Chapter 14 Horses, Baths, and War Maps
Horses, Baths, and War Maps
He didn’t drown.
He didn’t even die.
It was the strangest circumstances Morfran had ever experienced: when the squid died, and its body had sunk to the bottom of the lake, the spot where it’d landed had quaked with a violent tremor—Ravana had used boomberry juice as blood for the beast.
The quake created an enormous tidal wave on the lake, and that in turn had propelled many of Elena’s ships forward, towards the coastline. He was quick to realize that they were riding a wave that was actively getting larger, and larger, and larger.
The city of Atlantis 2.0 quickly came into view.
It was built like the original Atlantis—beautiful white sandstone buildings on small islands that were connected by canals, and in the center sat the Fortress of Magnate Tritonia.
Unlike the original Atlantis, however, this one had been built with a shining white seawall to prevent naval attacks and the unspeakable catastrophic accident that’d demolished the original city decades ago.
The seawall had a few openings for ships to pass through, and inside those openings were Atlantis 2.
0’s warships. Fortunately, the tidal wave happened to be tall enough that it carried Elena’s ships gracefully over the wall—and shoved Atlantis 2.
0’s warships into the tall white keeps designated for the defense of the city.
To make it even more of a shocking sight, the ships and towers also blew up.
“Unbelievable,” Morfran muttered, still caked in squid phlegm and wasabi.
“Not exactly,” Elena replied as she steered calmly into the bay where the wave had deposited their ships.
The excess water flooded the canals and splashed up against the buildings, knocking passersby into the lake.
“Those were demolition ships carrying explosives. Designed to ram straight into us. Suicidal bastards deserved what they got.”
Morfran gaped at the keeps on fire, at the lack of soldiers in the harbor. This was all the defenses? Where was Tritonia’s powerful elite guard trained in the toughest of temperaments?
His questions were answered by a harbor worker who’d sought refuge within the warehouse nearby, who explained that all the city’s soldiers had been in the keeps indulging in cake and celebrating the captain’s sixtieth (and apparently last) birthday.
“Took the city and we didn’t even have to draw swords. How about that, Bernard?” Brim nudged Morfran as they walked off Elena’s ship and into the streets. Morfran affected agreement with a false expression only until the man passed him. Then he took up scowling again.
They soon met with Magnate Adriela Tritonia inside her grand fortress.
It was shaped like a square, tiered cake, with trim that looked like white buttercream frosting—something Morfran remembered from when he’d conquered the city thirteen years back.
What he didn’t remember were the multiple marble statues of horses in various poses in every hall that got progressively weirder the deeper in they went: a Connemara standing on its hind legs, tossing back its glorious mane.
A Friesian storming a table full of tea.
A Clydesdale licking a portrait of a severe-looking mustachioed man.
Who was he to judge, though? He wanted to raise a goatdom. Everyone had their hobbies.
But when they entered her throne room, it quickly became apparent that the horse statues explained a great deal.
He’d expected the vivacious, commanding Magnate Tritonia, whom, after he’d conquered her great city, he’d had to arm wrestle and defeat not once but thrice for her allegiance.
Instead, what he and Brim found was a wiry old woman slouched sideways on her throne, consumed by a novel with a cover of a shirtless man with the head of a horse, her slippered feet kicking serenely over the armrest.
“Oh, Alonso. You rakish stud, you.” She flipped the page, entirely unaware of them at the foot of the throne. There was already a soldier there, wearing a long-suffering look.
“She gets like this,” the soldier muttered, shaking her head. “Magnate? The rebels are here. They’ve come to demand your surrender.”
Tritonia sighed, lowered her book, and looked them over. They might not have appeared too impressive. Brim was still visibly shaken from his fear of drowning, and Morfran was beginning to get crusty from squid phlegm.
“Surrender?” She harrumphed, and Morfran fully expected her to chuck the book away, leap to her feet in a shocking twist, and charge at them with her bare fists, followed by an army of elite soldiers who’d burst through the windows while attached to black body harnesses.
Instead, she hacked a cough and demanded, “On what terms?”
The soldier released a heavy sigh, as if she’d already told her plenty of times.
Brim noticed her exasperation and straightened.
