Rise of the Dragon Queen Read online

  The Dragon of the Gods

  Vol. II

  Rise of the Dragon Queen

  By Sherri Beth Mitchell

  Also by Sherri Beth Mitchell:

  WolfShyne

  The Dragon of the Gods Series

  Throne of the Dead Queen

  (Book One)

  Rise of the Dragon Queen

  (Book Two)

  Of Gods and Dragons

  (Book Three)

  War Against the Realm

  (Book Four—Coming Soon)

  Photograph by Mina Habibi

  www.minahabibiphotography.com

  Model: Hannah Layne Taylor

  Cover Art by Fantasy Grfx

  Copyright © 2014 by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 150532680X

  ISBN-13: 978-1505326802

  Chapter One: A Slap in the Face

  Borys led the way down several long corridors, up a small flight of steps, and into a large, brightly lit room. The chairs reclined, and as Silvia gracefully placed herself upon a burgundy chair, leaning back comfortably, she couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to lay back and listen to music all day. Ever since she could remember, Silvia had had an ear for well-played music and a deep, sincere love for it.

  Servants began to come into the room, bringing trays of truffles, sugar cakes, and squares of chocolates. Warm, thick goat’s milk was poured into wide-rimmed golden cups. Trays were set beside each chair with each of those items placed upon them. Silvia was told that her servants had been moved to a room close by and she was comforted to know they were still near.

  She reached for one of the chocolates but before her fingers could close around it, Eulonda, seated beside her, reached over and grabbed Silvia’s wrist.

  “Would you go with me to the powder room?” she asked politely.

  Silvia nodded and laid down her half-smoked cigar on her tray well away from her food. She rose carefully, swinging both legs off the reclined chair together and blushed when she noticed Dalton staring at her. She left the room quickly, following Eulonda down the hall.

  The powder room was along the same hallway. Eulonda removed a tiny matchbox from a pocket sewn deep within the folds of liquid cream that was her dress. She struck a match against the tinderbox, igniting it, and stepped inside the archway. Silvia watched her light six taper candles that were set in a candelabrum on a counter.

  Keelan, who had followed them, stayed outside in the hallway, watching Silvia. A familiar, but faint odor hung in the air of the powder room. He tried to place the smell, but ended up ignoring it instead.

  Two doors were in the room. “What do those doors lead to?” she asked.

  Eulonda lit some fatter candles and picked two of them up. “I’ll show you.”

  The first door opened into a small wash room, with several small pails of water, a small, empty tub, and towels hanging from racks on the walls.

  “This other door leads to the chamber pot.”

  “Oh, I do believe I have a use for the chamber pot,” Silvia said, pressing her hand on her left side. “After eating so much food I feel like I shall burst!” She gave an embarrassed chuckle.

  “You are not the only one,” Eulonda admitted with a sigh and a smile. “You go ahead, dear, for it will take me a few minutes with all of these layers of my dress. But do take one of these candles to see by.” She handed one of them over.

  “Thank you, milady,” Silvia said. She opened the door, went in, and closed it behind her. She stopped, almost gagging. The smell inside the room was horrific. At first she thought it must be the chamber pot, but when she looked inside it, she found a clean space. She wondered how they did not smell it so much in the antechamber. A small open window was set in the wall, which probably had kept the smell from being worse. Setting the candle on the floor near her, Silvia lifted all of her dress and bent over the pot. When she had finished relieving herself, she wiggled from side to side a little bit. She felt pounds lighter as her dress rippled down over her slender legs. If only that smell would disappear, she thought, picking up the candle that she had set on the table next to the chamber pot. She turned towards the door and by the candle’s flickering light she saw the source of the stench lying in the corner.

  Keelan was not stupid enough to travel with the queen past the powder room. He knew the ladies needed to use the chamber pot and that was a private moment for anyone, save the drunks in the taverns that used them publicly to try and outdo one another. He waited as Silvia went into one of the inner rooms, but was as unprepared as he could be for her terrified scream a minute later.

  He jumped up and whipped around, his tiny paws and claws sliding and clicking on the cold stone floor. He was barking aggressively, his mind screaming to Silvia, Open the door! I can’t get in!

  But it was Madame Eulonda who threw open the inner door, charging through the doorway like a raging animal to see what was the matter. Keelan, right behind her, was relieved to see Silvia alive and unharmed in the far corner of the room and he ran to her, rubbing against her dress in his relief. A horrendous smell was heavy in the room. He edged around Silvia and Eulonda, who was trying to calm Silvia down as she cried out in her horror, and peeked behind the door. The smell hit his sensitive nostrils more here. He recognized the smell of rotting meat and knew that the man lying on the floor was dead.

  Her sole attention on calming the young girl before her, Eulonda had seen nothing else in the dark room. When Keelan whined loudly, she spun about. Seeing the body, she too cried out, clutching her breast with one hand, and backing away, taking Silvia’s hands in her own.

