, replying, "No, sire. I am not worthy. While I am ever so grateful for the offer, such responsibility thrust upon me is...Well, may I suggest this arrangement instead."
She proceeded to plead Banes' case, that he would be more suitable, that he would have the country's best interest at heart. She also voiced concerns over the rebel alliance, Asen's abandonment of his birthright, and the pending merging of Chalou and Koror Province.
"Your Majesty," she said with effective emotion, dabbing her eyes with a black lace handkerchief, "There is so much at stake. I, as ruler of Eldonia, would not know where to begin. Banes knows this kingdom inside and out. He knows how to deal with troublemakers and dissenters within our ranks. Why, just this evening, he had consulted with Eldonian intelligence. Did you know, sire, that the rebels may be receiving help from the inside? That is, someone within your very court is giving aid and comfort to the enemy."
That last statement, about a possible leak from within the royal court, was partially true, but neither Jolende nor Banes knew the turncoat's identity. Banes had only intimated to Jolende of that fact after Sadius departed for Koror. At first, Banes suspected Sadius since the Kororian governor was the third party of the "Overthrow Vlaric" scheme. Sadius, somewhat of a loose cannon, could not be trusted, which was why Banes took great pains to have the man silenced. Too bad, at least on Jolende and Banes' part, that they would never learn of the true rebel operative's identity within their midst.
Vlaric, finally draining the last of his tonic, chuckled with disbelief, saying "Nonsense, Jolende! Who would dare to betray me? Everyone in my court is sworn to allegiance. Any breach of that vow results in instant death."
Jolende, before making her exit, replied, "But it is true, sire. In fact, Banes had an inkling that someone within our circle may be passing on state secrets to the rebels. Why he or she would do this I am not sure. At any rate, the Benutians will soon be crushed, the rebels vanquished, and your kingdom at last safe from any intrigues."
She took a deep breath, knowing she must make her exit before the poison overtook Vlaric. He must not suspect that it was she who, after taking the tonic from the servant, sprinkled in the powerful toxin. Within the next few minutes, that toxin will begin its work, playing tricks on the king's mind. Obviously he will conclude the remedy had been tainted, instantly suspecting the servant, not Jolende. She didn't want to take the chance of the scheme being blown sky high, not now. She and Banes were this close to getting what they wanted, and if Vlaric begins to put it all together...
"I hate to leave, sire," she said, turning to the door. "Banes believes it is for my own safety I return to Koror this very evening. The rebels, if they are stationed in Tyq, could soon overrun the city. He believes I am their target, not you. The Benutians have always hated my people, sir, always, and those devils would take personal delight in torturing me to death. They are a barbaric lot, sir, so much so that they and their pitiful province should be wiped off the map. Banes urges your permission to deploy that weapon, put an end to Benut Province once and for all. Without Benut, there shall be no more rebellion, no more intrigue. Your country shall be forever safe. Do that for us, sir. Allow the weapon's deployment at once, but not after Starfield House, that den of insurgents and freaks, is levelled to the ground."
That said, Jolende walked up to Vlaric, gently kissed her sovereign on the cheek then exited the room.
"She never promised to keep in touch," Vlaric said to himself. "Oh well, I've lost my son, but I will never lose my country. So be it! Jolende is right: Benut Province has been a nasty thorn since time immemorial. Why the three founders didn't squash that blasted place to pieces...Our problems will end once Benut is bombed into oblivion."
Sitting in his leather easy chair, Vlaric looked up at the portrait of his late wife, the queen consort, Daglin. Such a pretty lady, a selfless, compassionate beauty who, it is said, had far more influence over Asen than Vlaric ever did.
