Chapter 61

  The ruler of dust is still a queen?

  Black tears flowed down to the bottom of the heart.

  Endless pain.

  An excruciating feeling of disgust.

  Words could not express the hurt in her.

  How far could that suffering go?

  Draudillon did not recognize the figure in the mirror. She had left her maidenly remains in the past, hoping to never see them again. Regaining possession of her body, of the body that was supposed to be her own, no more tears would mar her face.

  'I am not a dragon,' she told herself, as she ran her fingers over the first hints of wrinkles, signs of a sincere beauty that needed no magic to hide. 'In part, it scares me. Who is she whom I see?' The tight corset across the chest took her breath away. The evening gown, pearly purple, accentuated the skin's luster.

  "You'll have to be perfect if our plan is to succeed."

  Draudillon allowed herself a smile, to benefit from that image. The image of a woman in her forties, nothing more. She did not want to be anything more. But she was a queen. She was a protector. She was a savior. And she had to be a dragon.

  "I know. I'm not good at invoking miracles," The old queen performed a slow pirouette, so she could better inspect herself in the reflection. The glass projected a dream that was different from reality. "What is missing? The make-up? Nail polish? The lips are not very shiny..."

  A dragon, who did not hover in the sky. A dragon, who did not spit flames. A dragon, whose magic did not go beyond troubadour tricks. A dragon, whose miracles required a cost.

  "What is the cost of your miracles?"

  Antilene Heran Fouche. A queen, like her. Queen of the elves, protector of Evasha, savior of two races. Of men, and of elves.

  The elves.

  Until recently upstanding enemies of the human race. Now brothers united in the same cause, the cause of Slaine. The best part of an inflexible doctrine was its convenience.

  The elves.

  So identical to humans, yet so different from them. What characterized men? The shape of the face, the color of the skin, the strength of the limbs, the alertness of the intellect? None of these. It was experience. The experience of men was not the same as that of elves. What a subtle difference. A difference so profound.

  "The soul."

  Who was Draudillon to judge? The oath placed on her neck by the Theocracy was a symbol of her enslavement. Slavery as the only source of salvation. The Cardinals could have asked her to pull out her nails and gouge her teeth just for their delight, and her only concern would have been to please them.

  Who was Draudillon? A puppet in the hands of a faith that was not her own. One had to believe in something. She had chosen to believe in the salvation of those she loved.

  "Every soul, you say? Could you snatch mine, this instant, to cast your spells?"

  Those eyes, one white and one black, peered with the curiosity not of the scholar but of the warrior. It was not the thirst for knowledge that moved them, but the instinct for survival. That instinct that could not afford to leave anything to chance, and that dictated appropriating anything that could provide even one more second at the fatal juncture.

  "That would be too easy. And it would make me invincible, wouldn't it?" Instead, Draudillon was weak. So weak, that being called a dragon could only be the joke of someone who lacked a refined sense of humor. "Although your people call me Dark Scale Dragon Lord, I have never understood why. To take possession of a soul is something extremely difficult. It is a complicated process, which first requires acceptance of the target. Who would give up their essence, the innermost part of their individuality, for the benefit of another?"

  Perhaps there was someone, thought the queen of the Draconic Kingdom with a note of regret. The answer was so close it could be grasped with the fingertips. At the same time, it was so far away to be out of reach.

  "Yet, you manage to change your form with the ancient magic. How do you do it?"

  Queen Fouche was, on the surface, younger than her. She had inherited longevity from her father, the former king of Evasha. That Decem Hougan about whom so little was known except the most atrocious deeds. The one who had brought the Theocracy and his own people to their knees, wrought terror to his enemies to the same extent as he had imparted it to his subjects. He had made blasphemy his creed, and cruelty his law.

  And the daughter of that tyrant now stood before the old queen, watching her closely. Not as an emissary of the Theocracy, nor as a sovereign of the wooden sea. Only as a helping hand, offered without ulterior motives.

  Draudillon couldn't read her intentions.

  "It is not only the soul of others that serves as fuel. If I am careful, I can consume part of mine without suffering too many consequences."

