McKINNON ESTATE—GLENDALOW
1260 CE

He’s not here,” Mierta frowned. Without a response he watched Anya push past him and step inside. Mierta sighed and followed her.

“Where is he? Taking care of a patient I presume?” Anya said, looking about the room.

“Gone,” Mierta said, closing the door behind them. “I don’t know where. I don’t keep track of him,” Mierta lied. He normally would not be this cross with Anya, but his potion needed watching. “Is the interrogation over now? May I return to my business or is there something else you need, Your Majesty?”

Anya frowned slightly and cleared her throat. “My, when did we come to such inauspicious terms?” she uttered.

Mierta stared at the queen, his eyes telling her that he was not in the mood for any of her shenanigans. However, his thoughts drifted back to when he first met Anya.

COINNEACH CASTLE—

THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY

1228 CE

MIERTA OPENED the door and stepped out of the private apartment into the hall. He wanted to scream from excitement. Things may have not gone exactly to plan, however, he believed in his heart Ezekiel would be able to teach him everything he needed.

He became so lost in his own thoughts, it did not register the queen had been approaching from down the hall. He walked right into her.

Mierta glanced forwards, his eyes widening, realising he had carelessly bumped into the queen. “Your Grace,” Mierta said, abruptly lowering himself to the ground. “Forgive me for my clumsiness.”

Anya smirked and reached out her hand for Mierta to kiss. “Mierta is your name, is it not?”

“Yes, my name is Mierta,” he spoke nervously.

“I understand you were one of the members who helped spare the life of our young soothsayer. Déor and I are most grateful for everyone’s benevolence. Rise. Please, speak freely.”

“You are more than kind,” Mierta answered, rising. “I really did not have anything to do with it.”

“Nonsense. There is no need to be modest. My little birds tell me you have talents, many, which have not been fully developed yet.” She quickly looked him over, her eyes stopping at his crouch, feeling certain she could manipulate him just like she had other boys even though he was a warlock. She brushed her finger against the bottom of his chin.

Mierta felt blood rise to his cheeks and his heart started to race. He glanced into the queen’s eyes, afraid to further embarrass himself. “Thank you for your confidence, Your Grace,” he replied nervously.

Anya laughed. “Please, there is no need to address me so formally. You may address me informally. From this day forward, you shall be permitted to address me as Anya. I expect I shall see more of you in court?”

“I reckon so, though it may be some time, Your Grace, I mean Anya,” Mierta answered.

“And why, may I inquire, is that?” the queen answered. She was confident she was leaving a favourable impression on the warlock, observing Mierta’s flushed cheeks and uneven breathing.

“Yes,” Mierta replied with a smile. “I have been awarded an apprenticeship with the Apothecarist, Ezekiel Kavanagh. He is the one you should really be thanking for saving your soothsayer.”

“Is that so?” Anya said, raising an eyebrow, intrigued. “Well, then, I expect to see great things from you in the future, Mierta,”

McKINNON ESTATE—GLENDALOW
1260 CE

“ALL RIGHT, I confess!” Anya said, bringing Mierta back to the present. “I lied. I didn’t come here for business with my court physician. I came here to see you. I could not send a messenger and request an audience with you at the castle. It would be too risky. People would wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Mierta asked, softening a bit from a small moment of sheer curiosity, but he still held his sour look. “What are you up to?”

“I rather dislike confrontation in an entry way, but I have a proposal. I need a favour. Believe me,” she said, walking towards him, using her body to get his attention, “you will be greatly rewarded.” She spoke in a flirtatious tone as she traced a finger down the left side of his cheek and then lightly blew in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“You got my attention,” Mierta replied, eyeing her with disgust. “There is no need for you to seduce me. Certainly I have learned all of your tricks by now. You should be doing that with Déor. Tell me, has he stopped going to your bedroom again, ignoring his royal duty of a husband because he realised the wench you really are?”

Anya’s eyes grew wide and she slapped him hard on the side of the face.

Mierta turned his face away, smirking.

“How dare you!” Anya asserted. She pulled her hand as if to slap him a second time, and as she swung forward, Mierta grabbed her wrist.

“Enough!” Mierta said.

“How dare you speak of such things to me? I am your queen!” She paused, becoming angrier by the minute. She could hear him snickering. “What is this mockery? Speak!”

He turned his face back to her, his eyes fuming. “I do not answer to the kingdom of Vandolay. The only person I report to is ME!”

“Preposterous. You may now live in Glendalow, but you still are a warlock; therefore, you owe your allegiance to Kateo, unless he has passed and Aracelly has no leader?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Mierta said, shaking away her notion. He continued, “But if you think for a moment I’m going to assist you in your plans, you are wrong,” he sneered.

Then it occurred to him that he had completely forgotten about his potion. He responded by increasing the speed of speech and turned to walk away. “Now, I have other matters to attend to, if you’ll excuse me.”

Anya responded by forcefully grabbing both of his hands and coerced him to face her. She placed his hands directly over bare skin above her breasts. “Mierta.”

