The Rightful Heir. #2
I was surprised that Todd had managed to catch my attention, but I couldn’t help but wonder: Why, after all these years, had Regina apparently formed her own army?
“Why does she want to wage war?” I asked. “Why now?”
Todd narrowed his eyes, struggling to focus.
“Listen here, lass,” he slurred. “As we all know, on his deathbed, the last King named his son, James, the rightful heir. Changed the whole blasted line of succession—bypassed his eldest, Regina. The years might’ve drifted by, but she still wants that throne—aye, what she believes is duly hers. ”
Finn scoffed, pushing his way back into a conversation he’d seemed desperate to avoid only moments before. “What did she expect?” His tone was sharp. “A son always outranks a daughter, that’s been the order of things since the living memory of man.”
My leg twitched at his remark, but I restrained the violent kick I wanted to plant on his shin.
Todd shrugged, wobbling slightly like a sailor on a storm-tossed ship.
“Anyway,” he gargled with a hiccup, his breath stinking of ale.
“After twenty years of banishment, she’s returned.
The wayfarer swore he saw her, riding on dragonback, flying over the Marshlands only weeks ago, looking over the kingdom as though she ruled it… ”
His words trailed off into a mutter, rambling on, but Avice cut through his intoxicated musings.
“Impossible,” she said, tearing her gaze from Finn to meet Todd’s wavering one. “If she had, she’d have been shot down. The lords work tirelessly to ensure no magical creatures curse the realm.”
I recalled something Mother had once told me—during the Dark Days, King James ordered his lords to do what must be done to obliterate all traces of magic.
She said knights burned suspects at the stake, hung bodies in the square, and senselessly slaughtered creatures, magical or not, across the entire kingdom.
Todd sluggishly shrugged his shoulders. “I’m telling you what I heard,” he slurred, licking his lips. “Listen here, did I ever tell you I saw it? Her dragon?”
“Yes,” I groaned. “Many times.”
“With my own eyes,” Todd murmured, ignoring me entirely. He tipped his head back, looking up at the wooden beams, his breath snagging as if he could see something none of us could.
“Many summers ago, but I still feel it—the wind, strong enough to knock me off my feet, as she soared overhead. Her loyal followers right behind her, fleeing the kingdom, riding on the backs of wyverns.”
“Remind me, what’s a wyvern again?” Finn asked, and I wasn’t sure if it was to stop Todd’s ramblings or if he was genuinely curious.
Over the years, Todd had given us endless descriptions of magical creatures—most unimaginable, I thought to be made up. It was hard to remember what any of them supposedly looked like.
“A two-legged, winged serpent,” Todd replied, shaking his head in disappointment.
“When I was a lad, my friends and I—catapults in hand—would sneak through the woodlands, hoping to find some sleeping wyvern to pelt with rocks. Now, you younglings don’t even know the creatures that once called your home theirs, too. Not a blasted one…”
“That’s cruel,” I said.
Todd slumped forward, passing his empty tankard between his hands, a fond smile creeping onto his lips as if he were lost in some distant memory. “Aye, we were boisterous—all young lads are. The urge for hunting, for adventure—it runs through the blood of men.”
He thumped a fist against his chest, harder than he likely meant to. Not that I imagined he felt the blow. Drink had numbed him entirely.
“I remember the day it changed,” Todd murmured, his voice thick with nostalgia—or ale.
“Word spread that King James had outlawed magic, claiming it was for the safety of his people—that Regina’s ever-growing power was dangerous.
And then, as if overnight, all magic drained from the realm. Just…gone.”
He shook his head, his gaze sinking into his lap. “I won’t bore you with more stories from my youth—pretty sure I’ve told you them all before.”
“I’d bet all I own that you have,” Finn remarked, earning a giggle from Avice.
From a neighboring table, a familiar grunt sliced through the low hum of the tavern.
“You lot talking about Regina?” Adder asked, heaving his sturdy self onto his feet.
Todd gave an unnaturally slow nod, his eyelids drooping as he teetered on the edge of consciousness.
Like most brutes, Adder was as bright as a dying ember. Father had once offered to train him as a blacksmith’s apprentice but quickly learned the only thing Adder was good for was carrying firewood.
He thumped toward us, and I prayed that he wouldn’t sit beside me. A woman was only safe in his presence when his hands were stuffed inside his pockets.
I squirmed in my seat as Adder dragged a barstool next to me, his closeness unsettling.
In a vain attempt to catch Finn’s eye, I stared at him, hoping to convey how uncomfortable Adder was making me—to urge him to intervene. But he was consumed by Avice, his gaze fixed on her, utterly oblivious to my silent plea.