  "Consume one's own soul?" Antilene appeared confused by that explanation, intrigued by that contradiction. "It's not... strange? You mean you give up part of you, but then what happens to your soul? Does it remain divided in this way? Or does it return to its original state?"

  It was a legitimate question, one that Draudillon herself had asked herself more than once in the past. "It is difficult to explain, but the principle is the same as for ordinary spells. Just as a sorcerer's mana returns to its original state after sufficient time, the soul follows the same dynamic. Perhaps, simply, what the ancient dragons call soul is just an ancestor of the energy used by sorcerers, priests and other spell users."

  Not a convincing explanation, all things considered, but the means at hand were what they were. Her grandfather had been very reluctant to explain the intricacies of those dynamics in the past, and a vexing haze lingered over the most intricate parts.

  "So when you get souls to offer you can cast more powerful spells, just as you can use over-magic to access a higher tier..." It was amazing how easily Antilene understood such complicated concepts with so little details. A sixth sense, heightened on the battlefield, which Draudillon inevitably lacked. "So, for example, your grandfather should not be able to cast over-magic spells on his own, am I right?"

  "Not really. The amount of my soul is not comparable to that of an ancient dragon like my grandfather. The difference is the same as between a fire and a dying candle." That was why beings like the Brightness Dragon Lord or the Platinum Dragon Lord were considered transcendent compared to other living beings. They did not play on the same plane of existence as ordinary mortals. "Although..."

  Looking at the half-elf, Draudillon could not help but wonder how much needed to be shared. Today's friend could be tomorrow's enemy, a mantra every good ruler knew inside out.

  Could that girl so fragile and slender in appearance be trusted? And if so, how far could that trust extend? The Six knew no mercy for their enemies, let alone their friends. The dragon's blood pulsed with a warning of distrust, but the human heart beat in appreciation.

  "Continue," that suggestion, expressed with utmost calm, rang more like an order.

  Antilena was young, yet ancient. Where there were affable and concise manners, an unrelenting viciousness could be glimpsed. A pleasant darkness, which succeeded in putting you at ease and making you forget its cruelty.

  "Once Grandfather hinted at a 'blasphemy,' though I don't know much about it. Something to do with stealing and undeath."

  At times, one could get the impression that great intellects like those of the Brightness Dragon Lord found pleasure in withholding information.

  "Undeath..." The half-elf repeated that word a few times. Pronounced by her it sounded more baleful than it already was. "An undead dragon..."

  There was a knock at the door. A soft one, given almost timidly.

  Antilene went to open it. Optics, covered head to toe in scarlet armor, leaned in a graceful bow.

  "My ladies, they are waiting for you." The man, who hadn't even met the half-elf's gaze by mistake, entered the room like a hurricane without too many compliments, neither waiting for a nod of assent from his superior.

  "General Barca is understanding," an annoying breeze had entered along with the worker. Draudillon had to place a dark shawl over her shoulders for protection. She envied her peer, who wore comfortable clothes suitable for the occasion. "Please, Optics, be so kind as to tell him that we will not be kept waiting any longer."

  The worker there and then did not give the impression that he understood, for he remained motionless. There was something in the way he looked at her that made Draudillon uncomfortable. It was not the lust that moved Cerabrate's eyes, nor the impassive firmness with which Stronoff challenged your convictions.

  "My lady. I am your bodyguard, not your valet," Optics took a chair from a nearby table and sat down without too much ceremony, unblemished by such idiotic concepts like etiquette. "I will descend with you, to make sure there is no danger from here to the general's council chamber."

  Draudillon sighed, regretfully admitting that he was right. "Very well. At least wait outside. I have to finish getting ready." In a way, the lack of formality was refreshing. A rope would not break until it was pulled too tight, or so the queen believed.

  Evidently, she had not yet gotten to know the leader of Crimson Blaze…

  "Can't I just watch?" The worker had taken an apple from a fruit plate placed as a welcome token on a nearby table, and had begun to bite into it without even asking permission, while draping his legs over a nearby chair. "I must admit that I much prefer you in this form, your majesty. I never understood what people saw in such a... un-juicy appearance."

  Draudillon didn't need the mirror to realize a fire had ablaze in her cheeks. She shot a pleading look for help at Antilene, who simply shrugged her shoulders, as if to say 'this is a problem you have to deal with on your own'.