His Majesty studied the portrait, skillfully rendered by Elyah, a much in demand painter who produced notable portraits for the Eldonian elites. The image of Daglin was startling, almost lifelike. She was a beautiful woman, tall, lithely built, gray-eyed, dark-haired. Asen definitely took after his mother in appearance; he didn't look a thing like his father for which Daglin thanked the gods every day. Vlaric, while not that homely, nevertheless was not a particularly handsome man. He was stocky of build, medium height, a shock of graying hair and heavy beard. A few of his subjects thought His Majesty's head was a bit too big, his legs too short in proportion to his body. Others, particularly the Benutians, felt Vlaric's physical appearance mirrored his inner soul – twisted, almost ugly.
He continued to stare up at the portrait, slightly shuddering as if the painting's subject suddenly came to life. Nonsense. It is the tonic clouding his mind. It is known to do that, impart a pleasant euphoria, causing the patient to relax and let the healing begin. However, for Vlaric, euphoria never came. This isn't, he thought, how the medicine is supposed to work. Why is he feeling as if eyes are watching him, judging him? He began to see things, hear voices. Still staring at Daglin's portrait, Vlaric swore he heard voices, yet he couldn't identify them. They sounded vaguely familiar but so far away. He felt light-headed and fearful, all the same. The voices wold not stop, and that portrait began, to Vlaric's eyes, bleed, its crimson background literally gushing forth actual blood.
Have I gone mad? What matter of medicinal did that servant give me? It is not my usual tonic...
"Vlaric, you fool! As your wont, you have let thirst of power and greedy grasp cloud your rational mind. That is, if you ever had a rational thought at all!"
That voice! It can't be...She's been dead...For how long?
"Face it, Vlaric, you killed me!," said the phantom voice, a voice decidedly feminine, couched in anger and fury.
King Vlaric continued to stare at the portrait. Now the image began to become more three-dimensional, more defined. Daglin's very gray eyes flashed fire as she floated out of the picture and approached her husband. She stood before him, not as the prim and reserved queen consort, as he had always ordered her to be, but as the rightfully avenging murder victim.
"Daglin," he said, his mind in such a fog he wondered if the tonic had been poisoned. Yes, his body was overtaken by some unknown toxin, a substance not that unfamiliar to him for he had used it before.
The wraith queen continued, "And now, my husband, the tables are now turned on you. Think back to that day, when our son was a mere child. You and I had words, about my 'unsuitable' influence on the boy. You could stand no longer my interference in rearing Asen; you wanted so much for Asen to become a mirror image of you. So you took matters in your own hands. I had my monthly lady's complaint, and I was in considerable discomfort. You suggested a tonic to ease the pain, and like the obedient wife, I did not question your judgement. How foolish was I to accept your kind gesture. I consumed the tonic, only to drift off into a deep slumber from which I never awoken. You lied to Asen, told him that his mother was ill and died in her sleep."
Vlaric, finding some of his faculties returning, lashed out at the wraith queen, saying, "It is true I killed you. I had to. Your so called 'loving hand' ruined Asen! He has abandoned his birthright, turned on his father and kingdom, and has taken up with those people."
"The Benutians, Vlaric," Daglin said, "They do have names, and a cause. Don't you see? All your nonsensical, brutally vicious campaigns against them were all for naught. Instead of browbeating them into submission, your actions further emboldened them. Our son simply came to his senses and is presently trying to put a stop to centuries of Eldonian tyranny. As of now, he is in the company of The One. Oh yes, your genocidal campaign against all those Benutian firstborns was not that successful, for two innocent babies escaped the fire and sword. One is now among the Eldonian aristocracy, our son's best friend if truth be known."
Now it all came to Vlaric. He ruminated on Daglin's claim that one is an Eldonian noble, Asen's best friend.
"Cadmore?," he said disbelievingly. He shook his head, adding, "That is not possible! Jereif Cadmore was adopted long ago...No, it can't be!"
"But," said Daglin, "he is! Think of it, Vlaric. Cadmore was adopted the moment that basket containing the precious cargo floated down the Bashwa River, right in front of Cadmore Manor. This was not long after the purge. He is, of course, a player in Eldonia's downfall, but not the key. For you see, Vlaric, the other child is the one you feared most. You, wholeheartedly believing the old prophecy of The One, the direct descendant of Queen Amarah, orchestrated the baby purge. Yet, she lives, and is en route to claim her birthright, and her destiny."
