Purple Power by Jane Carver

“She is dead, my Lord Counselor.” The physician laid the delicate hand on the cream-colored cover and let his head fall forward in grief.

Lord Counselor Jeffrey hung on to the stout bedpost and tried to imagine the future of the small kingdom, but his mind could only think of one thing, the death of his queen.

The darkened bedchamber held too many spirits as far as he was concerned. Her father and mother, sister and brother. All gone—mysteriously. Only Queen Celina had survived. Jeffrey suspected a villain among the nobles, but his spies could find no one who might have managed to eliminate the entire royal household and make it look accidental.

His sigh of distress mingled with the physician’s soft sobs. Both loved their queen dearly, having served her and her family for decades. Though anything but calm, she tended to bouts of anxiety and often appeared susceptible to the will of others, despite Jeffrey’s counsel. Still she was beloved by her people in spite of her foibles.

What would become of their small island kingdom now? How could he tell the people that the last member of their ruling house was gone? Who would help them survive the late 1800s in a world where one government had no problem swallowing up another?

Through the muddle of his thoughts, the most important question finally surged forward…what would he say to Prince Walon, who was due to arrive the following day? What could he say to a man come to marry the queen and unite the strength of two small countries?

* * * *

“Do you not remember who I am, Lord Counselor Jeffrey?” Graton’s words no longer carried tones of mourning. Now his words rang out clearly, strong, as if he called troops to battle.

“Yes, old man! I remember.” Jeffrey practically ran back to the mage and shook his finger under the old man’s nose. “You are the oldest living man I’ve ever known, retained by this family to protect and secure their realm from harm, yet here you are…too late to do either.” He rammed his palm against the solid wooden bedpost, his gaze falling on Celina once again. “I remember who you are, my Lord Mage Graton. And I find no comfort in your presence.” He waved one hand toward the mage, as if he would shoo the elder from the room.

“My lords?” Physician Morran rose, his knees so stiff that all heard them crack as each straightened. The man had spent the last day and night seated at his queen’s side. “I must prepare her body for burial while you, Lord Jeffrey, must tell the people. Lord Graton, I would appreciate your help.” Morran was old, though not nearly as old as Graton, and at the moment, he looked small, withered and bowed with such grief as takes the spirit out of a man.

“There will be no burial or announcement to the people, but you both may help me prepare the queen to meet Prince Walon tomorrow.” Graton leaned over Celina and brushed still-damp hair from her cheek. He ignored the gasps and sputters coming from Jeffrey and Morran.

“What the hell are you saying, old man? You’ve lost your mind! We must bury Celina. The people must know.” Morran all but cried in his confusion.

Again Graton held up a hand to stop further protests. “She shall greet her people at dusk like she does every day. Celina shall ride along the shoreline, as is her pleasure most days. The fishing fleet awaits her inspection. And…” he held up his hand to make a point, “she will greet Prince Walon tomorrow. Preparations for the merger of Raylendorf and Tunsia will go forward as planned.”

“But she’s dead, you old fool!” Jeffrey wondered if age and grief had finally pushed the mage beyond reason.

* * * *

Graton took back the magnificent ring and folded his fingers around it where it lay on his palm. For a second, he closed his eyes and seemed to meditate. As if he had made some monumental decision, he addressed his companions. “Amethyst is a healing stone. Its greatest asset is peace, but there are many other qualities that it can instill. Celina shall rise, filled with those traits she would have acquired over decades of maturation. She does not have that time any longer so I must give her those things she needs immediately.”

* * * *

Even as she smiled at those she recognized, she paid close attention to Prince Walon of Tunsia. This was the man she was to marry and spend the rest of her life with. Yet she had never met him. As she drew closer, she scrutinized him. Right at six feet tall maybe, wavy warm brown hair shot through with bright highlights cut a bit long so it rode the collar of his crisp black suit coat, tanned skin—a surprise there. Does he fish or hunt? The sun had turned his skin a golden tone that set off his dark eyes. Brown perhaps? His nose was narrow and sharp as a blade, but his lips were full, the top one more prominent than the lower. Celina stopped at the bottom of the short flight of stairs, and he came down a step to meet her, one hand out to support her ascension.

