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The Red Queen

Chapter 42

The next day, Echridge faced trial for the alleged rape of Princess Hellene.

After Primus knocked Echridge out, he pulled Hellene's body from under a table, where the hanging tablecloth had hidden her well from view. Azrian helped him position the two on the couch in such a way that suggested Echridge had passed out while attacking Hellene. Azrian then became Donica again, donned her red dress, and returned to the masque with Primus. She sent mastiffs to find Hellene . . . and what they found was a drugged and dazed princess in a torn gown, lying under the heavy weight of a very drunk Echridge.

Echridge was immediately arrested and dragged to the dungeon, where he spent the next morning in chains.

Hellene came to Azrian in her bedchamber the next morning, furious and snarling for the fat little poodle's balls. She would not rest until she had seen justice, and as she ranted and raved, Azrian sat behind her desk and wondered if she cared at all that King Gerard had known no justice.

Azrian knew just about everything there was to know about King Gerard. In preparation for Hellene's arrival, she read all of Donica's letters, listened to court gossip, and even sought out Decius to question him at length. Etienne had known Hellene and Gerard, Decius used to serve Etienne, and thus, Decius would have witnessed a few of their exchanges.

By all accounts, Gerard was a solid male, firm, a bit stubborn, but with a good heart. The ruling family in Poston consisted of purely bred Wirehaired Pointers - black, white, and gray, with curly fur and short, stubby tails. Wirehaired Pointers were vigorous, loving, lively, and loyal. Gerard was a king who cared about making real changes - both for dogs and for foxes. His brother Prince Damon spoke publically against his sympathies for the foxes, and it was widely believed Damon killed Gerard in direct defiance of his "lenience toward the savages."

It was also widely believed - and widely known - that Gerard did not get along with his wife. He and Hellene screamed everyday, while little Philomena cowered and wept in the corner. Gerard reportedly hated Hellene and had never wanted to marry her, while Hellene's family had been hesitant to give her up because they feared a child that came of crossing a Wirehaired Pointer and an Andalusian Hound would be "impurely bred." If mates were not carefully selected, the resulting child could be a mutt, with birth defects that would instantly rob it of any claim to purebred status.

Apparently, little Philomena had been a mutt and the source of her parents' anguish in their last year of marriage. Hellene blamed Gerard's family and Gerard's family blamed hers, and the poor pup was caught in the middle.

There were also many wild rumors that Hellene and Damon had been lovers, and that Damon had killed Gerard not only in defiance of his stance on the foxes but also out of a lover's jealousy and rage. King Gerard was barely in the ground before the court at RorlynCastle had romanticized his death with tales of forbidden love and betrayals.

That no one had suspected Hellene flabbergasted Azrian, who wouldn't have put it past the former queen of Poston to have slipped something in her husband's drink. King Gerard died in a riding accident. Witnesses said he'd been drinking, but after hearing Hellene's confession the night before, Azrian knew exactly what Gerard had been drinking.

They held the trial early in the morning, and many nobles who had attended the masque the night before testified that they had seen Echridge follow Hellene out of the ballroom after harassing her only moment's before. Hellene sat tense and silently nodded, tears in her eyes as the testimonies were given, and Azrian felt the relief creeping over her: apparently, Echridge had hit on her before he approached Azrian.

Next came the testimony from Primus about the drugged wine. The big Beauceron sat on the stand and calmly lied that Echridge had given the wine to him and had told him to take it to Hellene. "Her majesty was distraught," Primus said, "and Echridge wanted to comfort her."

"Comfort me!" Hellene burst in a rage. She dissolved into angry sobbing, and she looked so frail and beautiful as she wept that several heads turned to glare at Echridge. The fat poodle was slumped down in his seat and weighed by chains, and Azrian almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Azrian was seated on the front row beside Hellene, who cried softly throughout the entire proceeding. She found herself a bit rattled as she watched Hellene - who had just lost her child - crying because she had only just been raped. And she, Azrian, had participated in that rape. Had sucked Hellene's sharp nipples. Had watched as Primus pounded her with his huge penis. Had gotten aroused . . . She hated herself when she put her arm around Hellene and patted her. Hellene cried harder.

After Primus gave his testimony, he returned to his seat at the table beside Azrian and Hellene, and then it was Azrian's turn to testify. Azrian gracefully rose from her seat, swathed in a somber black gown she had worn at Primus' insistence. Everyone in the court rose in a show of reverence as she took the stand, and once she was comfortably seated and fanning herself lazily with a golden fan, the court sat again.