With a scoff, Adder muttered, “The last King had no clue what wrath would fall upon us when he overlooked Regina as ruler.”
His hand drifted dangerously close to my thigh just as Avice finally peeled herself away from Finn, acknowledging there were other people at the table besides my brother.
“My father told me Regina was plagued with hysteria,” she said, her voice steady. “That’s why her father, the prior King, changed his line of succession.”
I glanced at the portrait of our current ruler above the fireplace. King James in the early days of his reign, draped in lavish fabrics, crown jewels gleaming, a mane of dark hair framing his stern face.
“He didn’t think she could handle power,” Avice continued, “and her actions since have proven he made the right choice.”
Todd let out a long, dispirited sigh. “Before you younglings were born, Regina saved this whole damned village, you know?” He shook his head, gripping the tabletop as if the room was spinning.
“Sea serpent, great ugly beast, lurking in the marshes—she defeated it! Yet no one remembers—no. No one gives a damn about the good she did for the people of Lyonesse, not a single blasted soul!”
The barmaid, unimpressed, sucked her teeth as she plunked down our refilled tankards. “Do you want to be cut off?” she asked Todd, arching a brow.
Todd, unfazed by the threat, claimed an ale.
“Even if she did a few good deeds,” the barmaid muttered, shaking her head in disdain, “she’s still an evil sorceress.” With that, she turned and walked away.
“It makes no sense,” Adder grumbled, scrunching his leathery face. “How can Regina be such a powerful witch when King James has no magical abilities?”
Todd cleared his throat with a mighty swig of ale, keeping his lips sealed around the rim of his tankard. “Not every babe is blessed, now, are they?”
“It’s a curse,” Avice snapped. “Not a blessing.”
I flinched at her words, while Finn nodded in agreement.
Mother’s stories came to mind—tales of Regina’s spell work, cast not for destruction, but to help the kingdom prosper.
It was hard to believe such magic could be branded as evil.
“Or maybe King James hides his wizardhood well, eh?” Todd mumbled, ignoring Avice’s remark. “Some say our own Lord of the Wetlands is a wizard. Some claim that before the Dark Days—after the birth of his firstborn daughter—the Lord cast spells in celebration, sending fireworks over the villages.”
Avice thumped her fists on the tabletop. “That’s a lie,” she spat.
“He’s a drunk,” Finn retorted, but I wondered if there was any truth in his sloshed ramblings.
Todd narrowed his eyes, clearly offended.
Adder tutted. “The Lord isn’t a wizard. There’s nothing he hates more than magic—not that I blame him.” He leaned back, folding his arms. “After all, it’s believed his shrew of a daughter was taken by Regina. Or one of her henchmen.”
Avice scowled, then nodded in agreement.
“You cannot be certain though, eh?” Todd muttered.
“During the Dark Days,” Adder cut in, “a witch killed my elder sister.”
I fought the urge to sigh, knowing I’d heard the story he was about to tell countless times.
In Green Vale, it felt like the villagers retold the same four tales from their lives, over and over, as though nothing of note had happened since the Dark Days. And maybe nothing had. At least, not until the war in Cambas turned the shores black.
“She was only nine, playing alone in the forest,” Adder said. “Two nights passed before we found what was left of her, lying beneath the hedgerows like she was nothing more than a dead animal—not someone’s daughter.”
I stared into my tankard, swirling the ale, waiting for the inevitable—the part he always lingered on, the part that still caught in his throat after all this time.
Adder swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue, though none of us needed to hear it—we already knew how it ended.
“The Lord hunted the witch who murdered her, ordering her to be burned at the stake. Nothing could bring Mable back, but watching terror blaze in the witch’s eyes—almost as bright as the flames—felt like justice. So, I am certain he’s no spellcaster.”
Avice clutched the locket around her neck, giving Adder a solemn nod, as if she could feel the weight of his anguish.
A dazed Todd, barely able to keep upright, let out a ragged chuckle.
“So, the Lord caught your witch, eh?” He jabbed a finger toward Adder.
“Don’t mean naught when the most powerful sorceress to exist is seeking revenge.
The wayfarer said, on the far shores, men are dropping like flies in winter.
No hope—no hope for man to win this war!
” He shook his heavy head, as though our King had already waved the white flag.
While Adder and Todd debated the strength of mortals against magic, I tried to stay out of their heated conversation. But it was impossible not to notice how both believed they held the answers to all the kingdom’s troubles.