Oh heavens. Those dimples and those eyes. And that smile. Her smile answered his; she simply could not help it. When he grinned, his face lit up, his dark brown eyes twinkled with humor and a deep dimple popped out low in each cheek, emphasizing the attractiveness of his mouth. As if those weren’t enough enticements, his chin sported a cleft, ever so faint but there when his face glowed with pleasure. His warm hand wrapped carefully around her fingers, and he walked her forward to her throne where she stopped, her back to the people on the floor below them.

“Thank you, sir.” His kindness might have been the training of a prince and good diplomacy, but his delight at meeting her was so apparent that she could not help but be fascinated.

Walon raised her hand, placed a kiss there that lasted one heartbeat then released it before he bowed at the waist. “My pleasure, Your Highness.”

She stepped to the throne, smiled at her counselor on one side, the mage on the other, then turned and gracefully sat. The crowd before her broke into rousing applause. A serene smile settled on her face, and she nodded her head graciously at those who seemed so fond of her.

While her people appeared to delight in her recovery from a mild case of stomach upset that she knew really had been poison, her gaze scanned the men and women before her. One of them was a killer who slowly and methodically had murdered her family over the last decade. Lord Counselor Jeffrey and Lord Mage Graton explained that her marriage and the joining of Tunsia and Raylendorf were not assured until she could discover this person and eliminate the threat to her throne and the future of her kingdom.

Secret Heart by Jane Carver

“I did not listen because the lady says nothing I want to hear.” Jaelon bowed slightly to his queen. “I did not intend disrespect, but I could not abide her speech any longer.” He shrugged his shoulder. “So I left.”

“And left the whining twit with me.” Ramier crinkled her nose, expressing her displeasure.

“Ah, yes, but being the queen, you may leave without a word, and no one can say you nay.” This time, Jaelon leaned in to her and smiled. “Admit it. You couldn’t stand listening to her prattle either.”

Ramier tried to hold her frown, but it gave way to a smile. She tapped his hand in pique. “While that may be true, my good advisor, please take me with you the next time you abscond.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “That woman will be the death of me yet.” With a tease to her tone, she amended, “Or at least her tongue will.”

“Well, if one uses her tongue correctly, a man would not leave so abruptly.”

* * * *

“This doing first and thinking later is going to get me in trouble some day, Jaelon.” She turned enthusiastically and shot him a merry smile.

“Perhaps, but that is why I am here. To advise. We hope I would slip words of wisdom in those ears long before you do something rash.”

“This time, good sir, you left me to my own devices and see where it landed me?” She waved one hand slightly at him. “No time is better than now to say my piece.” She moved toward him, ready to find the offended lady. But she stopped next to Jaelon’s chair first. “If I have never said how much I value your sense of leadership and justice, I have been amiss. I am lost without you.”

* * * *

“Did the queen apologize to you, Lady Samma?” Jaelon wanted to know if Ramier actually carried through with her plan.

“Apologize for what, sire?”

“Her offense to you.” Jaelon answered, wondering at the lady’s confusion.

“She offended me not, Lord Jaelon.”

“Earlier after noon meal? Here near the fire?”

Samma looked mystified, her brows drawn in question.

“I was not here, my Lord. I don’t know what you say. Perhaps you confuse me with someone else?” She laid a hand gently on his arm, her concern apparent in her tender touch.

Rather than pursue a topic that seemed lost in the mist, Jaelon patted her hand. “You must be correct. I have a lot on my mind and perhaps mistook another beautiful woman for you.” He let himself look the fool rather than embarrass or worry the young woman.

“I think it’s time to go outside, my lady.” Thomas reached over and removed her hand from Jaelon’s sleeve. Quirking his mouth at his best friend, Thomas guided Samma away.

Now that is odd. Ramier said she would apologize to Samma. But it seems the queen not only did not express her regrets about hurting the lady’s feelings, but the lady in question does not even recall the conversation or offense.

This was not the first time such a thing had happened with Ramier. But until now, Jaelon had paid little attention.

* * * *

Ramier stood on the battlement walk outside her rooms and watched Sir Layden, general of her troops, with her advisor. They talked in the bailey below her. She had never really analyzed her feelings about Jaelon. He came when she was a child and worked with Sir Cammos and Layden, earning his spurs in record time. King Droden elevated him to Royal Advisor because of his skills with battle strategy and domestic events.