King Vlaric's mind did flip-flops. So, The One lives, so does her brother, as Lord Cadmore! My son's friend, a traitor in our midst. He must be the turncoat of whom Jolende spoke, the insider Banes suspects in aiding the rebel alliance. And Asen, my son, in the company of those people, willingly preparing to destroy his country...
Finding his courage returning, he said, turning to the flickering image of Daglin, "My wife, if anyone's to blame for this outrage it is you. If you hadn't interfered with Asen's upbringing, if you had simply allowed me to take over, then our son would not have turned his back on his kingdom, his future. Now, if what you say is true, Asen has abandoned all for a pitiful band of ragged insurgents. I say this shall not happen, as Benut Province will be laid to waste within the week."
He chuckled, mocked the wraith standing before him. "A weapon, Daglin. A weapon unlike anyone has ever seen. It is awaiting deployment as we speak, and it is firmly aimed at the heart of Benut Province. Within seconds, the entire region will be reduced to ashes, what survivors will be brought here, to Tyq, to witness the execution of their pitiful rebel band as well as their governor!"
Daglin, eyeing her husband with a mixture of utter contempt and ridicule, merely replied before fading back into the portrait, "Oh no, Vlaric, that will never happen. For it is written that the last king of Eldonia will be the instrument of the nation's undoing. You see, it is your ever trusting of the wrong people which will spell disaster, but not for those of whom you wish to conquer. Long ago, Indria, the first queen consort, wife of Thomas I, prophesied the last king of Eldonia – that would be you – would produce the heir who, along with The One, will bring her dream of a united country to fruition. Eldonia will be no more, and the new land of Xanagaea will usher in an endless period of peace and justice. No more suppression of human rights, no more torture, no more gruesome public executions, no more usurping what not rightfully belongs to another, no more fear-mongering nor spreading the seeds of hate and mistrust. Think of it, Vlaric. At this moment, those who you trust the most have already plotted and carried out your murder. Oh yes! Jolende and Banes, along with Sadius, have been planning and scheming behind your back for months. It is Banes who will, upon your death, take over as ruler of Eldonia, but his triumph will be short-lived. Once Banes orders that weapon deployed..."
Just before fading away into the portrait, returning to the inanimate image, Queen Daglin revealed Vlaric a few truths, facts that set the sovereign on edge so much that he thought he had lost his mind. She told him of Banes, Jolende, the loss of the entire Eldonian naval fleet, the impending attack on Tyq, and the sure destruction of the one province which had aligned itself with the oppressive Eldonian regime. She also revealed just who was ultimately responsible for passing on state secrets to the rebel alliance. Of everyone in Vlaric's court, the very one who he trusted most was instrumental in the rebellion's success, and Eldonia's downfall.
"NO!," he screamed. "It can't be! After all these years, he's turned on me and my kingdom. My navy, lost. My son, gone forever. And...Oh no! Tell me it is not too late to undo the damage."
The portrait now spewed forth blood and gore, flooding the room with a foul stench. An unearthly mist engulfed Vlaric, causing the man to lose all reason. Not looking nor caring, he stumbled towards the open window, as if trying to escape this huge black thing coming after him.
"No!," he shouted madly, "Stay away from me! Guards! Guards! Help me, please!"
No one came as Vlaric stepped back, leaning dangerously close on the sill. Wild-eyed and pouring sweat, he still screamed for help, but no help came. As by a mighty shove, the last king of Eldonia tumbled backwards out of the window and plummeted to courtyard far below. No one heard him scream, no one saw him fall except the man standing in the upper floor window on the opposite end of the courtyard.
With a thin smile, that man said, "Now begins the end of Eldonia. From the flames and ashes a new land will emerge, and peace will come to us at last."
Copyright©2006 by P.R. Parker. All rights reserved.