The Secluded Queen, page 37
The Great City of Patara was busy and full of Anatolian business people rushing to and fro. Nothing seemed unusual here, directly contradicting her father’s letter. He had made it seem like an army was attacking Patara. If it was just a matter of pirates and his men finally getting sick of his antics, I will smack him up the side of his head with my spear.
People gawked as she strode past, leading Midnight by the reins behind her. The roads were worn smooth from the heavy traffic, and the sidewalks were filled with pedestrians. The buildings were made from wood with tiled roofs and built very close together, sharing an alleyway or built so close that they shared a wall. Many different peoples from many foreign lands lived here, brought together over their commonalities: their love of money, trading, and finding a good bargain. It was a city of wealth and poverty, opportunity and threat, where dreams were won and lost, then won and lost again in a single lifetime. If you were lucky and smart, you would end your life on a winning streak. If you were unlucky and smart, you died starving and alone in an alleyway or as a servant to a lucky one. It was a cutthroat city, it was an unforgiving city, it was a city that Veronica loved. She had thrived here on nothing other than her friendships and street smarts. It was the only place in the world where she could form friendships—at the end of a dark alley with the threat of life being cut too short.
The gray stone prison was the only area of the seaside city where the streets were not overflowing with pedestrians. The citizens of The Great City of Patara did not need a reminder of what happens when their schemes cross a little too far into the gray area. The people who worked and lived in the prison were lost and stagnant to the community, the exact opposite of what every citizen of Patara strove to be. Veronica approached the entryway, resonating that same feeling of dread. There had been many a time when she herself had almost ended up in this building while trying to survive. Some of her friends did end up here. Her young life had been spent balancing on the razor’s edge of survival, where falling off either side spelled either certain death or imprisonment. In her youth, she had not been proper, she had not been in good standing with the law, and she had loved every minute of it.
Another thing her father had stripped from her, torn from her, and cast aside like garbage. When he had taken her away from here, from Tristan Kay, it had been the beginning of her attempts at perfectionism and the end of her happiness. What had made her happy here—her elaborate dance between death and imprisonment—was nothing but garbage to her father. I never could have been comfortable being the perfect little Queen at the castle. What brings me happiness is the looming threat of death and the fight to survive. That is what brought me happiness at the cabin in The Forever Green Forest.
A guard stopped her when she tried to enter, a frown on his face as he worked out why a woman in full battle armor would want to be there. “Hold there, if you please. What business do you have at the prison?”
“I am Queen Veronica. I am here to see that Urartum of the Steel-Blade tribe is released at once.” She clacked her spear pole on the ground as she finished her request.
He raised an eyebrow dubiously. “I thought the Queen was dead?”
“I am not dead. I am Queen Veronica of Anatolia. I have learned that my friend Urartum had been imprisoned here under the accusation of murdering a Castle Guardsman.”
He gave a low chuckle. “It is no accusation, miss. He has been found guilty on all counts.”
“You may address me as Queen, not as Miss.”
His face twisted in annoyance. “Prove to me that you are my Queen! I don’t have time for this drivel. Why would the Queen of Anatolia come to a prison alone without an escort?”
“The Castle Myra is under siege, and all my escorts are otherwise engaged.”
He pointed at the empty road behind her. “You are a liar, and I will have you arrested if you do not leave at once.”
Veronica scoffed. “Arrested? Under what charge?”
The guard growled, “Impersonation of a royal or diplomatic figurehead.”
“How can I prove to you my identity so we can resolve this matter without issue?”
The man paused and thought momentarily, “It seems to me that if Lord Amount vouched for you, I would not be able to refute the claim.”
“Lord Amount? I have to get my father to vouch that I am indeed the Queen? This is preposterous!”
The man put a hand on the sword at his waist. “Preposterous or not, those are the terms. Now be on your way, nomad lover.”
Nomad lover? Veronica sighed, exasperated, then turned and left the prison. How is it that everyone can know that I am dead, but no one knows what I look like? He better hope that my father is willing to vouch for me because if that fails, I will be back for his head. Something in the back of her mind was horrified that she would even consider killing so quickly and over a misunderstanding. Then that thing fell quiet, and she realized that she indeed was willing and able to kill anyone who got in her way of reaching Urartum. He had helped her when she had needed him most. She would not stop until she had saved him from the executioner’s blade. Even if they somehow repelled this invasion, she would not be able to live with herself, knowing that her mistakes got that good man killed. It wasn’t about strategy; it was about doing what was right.
If you can make a few things go correctly, the rest of the day can go as it may. Even if the rest of the day consists of losing your kingdom and having your people enslaved by a madman.
Veronica knew where her father would be, as the cheapskate never would have left, even though he was the wealthiest man in Patara. Her family home was a couple of miles from the prison, in a poor and dark part of the city, nestled between Seamus’ Fisherman’s Hut and a seafood restaurant named Felicia’s Hook and Reel. Both businesses were still there, and the owners were still bickering with one another over everything from price to how fresh the fish actually was.
