84
Queen Ophelia
Northwestern Border of the Veil of The Enchantments
WODELL
Ophelia stood at the side of the cot, staring down at her friend.
Melisse was deathly pale, and even unconscious, looked in pain.
Ophelia’s mouth tightened.
“A word, Your Grace,” a voice murmured.
She turned her head and looked up to the Go’Doan priest who may have saved Melisse’s life.
G’Liam, probably named William by his parents.
He was the priest who gave her daughter the medication Ophelia now took to help battle the pain and fatigue of the illness that was slowly draining her life away.
It had taken some days for it to start working, but it did.
The sickness ate at her still, she felt it.
But she could now function with much more energy, and much less misery.
She inclined her head to the man, moved out of the tent and several feet away.
She saw her lieutenants, Julia and Lucinda close.
Agnes was supervising the lining up of the Go’Doan bodies that had fallen to the Nadirii in battle the night before so whichever ones could be identified by whoever might wish to claim them would.
Also, the corralling of the prisoners which they very much took and very much intended to interrogate.
“Her prognosis,” Ophelia asked when they stopped.
“Frankly, I’m surprised she’s still alive,” he answered.
His attention was then taken, and Ophelia watched in some shock as his face softened with affection and his chin dipped to something over her shoulder.
She looked that way to see a Go’Ella, one of the acolytes of the Go’Doan, though this one not wearing the sheers of that caste, but instead, the same kind of apparel, though not see-through, and a lovely shade of pale pink, not white.
The woman ducked into the tent.
She was pretty, as many of the Go’Ella were.
She also had a certain serenity about her, which few of the Go’Ella had.
“My chosen one, Saira,” Liam explained. “And if I see the changes in the Go’Doan I wish to make, she will be my wife.”
At her age, there was little that surprised Ophelia.
But that did.
“I teach her what I know. She assists in my work,” he continued astounding her. “You can trust her. She is very good at what she does, has much knowledge and experience. And if she had not been at my side helping me work on your sister, all would have been lost.”
“She is a Go’Ella,” Ophelia pointed out.
Aversion shifted through his expression before he replied, “She was and perhaps officially she still is. I have five other women who work for me, and officially they still are too, even if they are not.”
Ophelia’s brows shot up. “Who work for you?”
“Administratively, in what I do for the Education Ministry of the Go’Doan. Or as nurses in the work I do at the hospital. I do not consider them Go’Ella. I consider them colleagues.”
And that astonished her most of all.
Thus, Ophelia studied him, perhaps his words, or the sense she felt that they were genuine, bringing to the forefront her realization if she was not as she was that day—her age, her condition—she would wish to lay with him.
More than once.
He was tall, handsome, self-possessed and unmistakably intelligent.
Alas, not only was she her age, and her condition, he was committed to another.
She brought them back to the matter at hand.
“And as Melisse is a miracle of survival at this juncture, you cannot say her prognosis.”
“I can say I would prefer to have her in a situation where I could control her environs and the possible poisons that could get into her wound, which, it is my feeling, some actually exist in the air and not just the dressings or instruments used on the wound.”
How fantastical, Ophelia thought.
“In other words,” he continued, “I would like to see her in a hospital. But I do not think it’s safe to move her now. Nor will it be tomorrow, if she survives. After that, I will reassess.”
“But as she is now still alive, you must have some feeling of what the chances are my friend will get to after that?”
“If you asked me before I worked on her what the chances of her still breathing right now were, I would have said nil. But by some miracle, he missed her trachea by but a centimeter when he punctured her chest. However, she lost a great deal of blood, the wound is large, the weapon was a horn which I can assume was not drenched in spirits to kill possible poisons. So, my answer to whether she will still be with us in two days is, perhaps not nil.”
Good goddess, she might like this Go’Doan.
On that thought, it was definitely time to move on.
“And your brothers who attacked my realm?” she queried.
“They are not my brothers,” he replied calmly, lifted a hand when she opened her mouth to retort, and spoke on when she did not. “They are Go’Doan, trained priests. Yes. And it’s my understanding some time ago, precisely thirty-seven years, a small faction of our kind approached the high priests, suggesting that the spread of our faith was not occurring fast enough. Peoples of Airen, Firenze and Wodell were doggedly worshiping their own gods, and The Enchantments and Mar-el would not even let our priests in to educate and heal. They felt more should be done.”
Ophelia nodded.