  The half-elf had limited herself to looking out of the window. Gelone's fortress certainly didn't offer a spectacle as full of life as the capital Birisia, but that military camp life was probably still a source of interest to her.

  Left alone, and trying to regain her composure, the queen approached the man. "I agree with you. This aspect is much more congenial to me. If you are so interested in observing it, please stay. After all, we are attracted to what we cannot have."

  Optics couldn't have been much younger than her, but he still had a face that showed traces of a contemptuous audacity, without the need for magic or the like. It was clear that he didn't care much about seeing her in private, rather he was looking for a reaction that would confirm the established idea he had formed of her.

  "As you wish. Then I will stay here." Satisfaction appeared on those thin lips. His scarlet eyes lit up with respect and, perhaps, something else.

  'Wasn't this the moment when he would recognize my authority and leave?' Defeated, Draudillon could only return to the final preparations.

  She noticed Antilene who was sniggering a few meters away from her. With a sigh, all she could do was hurry.

  Many things were expected of a queen.

  A queen had to be able to manage a room full of nobles who hated each other with the same grace with which she could follow the rhythm of a classical dance. In addition to this, she had to be able to interpret diplomatic language, calm tempers, calibrate the measure of praise and, if necessary, be assertive.

  A queen couldn't afford to make mistakes. When she was spoken to, she had to know the past of the person she was talking to, the present of his situation and the future of his condition. "How are you?", "How are things in your possessions?", "How is your son's education going?". Many "hows", few "whys". A queen's questions could not be direct, but subtle. They had to be slipped into a trivial conversation, drawing from pure formality the facets of the diners and of those who came to pay her homage.

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  If all these duties had been listed one by one, it would have been noticed that they often contradicted each other. How could one be tough and inflexible and be loved for it? How could one react to insults with calm, to poison with honey?

  "Your Majesty, let me start by admitting that I wasn't aware of your visit."

  From that point of view, interacting with the soldiers was easier. When Draudillon walked through the door of General Barca's study, there were no valets to announce her arrival, or deafening trumpets to sound the party of her walk. As if a simple walk would have needed musical accompaniment and every step required the blare of a fanfare. The windows were boarded up, and only a couple of lamps on the walls provided any light or warmth. A reassuring silence was the background noise.

  The old soldier's expression was clouded by a veil of concern, and the inquiry for this unexpected visit was clearly readable in his eyes. Every now and then, almost surreptitiously, he would scratch his chin, where one could still see small traces of a quickly-tended beard.

  "It was unexpected for me too." A vase of flowers had been placed on the desk - violets at a first glance - perhaps to add a little scent and color to an otherwise bare room. "Lately, there have been many surprises."

  "I can confirm that. I am dismayed that I was unable to prepare a reception worthy of you, Your Majesty. Forgive your servant for such carelessness."

  It would have been even more bizarre if he had succeeded, in Draudillon's opinion. Barca was descended from an ancient family of the Draconic Kingdom, but that didn't mean he could perform extraordinary gestures with the few means at his disposal. There was a limit to how much could be demanded of one person.

  "There's no need to regret something so trivial," perhaps the queen had been vain in dressing so flamboyantly, given the bare nature of her surroundings. A wave of regret took her breath away, as she realized the inadequacy of the means of those who died for her. "In fact, the fewer people who know of my presence here, the better it is for everyone."

  "Is this a secret mission, then? Is that why those two are here with you?" Antilene and Optics, standing by the doorframe, gave off a ghostly presence that needed no words to express danger. A veteran could feel death freezing the air without the need for further gestures.

  There were no servants, so it was the general himself who poured them a glass of wine, taken from a bottle on a shelf near his desk. The half-elf politely declined, while the worker accepted even a second later after gulping down the first with not so unexpected haste.

  "Just insurance against danger, but I'll be the main actress in this play, if you know what I mean." The sweet and bitter aroma of the drink shocked her. After the first sip, Draudillon was already disgusted. It was possible to come to hate the very thing that had filled your heart until just a short time before.