  The man was slumped in the corner behind the door, shoulders hunched forward. He was wearing the red jerkin with the raven taking flight that made up the uniform of the King’s Guard. He had a large, bushy brown beard and heavy-lidded milky eyes, still open. His jaw was dropped, showing many missing teeth and a swollen tongue. His black leggings were bunched at the top of his boots and he was sitting in a stagnant red puddle that had been partially soaked up by his tunic. Both of his hands were clasped around his penis, which was nearly severed.

  Eulonda hurried Silvia out of the room. Keelan padded along behind them, glancing back into the darkened room only once. The King, Prince Dalton, and Sir Grant, as well as a number of servants were rushing towards the doorway in the hall.

  “What ails you, ladies?” Prince Dalton asked worriedly.

  “There is a man in the bathroom behind the door,” Silvia said shakily. “He’s dead. He’s bloody rotting in there!” She cared not for her foul language in front of strangers, too horrified by what she had seen.

  “My word!” the prince exclaimed. He strode forward, grabbing the candelabrum and went in to the room with the chamber pot where the smell came from. Sir Grant joined him and they returned moments later.

  “The room is stuffy, the corpse stiff and swollen, and the abominable stench is quite unbearable,” Dalton said. His voice sounded testy, and he was glaring at Gregorich. “How long do you usually let dead men lay in your palace, my Lord? This one has been there for days.”

  Gregorich’s face was pale. He turned to the nearest servant and said very sharply, “Get him out of there.”

  The manservant nodded and took the candelabrum from Dalton. Everyone else moved farther out into the wide corridor. A moment later the servant came running out, panting the words, “My gods, my gods!” over and over.

  “What?” Gregorich asked, annoyed by the man’s demeanor. “What is it? Speak up, man!”

  “My King, it is Urich!”

  The King’s face went from very pale to flushing with rage. “Urich? He was one of my best men!” he yelled. “W
ho has done this? Who was he last seen with?”

  The servants huddled together, trying to figure out who was the last person to have seen him and whoever had been with him.

  “Your Highness,” another servant said after they had concluded their discussion, “I was the last person to see Urich.”

  “Did you kill him?” Hapshamin snarled, stepping up to him menacingly.

  The little man’s eyes widened in fear, and he shrunk back. “No, my Liege! I would not dare!”

  “Well then, what have you to say?”

  “I saw him grab Motilda’s arm and tell her he needed to speak with her!”

  “When and where was this?” demanded the King.

  “Three nights ago, if I am not mistaken. I was taking some food from the kitchen to my wife and I saw them in one of the downstairs hallways.”

  “Fetch Motilda,” growled Gregorich. “Bring her to me now!”

  “Your Lordship,” said one of the woman servants standing about, “Motilda has been extremely sick these past few days. Her husband died only a week ago. She is very nearly bedridden with grief.”

  “I don’t care!” shouted the King. “Bring her to me even if you have to drag her by the hair of her head. We’ll be in the music room.” And with that the ill-tempered man stormed off, the tension in the hallway leaving with him. The servants scattered, three of them heading towards the servants’ quarters to fetch Motilda.

  “Madame Eulonda, Lady Serena, I am sorry for what you have witnessed,” said Dalton. “The eyes of a woman should never gaze upon such atrocities.”

  “Aye,” agreed Sir Grant. “I am sorry for this too. Such a thing is not fit for a lady to see.” He held his arm out to Eulonda and Prince Dalton held his arm out to Silvia, and they walked off briskly. Keelan trotted alongside Silvia, slightly jealous that she was holding Dalton’s arm and not his.

  No one leaned back in the reclining seats; instead, all stood up and paced the floor or rocked themselves on one of the chairs. Silvia was surprised by the appearance of Motilda when she was brought in. She had an arm draped over someone’s shoulder, the other clutching her stomach as if it pained her. The thick blond hair that surrounded her face and went down nearly to her thighs was dirty and soaked with sweat; it clung to her horribly. Her clothes were shabby: a thin worn mantle with an equally thin and worn dress. Her feet were bare, covered with calluses and filthy. Her hands were the same, the nails broken and chipped. Her face would have been pretty to look upon, had it been clean. She was void of wrinkles, for she was not but a year or two older than Silvia. Her lips were full, but badly chapped. Her eyes, lowered to look at the floor, were brown as a horse’s pelt and streaked with redness. To Silvia, they appeared swollen from crying.

  “I demand to know what happened to Urich,” Gregorich said to her unkindly.

  Motilda lifted her gaze a little, but not quite enough to look him in the eye. “My Lord, I—“ she rasped in a hoarse voice.

  “And you had better tell the truth.” The King was an image of fury: His eyes were ablaze and his fists clenched and unclenched methodically. His body was rigid.

  Silvia moved towards the poor girl. She had the feeling that Hapshamin was going to badger Motilda until she fainted of fear or exhaustion. The woman was obviously in very poor health.