Both stopped fighting when she opened the door to her family home without knocking, and looked after her curiously as she closed the door behind her. The house was dark, cold, and void of light and life. Not much had changed. It was furnished the same way, though it was notably filthy. Too cheap to pay for a cleaning service. The man is as predictable as cold weather in the winter.
A distant ruckus could be heard in the house as someone stood up from a desk, the chair grinding on the floors. “Who’s there? This is a private residence, and you are trespassing.” Heavy boots banged across the floor, the floor creaking angrily along with him. “If that’s you, Blake, I told you never to set foot...” Her father rounded the corner in front of her, wielding a giant war hammer, then froze in his tracks as he took in the woman who stood before him. “Veri? Is that you?”
It was shocking to see how old he had gotten, how much weight he was carrying, and how miserable he appeared to be. He was wearing his old leather coat, the exact same one that he had worn every day throughout her entire childhood and before she had started her life at Castle Myra. He had a round, wrinkled face, large bags under his eyes, and a long black beard. Everything about him looked worn, from the bare crown of his head, his remaining hair grown long and secured behind in a ponytail over a hunched back, to the tattered and holey boots that covered his feet.
Veronica couldn’t find words. He looks terrible.
Her father stumbled closer. “Veri! It is you!”
She cleared her throat and was able to utter a single word, “Yes.”
The next moment was even more shocking than the last. Lord Amount dropped his hammer in a crash on the floor and rushed to her, embracing her tightly. “I thought I would never see my daughter again.” He moved her back to arm’s length and took her appearance in. “Even more beautiful than at your wedding! Though I don’t believe it is fitting for a Queen to be in battle armor?”
Veronica’s temper flared. “It is if I say it is. I am Queen, after all, father.”
“Poppycock! I’m sure I have a dress of your mother’s around here somewhere.”
“I’m not changing into a dress, father.”
He pursed his lips and wagged a finger in her face that smelled strongly of menthol. “Councilman Lucilla told me how difficult it was to keep you in line.”
“Councilman... Lucilla? You have been in communication with her... and you didn’t think to send me a letter? You took the time for that pompous old woman and not for your own daughter?”
Her father furrowed his brows. “Never sent you a letter?” he turned from her, motioned for her to follow him, then stumbled to a couch in the sitting room and collapsed into it. Veronica took a seat across from him next to a window, a window so filthy that you couldn’t make out the faces of the pedestrians visiting the shops outside. “Ah, that’s better. Can’t have a good conversation while we stand in the entryway...”
“Father, I never received a letter from you until just a few days ago.”
“Of course not.”
Veronica shifted to the edge of the chair and leaned towards him, eyes blazing. “Of course not? You had just traded me to the King for a contract to make you rich! I had never been a royal before! I never had a formal education and had no idea what I was doing! You didn’t think to check in on me?”
The faux warmth vanished from her father, and the stern man made an appearance in the room, the same one that she had known from childhood. “You were not traded. I used my connections to make you Queen! You should show me some appreciation for what I did for you.”
“Appreciation? No, Father, you traded me first to secure that contract to improve your business. You thought nothing of my well-being, just like you never thought of my well-being as you left me to fend for myself while you sailed Encroacher to the ends of the earth. You would have made the deal even if it was to some lowly man who had enough pull to land you the trade contract. You would have sold me as a slave if I would have fetched a large enough sum!”
He slammed his fist down on the arm of the couch. “Do not question my motives, Veronica! I am your father, and what I did I did for you.”
“You did it for your business. I was there, father. You explained it all to me on the deck of Encroacher. I could never forget a conversation like that.”
“You are just as unappreciative as you were as a girl! I will not apologize for my choices. Besides, what do I know of being Queen? You were well taken care of. You had Councilman Lucilla to look after you. And why would I check in on you to see how you were faring as Queen? I get the newspaper.”
Veronica’s eyes started burning, and she said quietly, “I was all alone, and I missed you. I could have used your support.”
“What was that? Speak up, girl!”
Veronica leaped to her feet. “YOU ABANDONED ME!”
He threw his hands in the air. “I can’t take your nonsense. I made you Queen; at some point, you will have to do something for yourself. I can’t do everything for you!”
Veronica’s veins filled with ice. “Oh, don’t worry, father. You don’t have to do anything for me ever again.” She turned and stormed to the front door, hesitating as her hand touched the doorknob, realizing that she didn’t get what she needed from her father. She didn’t turn to him to address him. “Get up. You will accompany me to the prison to vouch for my identity.”
Silence. Veronica rounded on her father, who she found sitting back in his chair, a smug look on his face. “I told you that if you didn’t start behaving like a woman, it would come back to bite you in the end.”
“GET UP! No one will recognize me here. I need you to vouch that I am Queen so I can save a man from being wrongfully executed.”
“No. I don’t need this nonsense in my life, and screaming at me will not get me to change my mind. It’s about time you did something for yourself.”
She couldn’t keep the tears from falling as she said, “Fine. I will leave you to your misery. Just know this: I was not the cause of my mother’s death. You were. If you had let her shop in the clean part of town, she never would have caught the blight.”
“Never mind your mother. She has been dead and gone for over twenty years now.”