Liam carried on.
“This was decidedly not a popular suggestion and their ideas to facilitate their desires were not only refused, they were remonstrated for even suggesting them and warned if they should do anything further, even discuss this with other priests, they would be cast out. Regrettably, this only served to make them even more zealous in their cause.”
“And you know of this, so the Go’Doan know of this, so you must know the next question I will ask is why King Ares is dead, Sofia is dead, and Melisse is hovering on death and this was not stopped before it grew out of control.”
He shook his head. “They were far from open about their recruitment, Your Grace. They were careful. They were also smart. Fervent, even fanatical, but not aggressive. They further took time to get organized. By the time they were large enough in number that there were whispers amongst the other priests, they had some hold and their aggression came in other ways. There truly are those priests of Go’Doan who have no idea they even exist. There are others who do who fear them mightily and for reason. And there are still others, like myself, who do something about it.”
“And what do you do?”
“I’m afraid the number who is like me is small. So, I do what I can with what I can discover without getting discovered myself and I, or more importantly, my chosen one and the women I work closely with, finding ourselves targeted which could mean dire things, including the end of our lives.”
Damn it all.
She could understand this was a deterrent.
It wasn’t an excuse.
But it was an understandable deterrent, especially with this man and the way he looked at his Saira.
His hazel eyes intensified. “And the things I do are such as sending anonymous birds to Nadirii queens to warn them their realm is about to be attacked.”
She would credit him for that.
But not much, because of what she asked next.
“And why didn’t you save Melisse?” she snapped.
“I knew they had her, but I couldn’t even begin to imagine that was part of their plan,” he answered. “Not until too late. And then, I could only react, which,” he gestured to the tent he had set up to care for Melisse, “Saira, myself and our group did.”
It remained to be seen if that was enough.
“I cannot offer excuses,” he went on. “And it is with grave remorse I share the fullness of our responsibility, for we were aware that things were well out of hand when King Ares was assassinated by G’Dor, who was one of the priests who had come forward with these desires for the future of our faith. He then left it, presumably at the time, because the others did not see things as he did. When he murdered Ares, we became very aware of just how far this had gone and those higher up who understood the situation was spiraling tried to handle things…” his pause was weighty before he continued, “internally. Clearly, they failed.”
“Clearly, they did,” she agreed crossly.
“And sadly,” he kept on, “we do not know the extent of their operations.”
This did not bode well.
“Are the Go’Doan prepared to condemn this faction and cast them out so they no longer enjoy the resources of the Dome City?”
He shook his head again. “I’m afraid I am not yet a priest of a level that is privy to the discussions of those who speak for our faith and make those kinds of decisions, much less am I invited to be in those discussions. But my understanding is, no. They simply deny it has anything to do with the true Go’Doan faith, condemn any acts made by the extremists and continue to try to stem the tide internally.”
“I lost not a sister in battle to these men, who are not warriors,” Ophelia stated, throwing a hand in the direction of the battlefield, such as it was. “However, if I did, I would be even more infuriated than I already am with my sister lying abed, her future survival unlikely, not twenty feet away. Not to mention having to ask my sisters to ride under the threat of any battle, this being that they may be harmed or killed. And I can share with you that a condemnation of the event without any teeth in it coming from the Dome City would not appease me in the slightest.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” she asked.
He nodded. “I truly do. However, I am but one man. And the enormity of this issue is paralyzing those who might have some power to do something about it.”
“This is not good enough. For we took prisoners. We will interrogate those—”
She stopped speaking when she saw Agnes galloping toward them on her horse.
Liam turned and they both watched as Agnes reined in when she was close before she swung off.
She wasted nary a second leading her steed to her queen.
“We’ve received a bird,” Agnes declared. “The Rising launched another attack. They somehow infiltrated the temple during Prince True’s wedding.” She cast a filthy glance at Liam before she finished, “Queen Mercy was slain.”
Ophelia took a step back, such was the blow.
“One of True’s guard was severely injured,” Agnes carried on. “Two others took arrows, but they will be fine. Farah also took an arrow. A flesh wound. She, too, will recover.”
Without hesitation, Ophelia launched in at Liam.