Despite his trembling, his expression hardened, and he spoke with that same authoritative tone Morfran heard him use earlier.
“Magnate Tritonia,” he declared, “we’ve ambushed you from the harbor.
Your ships are no more. Your guard has been defeated. We are prepared to make a deal—”
“You have my allegiance.” She waved with a dismissing hand, and then stuck her nose back into her book.
Brim blinked. “What?”
She huffed. “You have my allegiance. Good gahoots, y’all act like I’m deaf when you’re the ones who keep asking the same old questions. Now, you can find my advisors in the council room if you have any more questions. Good day and goodbye.”
Brim looked like he’d just won a lottery. Morfran felt as if a rug had been yanked out from under his feet and he was being beaten by said rug.
Where was her pizzazz? Her ferocity? She’d been a worthy adversary whom he’d had to bleed for in order to persuade onto his side! What had happened in that time?
Morfran blamed it on the stupid horse book.
Brim sauntered off, hooting and hollering to his men, who’d stood outside the throne room, announcing that dinner was on the city because the rebels had seized the day! Morfran continued staring in disbelief at the woman until she finally glanced up to squint at him.
“May I help you?” she demanded. “Alonso has just professed his love to Marguerite, and you floating over my shoulder while smelling like rotten sushi is greatly hindering my ability to enjoy it. What do you want?”
She didn’t recognize him. Of course she wouldn’t.
And he couldn’t call her out on her loss of admirable aggression, as they were supposedly strangers.
He should have checked in on her more. He should have visited.
Instead, as his kingdom expanded more and more, he’d had less time to spare, and had just assumed her allegiance to him was still iron firm. Once again, he was proved wrong.
“Where’s your nearest shower?” he finally asked.
“Down that hall, to the right.” Tritonia gestured with a spindly thumb. It was the wrong way.
Sulking but still trying to appear gracious, Morfran thanked her and kept up the pretense that he was completely new here by going the wrong way before asking a nearby guard the right way, then rerouting back to the bathhouse, his boots squelching the entire time.
The bathhouse was actually a natural thermae set into the ground and wrapped by a balcony overlooking it.
Steam spooled out of the sea-green water, smelling slightly of stale egg-salad sandwiches.
Morfran yanked off his slimy clothes and deposited them in front of a statue of a horse wearing flippers and sank into the water, in a mood fouler than the smell of the pools.
If the Elmswood Rebels had taken the city only with a great, bloody loss, he might feel okay about it. As it were, they’d taken it by a weird fluke, and he couldn’t help but feel like they’d cheated, or that they’d struck a great bout of luck, or both.
He submerged his head in the steaming water to calm his thoughts. When he came back up, he wasn’t alone.
Gueldefore stood at the side of the pool, still in all his knightly attire.
It was goopy with tentacle slime, and his hair was crusty and sticking up like he’d been electrocuted.
His hands were clenched into fists at his side, his expression furious.
Morfran guessed having a giant squid try to eat you would naturally be upsetting.
“I am a knight!” Gueldefore growled, expressing his feelings about Morfran trapping him up in the crow’s nest earlier. “Do you understand? A hero! Heroic knights are not squid bait!” After each exclamation he stomped his foot.
Morfran snorted and went back to sulking.
Gueldefore did not like that, nor did he seem used to such a dismissive reaction.
“I underwent rigorous training at the age of three to earn the honor of being a knight. That means all heroic opportunities that arise are required to go to me first. If I pass on them, which I won’t, then someone else can take the chance.
That someone shouldn’t have been you, however, because all you are is a turncoat of Lord Morfran’s, and that stain shall forever sit on your résumé. ”
Heroic? Morfran almost had a physical reaction to that, specifically in the vein of puking.
He hadn’t done any of those things to be heroic, nor had that word ever crossed his mind as he’d plunged into the esophagus of that sea monster.
He’d killed the squid for three reasons: 1) it was an abomination and needed to be put to rest, 2) Brim had threatened Benjamin and her kids if he didn’t, and 3) if Morfran hadn’t done what he did they all would be dead, which unfortunately would include him, and he didn’t want to die, namely for selfish reasons.
While Morfran tried not to vomit at the implications of what he’d just done, the knight was still rambling about his rights.