“What do you mean, never mind? She was my mother!”
He knocked a dirty glass from the table next to him that shattered as it hit the floor. “Speaking of her makes me miserable. I have moved on! Do not bring her up again.”
Veronica couldn’t believe her ears. Her own father didn’t want to speak of his wife? Her mother? Miserable old man indeed. I hope he dies alone.
“Now, that’s a good girl. Back to the matter at hand.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just as daft as you ever were. Did you not read my letter? I have lost everything! My own men rebelled against me! Led by that smecking Tristan Kay, you loved so goram much. Mutineers, the lot of them! I swear I’ll lop off their cowardly heads myself when I get the chance...”
“Why... why exactly would I help you?”
Her father slowly stood and looked at her with murder in his eyes, trying to intimidate her, to demean her, to threaten her. “Because, you ungrateful child, you owe me for everything you ever had.”
“I owe you nothing.”
“I MADE YOU QUEEN!” He charged her then, arms outstretched, reaching to grab her neck, to strangle her, to murder his daughter.
Not this time. Veronica ripped her spear free from her back and spun out of the path of her heavy-footed father, bringing her spear pole down hard into the floor, catching his feet, and sending him crashing into the door. He cursed and began pushing himself up but froze when he saw the spearhead inches from his throat.
“Wretched girl. You wouldn’t dare kill me.”
Veronica grinned. “Don’t test me, old man. I have killed soldiers, executed a High Councilman, and battled magicians. They all believed I didn’t have it in me to spill their filthy blood.” He began struggling to right himself again, and she pressed her spearhead into his neck, just enough to cut and draw blood. “It. Didn’t. End. Well. For. Them.”
Realizing he was caught, his mannerisms changed, and his countenance softened. “But Veri...”
“DON’T CALL ME VERI.”
“They have Encroacher! The ship you called home for much of your teenage years!”
Veronica steeled her heart against him, and his manipulations fell upon deaf ears. “I owe you nothing. I will not help you. I do not need you in my life. May you die in loneliness and misery. I hate you. If you seek me out, the only help you will receive is to an early grave.” Then, she left her childhood home for the last time.
A gruff man with a handcart full of cobblestones shoved up the road. Merchants of many different ethnicities called their wares out to passersby. Stray cats tended the alleyways. The streets hummed with energy. Veronica waited for an opening in the heavy traffic, then crossed the road towards her old chapel. After that disastrous run-in with her father, she desperately needed a friendly face.
Why did I even try? He’s just as he always has been: greedy, selfish, miserable, and absolutely useless.
The chapel she stepped into was the same dusty old building that she had frequented as a young girl in Patara. Several patrons sat in the pews, silently praying, pondering, or reading abridged copies of The Scrolls of the Gods. Its many stained-glass windows cast a multicolored hue to the benches and dais below. Overall, it was a much more ornate chapel than what was built in The Castle Myra, but this was to be expected in one of the wealthiest cities in all of Anatolia. The chapel in Myra was also aged, having been erected longer than the one she now stepped into. Even the statues on the dais flickered with the torchlight with more power than at Myra. This was due to the hundreds of jewels adhered to the sculpture’s surfaces. Where Myra had statues with stained or naturally colored stones, this chapel was so wealthy that to create the same effect, they had adorned them with jewels. It was a powerful and fulfilling experience. Not all followers agreed with the expenditure of vast wealth–in truth, mini fortunes–but Veronica enjoyed the variation. If all chapels were the same, how could one create meaningful memories within them?
Though the jewels were distracting, the true reason that she was here was to find Paivo Clearfall. He had left Myra during her short time living in The Forever Green Forest, and she desperately needed to confide, and altogether vent to, her oldest friend. The fact that this meeting was to take place in a chapel reminiscent of her rough childhood made the visit incredibly impactful to Queen Veronica. Her heart, nor her mind, could take this visit lightly. She was all alone, just as she had been in her youth, heading to Paivo to confide the anxieties, worries, and pains of her heart.
Another difference between the chapel in Patara and Myra was the location of the Altar of Cybele. While Myra was more symbolic, having the altar basking forever in the sun–the ultimate fuel for life–this altar was located behind the dais, with a small pathway leading worshipers behind the statues of the gods to perform said worship. Because the population density of Patara was so high, they were forced to erect the altar within the ornate chapel itself. There simply was not enough room within the city to have the altar outside. It was from here she spotted the aged old man, and her longtime friend, Paivo Clearfall. He was muttering under his breath as he reset the tribute, hard at work and unaware of Queen Veronica’s arrival.
She basked in the emotions of seeing her friend again and watched him work from afar. When she had seen him last, he had given her advice that not only was contrary to her own heart and mind but also angered and upset her as well. If Veronica had married Alabaster, there would be a good chance that The Castle Myra would be under enemy occupation, and she would be swinging from a noose from one of the jade tower windows. Veronica understood that Paivo was not omnipotent; that wasn’t an issue at all, especially since he had made himself perfectly clear that she was free to make her own choices and that she didn’t have to follow his advice to maintain good relations with him.