“We regularly beat back those who wish to bring down The Enchantments. But that,” she stabbed a finger in the direction of Notting Thicket, “that will not be abided. There will be no understanding thus no acceptance that these are not the actions of,” she spiked her finger at Liam, “your people. All of you. If True does not wrest control, your temples will be overrun. Your priests will be in danger. You must communicate immediately with this level of priests you speak of who discuss these things and urge them strongly to renounce this Rising. If you do not, your home, your followers, your teachers and physicians, your entire faith will be in jeopardy.”
He was shaken, she could tell by the paleness of his skin and his whisper of, “I did not know they had this planned.”
“That doesn’t matter. Now you do,” Ophelia snapped. “Get thee to a goddess-damned bird.”
He nodded, turned and did not dally.
He took off running.
Agnes’s voice was much changed when she said, “My queen, we have also located the maimed one.”
Ophelia’s head turned to her lieutenant.
“The one who perpetrated this atrocity, has he been identified?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And he is alive?”
“Yes.”
Ophelia nodded. “Let us see to this matter without delay.”
“Yes, my queen,” Agnes murmured.
Ophelia moved to her horse.
Agnes mounted hers.
And they rode.
The stallion’s mare was overly protective of him.
This was unsurprising.
She whinnied her warning angrily, butting under his neck to get in front of him and approaching hostilely as the once-proud stallion, shorn of his horn, apprehensively retreated.
Ophelia’s blood boiled.
“Bring him to me,” she bit, dismounting.
Her own mare shifted back as Ophelia stood where she dropped, not daring to approach either animal.
Enough had been done to them at human hands. They’d never trust another.
They would know they were avenged.
But they would never trust another.
She wondered briefly why they left The Enchantments at all.
She then made note to speak to her witches who spoke to the animals.
They needed to be warned about further wanderings.
When her sisters brought him, she saw he was as she’d ordered him to be.
The priest of The Rising who had perpetrated this atrocity was paralyzed by Nadirii magic, all but his voice, which was muted in its pleas and curses by a gag.
He was thus tossed like a doll to the ground before Ophelia, landing on his back.
At this, the mare nickered, and both creatures braced as if to bolt.
But Ophelia spoke soothingly.
“If I could heal you, I would. If I could give you back your sacred horn, your magic, I would perish from the earth myself to offer these returned to you. But I cannot.”
The unicorns watched her cautiously.
“I can only avenge you, and after, use your magic for good.”
The creatures continued to stare at her.
Ophelia did not delay.
She turned to Julia, who handed her the sacred piece, the magnificent horn that had been taken from the stallion.
It had, as she’d ordered, been cleansed of Melisse’s blood.
Ophelia then took her position, standing over the villain, one foot to each side.
She looked down at him.
He stared up at her with wide, terror-filled eyes, his lips moving around the gag.
“You have achieved your aim. You lie upon the soil of The Enchantments,” she shared with him. “And you die knowing you made your way onto that soil, but you did not make The Enchantments burn. You also die knowing the fullness of the depths of your failure. For you lived to bow others to your beliefs, and your death will serve only to strengthen the protections of a sisterhood.”
She wished to give him time to consider that.
But she did not take that time.
For the unicorns, this must be done.
And she herself had things to do.
Thus, Ophelia lifted the horn up high above her head and felt the twirl of magic coil up her spine.
“Nadirii,” she intoned, “means ‘oppressed’ in the old tongue. Nadirii,” she continued, “means ‘sisterhood’ in the ancient tongue. You die by the hand of a Nadirii and this means you die by the hands of all the sisterhood. And you die tonight due to your treachery against what we hold hallowed. Nature. Magic. Both in one. Both in the majestic unicorn.”
She then brought the horn down, embedding it where he had done the same in Melisse.
However, she did not miss his trachea.
His eyes grew ever wider as they filled with pain, and behind the gag he screamed with the last of the breath he had in what was left of his throat.
She took no joy from that.
Or comfort.
Ophelia simply stepped away and stood with her sisters as he whimpered behind his gag for several moment before his body started to disintegrate.
When it did, it did with coral particles starting from where the horn stuck from his chest.
Up they drifted.
Up.
More of them.
More.
Until all of him was naught but sparkling dust.
It spread high above and was absorbed by the magical shield that protected Nadirii land.
There was nothing left of him. No soul to raise or lower.
His essence would forever protect the Nadirii.
Until it was unneeded.
Then it would just…
Cease.
Ophelia looked to the unicorns.
“It is done,” she whispered.
The mare dipped her jaw.
Then the stallion whinnied.
And they both turned and galloped away.