Jaelon was all lean muscle, narrow from his broad shoulders down. His leanness accentuated his large hands and feet. He stood taller than anyone else in the kingdom, but his quiet ways put off anyone from starting trouble with him. His deep brown eyes seemed most alive when he was fussing at her, she thought. At the moment, he wore no helmet, and the wind blew his golden brown hair about his shoulders.

* * * *

“What is it you wish, sir?”

“My lady, I only follow in your father’s footsteps.”

“How so, Cammos?”

“Together we decided when it was time to visit the Oracle of Phrontas. Your father has been gone for some time now, and I am thinking he would advise you to heed the oracle’s words.”

“And what words do you think that esteemed place might say?” Ramier drew herself up tall, in an attempt to put down intimidation if that was what Cammos intended.

“Fear not, lady. I do not say go. I merely say your father might have asked you to travel there for words of wisdom. There are matters that weigh on your mind, I’m thinking. You are queen and as such, your…umm…ability to influence others is more critical now. And in need of greater control.” Being a wise man, the elder bowed and took two steps back, giving her a sense of space for meditation.

“My ability. Yes…” Ramier drew a deep breath and let it puff out indelicately between fluttering lips. “No longer can I willy-nilly make others forget what might be a concern for me. I…uh, did that to Lady Samma several days ago.”

* * * *

What to do? If Jaelon knows I can make others forget, he will remember all the times I’ve done that to my friends. Guests. Our people. I cannot make him forget. He is somehow immune. I will lose his good will. Fall in bad graces. Cammos is right. I must travel to Phrontas and seek wisdom there, just as my father did. He took me with him so I could learn the ways of the oracle. With his ability to see the future for our people and lands, he guided us to prosperity and lived a long and good life while I blanked the minds of those troops that accompanied us. Jaelon stands as an obstacle to this journey.

* * * *

“You could have told me. I would have kept your secret.” He let hurt and a bit of anger color his words.

“I wanted to tell you. I asked Father for permission. But you were not of our kingdom, and he feared someone might find out through you. Only he and I…and Cammos…knew.”

“Ah, Cammos, my worthy mentor.” Jaelon could not be mad at the man. The secret was not his to tell.

“So you did not ask me to accompany you because you knew this would come to pass.” He waved his hand between the two of them, a symbol of her revelation and his anger.

“You are my best friend. I could not tell you, yet now I have hurt you. You think I do not trust you.”

When Jaelon lifted his eyebrows and shrugged, she swallowed what looked to be a desire to cry. “You cannot blame me for my anger, Ramier. I would never hurt you by giving away your secret.”

At which point, he had to stop. He had secrets of his own, not the least of which was a talent he too kept hidden from all. The other secret…ah, that one was a matter of the heart and his to keep forever, seeing as she was his queen and he was only her advisor.

* * * *

Confident was not how Jaelon would have described Vertine two days later. In fact, one minute the man appeared the epitome of security, and the next he acted like a babbling fool, ready to leave Althene castle as fast as his entourage could be assembled.

Beyond the castle walls, a small army spread out across the plain. At the head of the armed forces sat a large broad man on a warhorse the size of a plow horse but with a lineage much finer.

King Foxlin of Henplain had sent word he was coming…

* * * *

“Rumor said that Foxlin killed his first wife though the reason was never given round about. So when he came asking for Fillia’s hand, we hesitated. Still he was genial and charming. I even asked him about his deceased wife. He went on and on about how he mourned her but with time, let her memory lie in peace. He wanted children, sons to inherit his kingdom. His first marriage was childless. Foxlin overcame Fillia’s doubts, and they married. A year later she too was dead.” Some of the fight went out of Vertine at that. The tight muscles in his face remained so as he sighed. “I sent scouts into Henplain to investigate her death. Some knew nothing. A few said she died naturally, but many more whispered that he abused her, and she died as a result.”

Ramier let his arm loose, only to slid her hand up over her heart. The stress in her eyes was evident to all the men. “And now I am to be the third wife?”

Vertine cleared his throat as if to deny her words. As he shook his head, he informed her, “Actually, Highness, you would be his fourth wife.”

“The third one? What happened…?” The color in Ramier’s face drained to a pale white, her breath caught, awaiting Vertine’s confirmation of her fear.

“Died. And mysteriously as well.”