  General Barca allowed himself a long moment before speaking. "Your Majesty, I'm not used to jokes. Forgive me if I get straight to the point and appear a little rude. Why are you here? Do you not trust the reports sent? Have the rabbims said anything worrying? For my part, I can assure you that things are proceeding as always. Not well, because they never proceed as we would like. But they are proceeding."

  Which could mean anything or nothing. In any case, Draudillon had memorized everything the emissaries had referred to the court. She was suspicious of every report, because doubt was protocol and distress, courtesy. "I'm aware of that. I'm not here on an inspection visit. As of today, I'm taking a leading role in the conflict. A conflict that I hope to see end before the end of spring."

  The general stared at her. The adult form, compared to the childlike one, had an advantage: it inspired fear and awe when necessary. Only time could have determined if that was preferable to affection and the desire for protection.

  "Is this a joke? Am I supposed to laugh? You've always left military affairs to the great generals like me. Has something not satisfied you recently? Things have held up until now with this method."

  "Things change," she simply said.

  The general frowned, with the perplexity that was to be expected after such a simple statement. "Your Majesty, the demihumans have recently been becoming much more aggressive."

  "I know."

  "It could be dangerous."

  "I know."

  "We are losing soldiers everywhere. Soon the whole western part of the kingdom will have fallen into enemy hands."

  "I know that too."

  "You still don't have an heir..."

  There was no need for heirs if there was no future. There was no need for worry if there was nothing left to protect. There was no need for anything if nothing remained. Draudillon knew all this. She had known it since she ascended the throne. She knew it every day when she counted those who offered themselves as sacrifices. She knew it every hour, when she agonized over the looks that hid pain behind smiles and sweet talk, pain that they didn't want to reach her. She knew it every minute, when she woke up, when she ate, when she spoke, when she rested. There was no respite, no pause, in that knowledge.

  "Have you decided to give up everything? One last advance led by you? Is madness clouding your mind, or is there something else?"

  "There is something else."

  The queen approached the general. Even though they were alone, she didn't want what she was about to explain to be heard by indiscreet ears. "I found some of my great-grandfather's writings about an ancient ritual. Something forbidden and dangerous, but that could turn the whole situation around."

  Skepticism could easily turn into surprise. It was like a change of clothes. Until that moment, the general had worn the clothes of the distrustful. Now, he was wearing the garments of the curious. "The great founder? I knew you were able to replicate some of his skills, but I thought you couldn't go beyond precise and well-defined limits?"

  "What would happen if these limits no longer existed?"

  Antilene approached the table. Could the general see beyond these lies simply by observing the half-elf? Draudillon, expecting a stunned reaction, tried to imagine what the world would be like when observed through the eyes of others. The result was not pleasant.

  "I'm not sure I can fully comprehend the implications of such statements. Ancient magic? As a soldier, I have learned about magic that can heal limbs, increase courage, enhance the mind and body, and launch devastating attacks. But I have also seen that same magic fail, be insufficient in the face of brute force, or too slow and impractical to guarantee victory. Your Majesty, you speak to me of ancient magic, and as a subject who does not look away from what is happening around us, I cannot help but hope for the goodness of this arcane secret..."

  And as a soldier? And as a man? No one was just one thing. General Barca was only showing one face, wondering if it was appropriate to bring the shadows of his thoughts on the exposed surface.

  "It will work," Antilene said. When the half-elf spoke all doubts quietened, and convictions arose from simple claims. "And even if it didn't… Do you have anything to lose?"

  'Who is this woman?' The man's raised eyebrow posed that question. 'What is she doing here?' 'What does she know about our battle?'

  "No. Nothing," his head drooped, curiosity unsatisfied. Some things were better left unknown.

  "If this doesn't work, the Draconic Kingdom will truly have lost all hope," Draudillon continued. Repeating it out loud was strangely comforting. "I can't reveal anything else. I can only ask for your help."

  The general's breathing became labored, and as his fingers traced across a well-worn map, it seemed that his years - too many, for someone in his position - had decided to present a bill for accumulated fatigue that had been put off for too long. "If I may remind you, Your Majesty, the current offensive operations are being managed by General Aderbaal after the last council of the nobility. At the moment, my competence stops at preventing the demihumans from going too far into the more populated areas."

