Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

“What do you mean?” she asked, nervous.

“We have much catching up to do, my sister. Kendrick, you shall join us too. Come, the fires have begun.”

Godfrey sat in the village before the raging bonfire in the starry night, nearby his sister Gwendolyn, his brother Kendrick, Steffen, Brandt, Atme, Aberthol, and nearly all the people he remembered from the Ring. Seated beside him were Akorth and Fulton, and as he saw them it reminded him that more than ever he desperately needed a drink.

Godfrey stared into the flames, wondering how he had ended up here, trying to process everything that had happened, everything feeling like a blur in a long series of blurs. First there was the death of his father; then the death of his brother, Gareth; then the invasion of the McClouds; then invasion of the Ring; then the Upper Isles; then the long journey across the sea…. It felt like one tragedy, one journey, after the next. His life had devolved to nothing but war and chaos and exile. It felt good to finally stop moving. And he sensed that it was all just beginning.

“What I wouldn’t do for a pint right now,” Akorth said.

“Surely they must have something to drink around here,” Fulton said.

Godfrey rubbed his aching head, wondering the same thing. If ever he needed a drink, it was now. This last voyage across the sea was the worst he could remember, so many days without food or ale, so often on the brink of starvation…. He had been sure, too many times, that he had died. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the awful pictures, his memories of his fellow Ring members turning to stone and falling over the rail.

It had been an endless voyage, a voyage through hell and back, and Godfrey was surprised that it had not led to any sort of epiphany or enlightenment for him. It had not led him to change his ways. It had merely led him to want to drink more, to want to blot it all out. Was there something wrong with him? he wondered. Did it make him less profound than the others? He hoped not.

Now here they were, in the Empire no less, surrounded by a hostile army that wanted them dead. How long, he wondered, before they were discovered? Before Romulus’s million men hunted them down? Godfrey had a sinking feeling that their days were numbered.

“I see a sight for sore eyes,” Akorth said.

Godfrey looked up.

“There,” Fulton said, elbowing him in the ribs.

Godfrey looked over and saw the villagers passing around a bowl filled with a clear liquid. Each took it carefully in his palms, took a sip, and passed it on.

“That doesn’t exactly look like the Queen’s ale,” Akorth commented.

“And do you want to wait for a better vintage to come around?” Fulton replied.

Fulton leaned forward and took the bowl before Akorth could grab it, and took a long drink himself, the liquid pouring down his cheeks. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and groaned in delight.

“That burns,” he said. “You’re right. Sure isn’t the Queen’s ale. It’s a hell of a lot stronger.”

Akorth snatched it, took a long drink, and then nodded in agreement. He began coughing as he handed it to Godfrey.

“My God,” Akorth said. “It’s like drinking fire.”

Godfrey leaned over and smelled it, and he recoiled.

“What is it?” he asked one of the villagers, a tough-looking warrior with broad shoulders wearing no shirt, sitting next to him, looking serious and wearing a necklace of black stones.

“We call it the heart of the cactus,” he said. “It is a drink for men. Are you a man?”

“I doubt it,” Godfrey said. “Depends who you ask. But I’ll be whatever I have to be to drown out my sorrows.”

Godfrey raised the bowl to his lips and drank, and he felt the liquid going down his throat like fire, burning his belly. He coughed, too, and the villagers laughed as the next one took the bowl from him.

“Not a man,” they observed.

“So my father used to say,” Godfrey agreed, laughing with them.

Godfrey felt good as the drink went to his head, and as the villager who insulted him began to drink from the bowl, Godfrey reached out and snatched it from his hands.

“Wait a minute,” Godfrey said.

Godfrey drank, this time in several long gulps, taking it without coughing.

The villagers all looked at him in surprise. Godfrey turned to them in satisfaction, a smile returning to his face.

“I may not be a man,” he said, “and you might be better with your weapons. But don’t challenge me to drink.”

They all laughed, the villagers passed the bowl, and Godfrey sat back on his elbows in the dirt, already feeling lightheaded, feeling good for the first time. It was a strong drink, and he felt dizzy, never having had anything like it before.

“I see you’ve turned over a new leaf,” came a woman’s disapproving voice.

Godfrey turned and looked up to see Illepra standing over him, hands on her hips, looking down, frowning.

“You know, I spent the afternoon healing our people,” she said, disapprovingly. “Many still suffer the effects of starvation. And what have you done to help? Here you are, sitting by the fire and drinking.”

Godfrey felt his stomach turning; she always seemed to find the worst in him.

“I see many of my people sitting here drinking,” he replied, “and god bless them for it. What’s the harm in that?”

“They’re not all drinking,” Illepra said. “At least not as much as you.”

“And what is it to you?” Godfrey retorted.

“With half our people sick, do you think now is the time to drink and laugh the night away?”

“What better time?” he retorted.

She frowned.

“Wrong,” she said. “It is time for repentance. A time for fasting and prayer.”

Godfrey shook his head.

“My prayers to the gods have always gone unanswered,” he replied. “As for fasting—we did enough of that aboard ship. Now is the time to eat.”

He reached over, grabbing a chicken bone being passed around, and took a big bite, chewing defiantly in her face. The grease ran down his chin, but he did not wipe it and did not look away as she stared down at him in icy disapproval.

Illepra looked down on him with scorn, and slowly shook her head.

“You were a man once. Even if briefly. Back in King’s Court. More than a man—you were a hero. You stayed behind and protected Gwendolyn in the city. You helped save her life. You kept back the McClouds. I thought you had… become someone else.

“But here you are. Making jokes and drinking the night away. Like the boy you’ve always been.”

Godfrey was upset now, his buzz and sense of relaxation quickly fading.

“And what would you have me do?” he retorted, annoyed. “Get up from my spot here and run off into the horizon and defeat the Empire alone?”

Akorth and Fulton laughed, and the villagers laughed with him.

Illepra reddened and shook her head.

“You haven’t changed,” she said. “You’ve crossed half the world and you still haven’t changed.”

“I am who I am,” Godfrey said. “An ocean voyage won’t change that.”

Her eyes narrowed in rebuke.

“I loved you once,” she said. “Now, I feel nothing for you. Nothing at all. You are a disappointment to me.”

She turned and stormed off, and the men laughed and grunted around Godfrey.

“I see women are no different even on the other side of the sea,” one villager said, and they all broke out into laughter.

But Godfrey was not laughing. She had hurt him. And he was starting to realize, even in his drunken haze, that perhaps Illepra meant something to him after all.

Godfrey reached over, snatched the bowl, and took another long swig.