Mierta could feel her heartbeat under his hands, but he forced himself with every last inch of his mind to resist her advances. He thought she was attractive, and yet he was completely aware that she frequently enticed men. She was trying to entrap him, but she would fail. He was more cunning than she was. He was already onto her.

“Oh, stop it. I know what you are planning,” he quieted his voice, leaning into the Anya’s body and speaking into her ear. “It isn’t going to work. I’m a very busy man. You don’t want me to cast a spell on you.”

They were both so much alike and the queen didn’t even know it, which was a shame, really, because together, Mierta acknowledged to himself, there would be nothing they couldn’t accomplish.

Defeated, Anya loosened her grip on his hands. “All right. You don’t have to act so peevish. I can see you are going to be a challenge for me.” she said as she watched Mierta adjust his clothing. Her first impulse was to issue an order, but she thought better of it. Threatening him further would be a waste. It was obvious she could not control him. “I request you take me to where you make your potions, please. Prove to me that what I have heard of your genius was more than simple rumours.”

“As you wish,” he sulked, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. He gestured towards the cellar.

Anya responded by gesturing back, instructing him to take the lead.

Mierta sighed. He walked past Anya and started down the stairs. “Be careful of the rats,” said Mierta, pausing, realising how incredibly awkward the next part would sound. “They like to hang around the stairs. Don’t step on them, I’ve come to enjoy their company.”

Anya half laughed. “Enjoy the company of rats? I would have never thought of such a preposterous suggestion.”

ORLYND’S COTTAGE—

THE KINGDOM OF ARACELLY
1260 CE

“HELLO?” ORLYND said, peeking out the door. When he felt a small tug on his dressing gown, he glanced downward. “Oh, hello, wee lad,” Orlynd smiled, lowering himself to the boy’s height. The boy had to be no older than six or seven. “Whit is yir name?”

“My name is Arthur, sir,” the boy answered with a half–smile.

By the way the boy was dressed, Orlynd concluded Arthur was not from the Kingdom of Aracelly. He wore a second–hand white cotton shirt, a pair of black breeches, which had a large rip in the left knee, an overcoat missing some buttons, and shoes falling apart at the heels.

“Arthur,” Orlynd spoke, trying to figure out why the boy looked slightly familiar to him. He was certain Arthur couldn’t be one of the royal family’s trusted messengers, but then, why was he here? Was he perhaps lost? “Tell me, where ur yir Mam n’ Dad? Ur yis lost?”

“No, sir,” Arthur responded, “my parents are home.”

“N’ where is hame? Huv yis travelled far?” Orlynd questioned, becoming more befuddled.

“Yes, sir,” Arthur replied. “From the kingdom of Vandolay, sir. My older brother was supposed to deliver this to you, but he’s real sick with a rash, fever and a sore throat. Here you are, sir.” The boy pulled a white envelope that had been folded in half from his overcoat.

Orlynd watched intently as Arthur handed him the note. “Thank yis, Arthur.”

Orlynd flipped over the letter, discovering it contained a great blue seal of the realm indicating it was something important about a member of the royal family of Vandolay.

Orlynd sighed deeply. Then he realised why Arthur looked familiar to him. He furrowed his forehead in worry.

“Arthur,” Orlynd said, placing the letter safely into his bathrobe pocket for safekeeping for later. His worried eyes gazed at the boy. “Yis said yir older brother wis sick? Is yir older brother named, Seamus?”

Arthur nodded.

“Huv yis fetched the court physician?” Orlynd asked with concern in his voice.

“No, sir. The court physician could not come out to our house. He is not seeing people anymore. Mum was crying and said he is really sick, too. She thinks he may be dying.”

“Blimey,” uttered Orlynd. Multiple thoughts flew through his mind. Seamus had most likely not been seen by anyone else, which made the situation even more perilous. Judging from the state of Arthur’s shoddy attire, his family most likely could not afford the trip to the kingdom of Aracelly to have Seamus seen by the healers at the sanatorium.

“Tell yis whit, Arthur,” Orlynd replied. “Ah’m going tae help yis git Seamus well again. Jist give me a moment, stay right thir.” Orlynd stood up and went back into the house to fetch some money. After a minute of searching through a dresser in his bedroom where he kept extra cash around in case of an emergency, he returned back to Arthur. He lowered himself down again to Arthur’s height. “Give me yis hand.”

Arthur did as Orlynd told him.

Orlynd placed the money in the palm of his hand. “Tell ye Mam nae tae worry. She can git Seamus tae the kingdom ay Aracelly n’ thir is enough tae buy all ay yis new clothes. Oan yis go.”

“Thank you, sir. Bless you!” Arthur exclaimed.

Orlynd smiled. He watched Arthur run down the dirt pathway towards the centre of the kingdom. Once he was out of sight, Orlynd went back into his cottage. He sat down on his bed and opened the letter.

Inside was a summoning, a request for Orlynd’s presence at Coinneach Castle to have an audience with the king of Vandolay pertaining to important matters regarding his upcoming coronation celebration.