  "I know, but Aderbaal doesn't have your experience," and, as a protégé of the more conservative part of the nobility, his loyalty could not be completely assured. "What I need is someone who is able to predict the beastmen's moves, so that I can gather them all in one place. Once I've acquired my grandfather's secret magic I should be able to eliminate as many enemies as possible, so as to settle the matter once and for all."

  If she had repeated that lie enough times, would it have come true? A prayer could also be answered in a different way from the supplications invoked.

  "It won't be easy. We don't have much information about demihuman culture and customs, but from what we've managed to gather over the years it is, although there is a figure similar to our monarchy, a social structure still very much divided into separate tribes, where each small chief has a significant degree of autonomy."

  In short, there was a risk that they couldn't all be lured with the same bait. Draudillon looked sideways at Antilene, who was smiling devilishly. A pure wave of cold ran down her spine, bones frozen by an intolerable tension.

  "Then it's simple. We'll just have to tempt them with something that every little boss desires. Not only to increase their power, but also to prevent their competitors from becoming too dangerous." The half-elf tapped Draudillon on the shoulder, who felt a strange, disturbing thrill on contact. The weight of a star had rested on her; how to describe it if not unbearable? "It will be a race against time, the finish line and prize of which will be chosen by us. All that remains is to spread the word among our enemies. That will be your job, General Barca."

  The man nodded, while the queen could only pray that things would go well.

  But when did they ever?

  It had been a long while since she had looked at the sky. When Draudillon looked over her gaze, she realized that the darkness of the night could be pleasant and capable of bringing comfort to a troubled soul. The queen had given up elegant clothes for a simple nightgown, made of purple satin that caressed her skin.

  Antilene had taken her leave with a simple, formal phrase.

  "See you tomorrow," and then she had left, nobody knew where. If Draudillon still had the energy to worry, she would have asked herself a thousand unanswered questions, formulating just as many wrong answers. The only thing that worried her at the moment was the pillow on which she would soon be placing her head.

  There was only one problem...

  "Would Your Majesty like anything? You're missing out on something special, this fruit is exceptional. And this wine is a delight."

  Optics, whose table manners one hoped were not a reflection of his skill with a sword, helped himself to what had been offered as dinner. Draudillon's stomach churned at the mere contemplation of the scene.

  "Thank you, but I don't have much of an appetite right now."

  In response, he took an apple from one of the plates and began to peel and cut it into many small slices. "Take it," his tone allowed no reply. "Starting tomorrow, we have a long journey ahead of us. And I don't intend to concern myself with your health either. If we have to run, I expect your legs to be swift. From now on, no less than three meals a day. Don't worry, your figure won't suffer."

  The queen hesitated, avoiding a comment on that last statement, glaring at her protector's hands before accepting. They were veiny and full of calluses, and to the touch they gave the impression of squeezing the trunk of an oak tree. "Are you worried about me?" She didn't know why she had asked. Draudillon simply felt that if silence fell over them, nothing else would disturb them. And part of her didn't want to admit that she was afraid of it.

  "I'm worried about my fee. That elven girl will make me pay if anything happens to you while she's not around."

  There was something very underhanded about it, but Draudillon didn't know where that impression came from. Perhaps there was just a glimmer of hope that that man was more than he pretended to be. "I haven't had the chance to offer you my gratitude yet. Our mission is important, and it wasn't a given that you would decide to join us. On behalf of the Draconic Kingdom, I thank you for the services you are providing."

  "There's no need for you to hang your head, Your Majesty. You should thank that elf girl. Such an idiotic proposal from anyone else would have been met with the necessary and appropriate laughter. But not even an undead would laugh at her."

  It was true.

  "Don't say that about Lady Fouche. She's... peculiar. Interesting, I might add."

  "Terrifying, I would venture to counter."

  Although it would have been appropriate to find something to retort, when in agreement even a simple gesture of politeness turned out to be difficult. "She's our only hope."

  The warrior's scarlet eyes remained dull. Optics' smiles, laughter and carefree gestures could not suppress that flash of contempt. Contempt which, strangely, was not directed at her. That would have been preferable.

  "I don't think it's the foreigners who have to save us..." That statement sank in like a knife.

