The Broken Kingdoms of Osvolta (Kingdoms of Osvolta #1)

26. A Mother’s Love

Chapter twenty-six

A Mother’s Love

I n the central turret of High Tower Castle, the Queen of Torrelin rifled through her stocked cabinet of dried herbs and spices. Behind her, a pot simmered on the stove. Steam wafted around the room, sweet and warm. She was searching for one last ingredient, an ancient herb that was no longer found in these lands. Her supply was running low, and her last connection to access it had passed beyond the veil a year prior. She would need to make other arrangements, or she’d run out completely.

Still, she considered these to be desperate times; it had been three days since Duchess Whitlock had met her ghastly end on the frozen steps of the castle. Her husband, Duke Whitlock, now a widower and heirless, had arrived at the castle the day before to help prepare for the funeral.

Every member of the royal house walked not only the halls of the castle, but the streets of the city below, in mourning black. An appropriate sombre mask schooled into place across their faces. All except for one. No one had seen the princess in days. Whispers spread across the kingdom, words exchanged in hushed tones between market stalls, over warm ale in the dimly lit taverns. That the princess may have had a hand in not only the duchess’s death, but a guard’s too.

Asta sprinkled the last ingredient, Nexun Weed, into the pot just as the princess stirred across the room. “Right on time,” she muttered, glancing toward her daughter. “It is frightfully difficult to pour hot tea down the neck of someone unconscious.”

Extinguishing the wood-burning stove with a burst of water, she strained the tea into another pot before pouring a cup and walking it over to her. Solveig sat up in the bed, as much as her bonds of rope would allow.

“Are you going to release my arms or pour it down my throat for me?” Solveig sniped as her mother sat on the edge of the bed beside her.

“You know I prefer to keep your father’s henchmen away from my quarters. The bonds will stay.” She tipped her head to the side, slowly eyeing her daughter with a shrug. “For now, at least.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s in it, or will you poison me in secret as you have before?”

“Before? You’ve become paranoid, my dear. When have I ever poisoned you, or anyone else for that matter?” The queen laughed as she tucked a fallen strand of hair behind Solveig’s ear, causing the princess to flinch away from her touch.

“You think I don’t see how some people become more agreeable after a cup of your special tea? Or how some misremember facts, or forget them entirely? Who am I to say how far you’d go, or whether you have already?”

Asta’s eyes darkened, her mouth in a tense, thin line at odds with the bright cheer of her voice as she spoke. “You’re traumatised by all that’s happened, my dear. It’s nothing more than a basic calming blend. It’s a mother’s job to care for her daughter, is it not?”

“You’ve never cared before. What makes you think I’d believe you do now?”

Asta sighed. “As much as I’d enjoy you becoming a dribbling mess, bending to my every command, we’ve too much to do for the time being to allow for that.”

“I’m not thirsty,”

“Nonsense. You’ve been asleep for two days. You need fluids now more than ever.”

“Then I’ll take water, not whatever concoction you’ve brewed up from your secret stores.”

“You are not leaving this room until you have swallowed every drop.”

“I have no intention of drinking that.”

“Shame.” Asta shrugged as the door across the room opened. The queen stood, placing the cup on the crystal table as she glanced over her shoulder to where Gabriel Orson entered the room.

“I gave you the option of drinking willingly, child.” Asta sighed. The air around Solveig grew thin, her breaths laboured. “You chose wrong.”

Gabriel’s eyes flicked to the still bubbling pot on the stove, and the cupboard to the left, its door still ajar. Crammed full of a variety of pots, jars, and vials.

“What’s in that tea, Your Majesty?”

“Orange peel, honey, clove, cinnamon, apple, and a dash of Nexun Weed.” Asta mused, stroking her sleeping daughter’s hair.

“Nexun Weed?” Gabriel questioned, gaze skirting back to the cupboard.

“Yes.” The queen said, following his gaze. “Some things are better forgotten. Now leave, whilst I tend to my daughter.” She stood, teacup in hand, moving to close the cupboard.

When Solveig was next allowed to wake, she was safely back in her own chambers.

“It sure is good to see you awake, ma’am,” a voice called as they pulled the velvet drapes wide.

Solveig had to shield her eyes from the blinding light as she muttered, “How long was I out?”

Teris looked over at her, sympathy in her warm gaze.

“Two days. The healer had you sedated”—her gaze fell to the floor—“after witnessing the duchesses’ death, you were inconsolable.”

Memories came flooding back then, some clear as day, others hazy. She remembered the night she and Xanthe had spent talking. Remembered the duchess falling, coughing, choking on her own blood. But after that, there was nothing but a black void in her memory, as though they had stolen something from her.

“I’m told it’s normal to forget things, ma’am,” Teris said gently as she sat beside the princess. “After my father passed, I could barely function.” A sad smile played on her lips as the ghost of a painful memory flooded her unseeing eyes. “Try not to fret too much. Whatever’s missing, it will come back.”

“Thank you, Teris,” the princess said, her voice thick with unshed emotion, as she squeezed the woman’s hand.

“Now, now, we mustn’t wallow. We’ve appointments to get to today at Queen Asta’s request. She has given me quite the list of beauty treatments and baubles to purchase in preparation.” Teris busied herself as Solveig remained in her bed, confused.

“Preparation for what?”

Teris stopped suddenly as she reached for a gown from the princess’s closet, turning to face her once more. “Of course,” she laughed. “How silly of me. You’ve been asleep. How could you know? A visitor is coming to Torrelin, ma’am.” She almost danced with her excitement. “He’ll be here in a matter of days; the entire kingdom is talking about it!”

“Teris.” Solveig warned, “For the love of The Oracle. Would you stop talking in riddles? Who is coming?”

A dark, mischievous gleam entered her eyes, “The Prince of Elithiend, Your Highness.”

The blood drained from Solveig’s face, her jaw slack as she whispered, “That’s not possible.”

“Of course, it’s possible,” Teris laughed. “Now, up you get. We don’t have a moment to lose.”

Still, Solveig didn’t move, “Emmerich.” She paused. “Emmerich Ryker Anders is coming to Torrelin?”

“Do you know of any other Elithiend Prince?”

No, she didn’t. There wasn’t another, just him. The future ruler of the enemy kingdom lurking beyond the Dead Strait.