  Motilda began again. “My Lord, I was just finishing with my chores several nights ago when Urich approached me. He told me he needed to speak with me so I followed him up the stairs, to this here hall. I was beginning to wonder where we were going when he led me into the chamber pot room. He...he closed the door behind him and I began to be frightened. I asked to please be let out, but he just laughed.”

  Silvia could see Motilda’s tears running swiftly down her cheeks, but her voice, raspy as it was, stayed steady. She felt a burst of anger as Gregorich demanded to know if anything else had been said. After all, what did he care? He would most likely end up hanging the poor thing anyway. Silvia vowed that it would not happen; she would prevent Motilda from any harm. Already this Urich sounded like a man up to no good.

  Motilda attempted to swallow, couldn’t, and said, “He told me how Ked, my deceased husband, had told him not long ago that he had a problem a-arousing himself for our lovemaking.” She began to sob, the shakes racking her body violently. No doubt she was humiliated by repeating this story in front of strangers. After a few seconds the King impatiently gestured her to go on. “He said he didn’t have any kind of problems getting aroused and asked if he could have me. I was horrified by the thought and told him as such. He got angry and punched me in the head.” She lifted her feeble hand from her stomach and brushed her bangs away from her face. This revealed a large purple bruise on the side of her forehead. “He must have knocked me senseless, for the next thing I knew he was on top of me and had my dress pulled up so as to violate me. I screamed, but he covered my mouth, pinning one of my arms to the floor with his elbow. I swung with my other arm, but he pinned it also...I am terribly damaged from what he did to me my Lord.”

  “I have to interrupt because I want to know why he was bleeding from his privates,” asked Sir Grant.

  “He...he tried to force me to...”

  A sickening feeling filled Silvia. “You bit him?” she asked, trying to help the poor woman along.

  “Y-yes, madam, I did,” Motilda said. “I can still taste his wretched blood in my mouth. After I bit him I got up and ran as fast as my legs would carry me to my room. I haven’t left my room at all since, until you summoned me, my Lord. I have been suffering from something unclean that he passed to me. I did not wish to see him about in the halls after that.”

  The room was silent. All could feel the anger, the fury, radiating from the King in waves; it was as if he did not care what the girl had said.

  “Well it’s not bloody likely that you’ll be seeing him around the halls again. Didn’t you realize that you killed him?” he seethed.

  Shock, then pure, untainted horror filled Motilda’s face. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. Silvia moved closer to her, standing just off to one side of the tiny servant. She was going to embrace the frightened creature, but Gregorich’s next words stopped her cold.

  “Do you know how valuable Urich was to me?” he snarled as he stepped closer.

  Motilda could only shake her head in despair and fear.

  Without warning, Gregorich’s left hand swung to his right side. Then it whipped up into the air to backslap the servant girl.

  But Silvia saw it coming, shoved Motilda out of the way, and took the King’s backhand across the whole left side of her face. Her head turned sharply to the right at the impact, but it was the only part of her that moved. The rest of her body was as iron, and stood still.

  Several gasped and Gregorich’s jaw dropped.

  “Is this how you treat a woman in your household?” Silvia spat coldly. King or not, she would not see injustices such as this.

  “Milady, I give you my humblest apologies!” the King said. “I assure you, I was trying to punish this stupid wretch of a servant for murder.” He leaned around Silvia and said to Motilda, “You will be hanged tomorrow morning.”

  Motilda dropped in a dead faint.

  “No she will not,” Silvia said. The King looked at her in surprise, but when he started to speak she cut him off. “A woman has the right to defend herself, just as much as a man does! What Urich did to her was unspeakable. He defiled her, shamed her, and broke her. The man deserved to die! If I had been there, I would have cut out his heart with a butter knife and fed it to him.” Here, she stepped up to stand face to face with her adversary and asked, “And what honorable, decent man would approach a woman, purely for physical intentions, only days after her husband has died? That doesn’t even give the poor woman time to mourn, much less to be ready to take another man!”

  Gregorich Hapshamin was getting himself under control again. “Lady Serena, this does not change the fact that she killed one of my best Gua
rds.”

  “I did not say that it would,” she countered. “But the man deserved what he got and there is nothing you can do about it. Are all of your Guards allowed to take honorable women against their will?”

  “Of course not,” he said. He peered at her closely and stepped back. “My lady, I believe you mouth is bleeding there under your veil.” His face paled and he looked sickly.

  Sir Grant came forward and offered Silvia a handkerchief that was laced with threads of real gold. She took it and lifted her veil a little to wipe her mouth.

  “Your nose, too, madam,” Grant said in a low voice.

  So she wiped her nose also, then passed the rag to a servant to be washed as quickly as possible in cold water.

  “What would you have me do with her?” Gregorich asked of Motilda. He glared at her still form on the floor.