Curse of the Crimson Queen

Chapter 6. Long Live the King

Grospan, appointed capital of Amrith buzzed in trepidation. Vish felt an uneasy excitement sweeping across the wide streets of the ancient settlement. The city was roaring in the very real sense of the word, leaving Vish worried of what may have caused the stir.

The carriage jolted through the wet cobblestones in the chill of the morning fog. Vish thought she could hear the horses' hooves clattering outside, but that was merely an illusion. The clamour of the city made it impossible to note such nuance. She gently pulled the curtains aside, taking a glance at the streets. Masses of people were fluctuating not only on the avenues but amidst the tall and slender dwellings, in the narrow pathways and crooked alleys. Sheets of paper were floating anywhere one looked, hovering aloft, carried by the breeze, or lying in a muddle all over the street – Vish frowned as she caught glimpses of a portrait on them.

She pulled the curtains back and dropped her hands into her lap, worrying she would start biting her nails otherwise. She studied Lorne's features on the seat opposite her. It seemed as if he was gazing through the curtains and out on the window, but his eyes were focusing somewhere beyond reach. An unmoving shadow of a glare prevailed over his face. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, his fingers toying with the hilt absent-mindedly. Poor soul. Lorne had always hated violence and war and had not ever wielded a weapon outside the training grounds.

Yet this time he had not hesitated before buckling up his old family sword.

'The citizens are making an unusual racket, don't you think?' Vish asked, trying to dissipate the uncomfortable silence weighing on the both of them.

Lorne blinked but was not broken from his reverie. 'It's been a while since we last came to the city. It's always been like this. Grospan is loud.'

'It's frustrating anyway.'

'Everything is until we see that the children are safe and sound.'

That had Vish relapsed into anxiety. She did not reply, only clasped her hands, and peeked behind the curtains again.

It had been two days since that dreadful night when they found the... gift. Ten severed fingers in a box along with the dagger that once belonged to the Shadow Vish had hired for murdering Medhraine Brygard. The mere thought gave her shivers. It seemed all too unbelievable that she had the guts to attempt an assassination against her former best friend. Yet she vehemently insisted that the young woman had ceased to be the same person she once knew, and the incident with the box did little to prove her wrong. She was convinced it was Medh behind it.

They had set forth as soon as dawn broke the following morning. They brought along their personal coachman and two of their house guards, packed lightly, and left for Grospan. They had been travelling for two days, spending one night at the estate of Baron Davryn, a neighbour of their land and good friend of Lorne, and another night in the city of Elymon, about twenty miles away from Grospan.

Medh had left the Morbane estate the day the council took place, early in the afternoon, the same day all the guests left, the same day they found the box. It must have lain there for hours, maybe for the better part of the day. Cold crept up on Vish's spine by that thought. She observed that Medh could not have travelled faster than they had. Consequently, she could not have been in the city for more than a day. Hardly enough for... whatever she had planned to do. At least that was what Vish wanted to believe.

She felt the carriage beginning to clamber up the hill on which the Old Town of Grospan was built. That part of the capital, according to the native tribes of Amrith, was thousands of years old, established on top of a cliff by a civilisation long gone. In fact, it looked much like any other districts in the city, only most dwellings were entirely made of stone and had roofs resembling spires, as if all the buildings had been initially built as lookout towers or strongholds.