  "If there's no one else, who can we rely on? Pride gets us nowhere. If you..."

  Draudillon didn't continue. If you... what? If Optics had fought on the front line from the very beginning, would anything have changed? Or would there be another on her conscience? One more, one less. What difference did it make?

  The realization that they were alone in that moment became concrete when the worker got up and approached her. Antilene still didn't show herself, and no one else in the fortress could stop the man.

  Optics continued to stare straight into her eyes. Draudillon tried hard to maintain her gaze, to keep her body as firm as an immovable rock. There was no one, she thought once again. They were alone. Alone, with the certainty that no one would come running at the right moment. Was that the fear? The same fear that her subjects felt every day?

  "If I…?"

  That man could devour her. The queen swallowed, but did not retreat.

  "If you and many others had not been consumed by greed, perhaps things would not have precipitated to this point."

  She couldn't impose sacrifices. She couldn't ask for death without offering anything in return. It wasn't selfish to want to keep your own life safe. It was unfair to accuse those who were not to blame. The only one to condemn was her, Draudillon Oriculus, the inept queen who could do nothing but watch those who died for her. Yet the hatred that welled up, that hatred that was only for herself, pleaded to get out.

  So, she wished she could curse those who only yearned for money, those who couldn't see the big picture, those who put themselves before others. If she, the queen, had to sacrifice herself, why shouldn't workers and adventures do the same? If she, who had been given a gift, had to share it, why were the others so jealous of their own?

  That man, Optics, was a hero. He could have been a hero. He could have saved so many, if only he hadn't put coinage before honor. No, not before honor. Before simple kindness. Before simple altruism. Before all those values that made even the little ones great.

  "You're right."

  "... What?"

  "Why are you so surprised? I agree with you completely. I could have done as the Holy Lord did and offered my sword to your service because it was the right thing to do. And I didn't. What right do I have to contradict you?"

  Optics moved away from her, gazing at the same starry sky that Draudillon had admired just a moment before, observing only the gods knew what. The sadness crackling from his face struck the queen's conscience.

  "Aren't you angry?"

  Optics replied in amazement, certainly not expecting that simple question. "For what? My lady, forgive the insolence, but you are very strange. First you accuse me and then you find yourself sorry for having hit the mark? If you derive some perverse pleasure from useless confrontation, I'm afraid I'm not the right man to satisfy these desires."

  Draudillon bit her lip, trying not to blush with embarrassment. "I mean... I was unfair."

  "You weren't."

  "It wasn't your job to die for me."

  "Maybe... Nevertheless, I could have done it. My lady, do you mind if I speak frankly?"

  The queen nodded.

  "I grew up in a bad neighborhood, having very little to eat for as long as I can remember. Hunger makes you do things you're not always proud of. I was luckier than others. I had a talent for fighting. I don't want to bore you with my life story, but I managed to carve out a space for myself. I had to protect that space with my teeth and nails for the rest of my existence. Criminals, nobles, monsters or subhumans. It never made any difference. I always held on tight to what little I had.

  "I am scum. Righteous people like you walk all over me. I don't say this to curry favor, but because it's true. You could run, you could sell us to the non-humans to save your own skin, but you don't. With the kingdom on the verge of bankruptcy, you give what you have to give just to buy us another day. You give up your dignity to keep us together. And now, you risk your life to guarantee us a future. I respect that. Hell, I admire it. If things get bad, I will abandon you. Because, unlike you, that is what I am."

  Someone more understanding would have been able to console him, to show him that it wasn't true. That someone was not Draudillon.

  "Why did you stay?"

  "Where?"

  "Here. In the Draconic Kingdom."

  "Where else could I go?"

  A talent like his could have flourished in other parts of the world. In the Draconic Kingdom he had been forced to remain dung. Only one person was to blame.

  "Wherever you wanted."

  Optics scratched his head, and he could hardly have said anything that would have made Draudillon happier.

  "But I wanted to stay here."

  A simple smile could soothe the most hurt heart.

  Beta readers: hackslashbash, whostolemytea?

  A/N Lately things have been kind of a downer. Thank you very much for everyone who left a comment, it means a lot.