One of the council members - a slender female named Claire Baldry - then questioned Azrian about the night before, speaking through her nose and wheezing so often, her big breasts heaved behind her sweeping robes. All the council members were in attendance, as they always ran the proceedings at hearings, and all of them were wearing identical golden robes.

Azrian gave her testimony, as she and Primus had often rehearsed, stating that she followed Hellene from the ballroom, had a drink with her, told her she should get to bed, and then went out to the garden for a breath of fresh air. And indeed, there were many who testified that the queen had been seen in the garden, walking in the moonlight, before she finally returned to the masque.

Father Ederic seemed satisfied enough by Azrian's testimony and kindly asked her to return to her seat. He was a stuffy old terrier, black and gray, with spectacles perched ever on his nose. He oversaw the proceedings in a black robe, his word even outweighing that of the council. He was Wychowl's priest and always oversaw court hearings, as the servant of the Creator was the only one worthy of judging those who had done wrong. After Azrian's testimony, he concluded that it was during the queen's stroll in the garden that Hellene had passed out and was assaulted by Echridge - who several witnesses saw harassing the princess only to follow her from the ballroom never to return.

As Father Ederic was speaking, Hellene cried harder and harder, the court watched her with sadness and concern, and Azrian suddenly understand why Hellene had never been suspected of her husband's death: all she had to do was look pretty and cry, and she could seem so . . . innocent.

". . . and since the victim sits before me," continued Father Ederic, "and is destined to marry he who was ordained by our Creator to rule . . . I shall trust to her mercy by placing the fate of Baxter Evans Echridge III in her pa --"

Father Ederic didn't get to finish his sentence. Hellene slammed her fist on the table, sprang up, and snarled with hungry eyes, "I want his head."

***

As Hellene demanded, Echridge was led out to the scaffold as mastiffs rolled drums, as bells tolled in the heights. The black birds of Wychowl swirled over the castle battlements as if they sensed the death to come, and Azrian thought of Maret, goddess of death and destruction, flying across the moon.

"We have them at the end. This way, your majesty," Captain Carnell said quietly.

Azrian nodded as she met the captain at the bottom of the steps, Primus in tow. The captain led the way, and she and Primus followed. They were in the castle dungeons, down in its murky darkness, passing through its corridors of barred cells, while above, Echridge marched to his death.

Behind Azrian, Primus, and Carnell, ten mastiffs marched solemnly along, swords on their hips, silver plates on their chests, wearing jackets that bore the roaring lion of the Emerald dynasty.

They came to a cell at the end of the block, and Captain Carnell grimly pulled a set of keys from his belt. He opened the door for Azrian, but she stepped back, allowing the ten mastiffs with her to quietly file inside. They stood against the walls, paws on their sword hilts, looking down their noses at the miserable mastiffs who sat on the straw on the floor.

There were seven mastiff prisoners in all, though Azrian was certain there were more of them still hiding among her loyal ranks. They were traitors, soldiers of the elite guard who had been paid by Echridge - and other nobles angry about Azrian's movements for fox equality -- to spy on Azrian and perhaps even poison her, removing her from the throne. It would have been an easy thing for Echridge or some other council member to then take over as regent until Etienne returned or an heir came forward. A very easy thing. But Primus had uncovered the plot just as easily. Azrian honestly couldn't understand why the dogs continued to underestimate their slaves.

Azrian glided into the cell with her great red skirts swaying, and the prisoners on the floor crouched low before her, some touching their foreheads to the cold stone floor in supplication. She could hear Captain Carnell in the corridor behind her, shifting bitterly. Primus entered the cell with her and stood at her shoulder.

"Do you wish to live?" Azrian said to the prisoners.

"Yes, your majesty!" they replied in fragmented unison.

"God, yes . . ." whispered another.

"Have mercy . . ." from another.

Azrian smiled sadly. They hadn't eaten in several days. Primus had suggested that she torture them for information, but she knew hunger was as sharp and painful as any torture. So was fear.

Azrian pointed to one of the prisoners and whispered, "Kill him."

The mastiff standing behind the indicated prisoner dutifully pulled his sword with a cold ching and took a halting step forward. He grabbed the prisoner by the mane and yanked his head back. The prisoner looked at Azrian, tears in his eyes. "W-Wait - no!" Azrian looked away as he was beheaded. The other prisoners wept and prayed, kneeling in their filthy rags. She pointed at another, and he was beheaded as well. And another. And another. Until blood splattered the walls and heads rolled.

Azrian thought she was going to be sick but kept the mask of cold indifference firmly on Donica's face. There were two prisoners left. Azrian started to point to one, but he lifted his face . . . and she recognized him. She pointed to the other instead, and he was beheaded.

The last remaining prisoner shivered and wept, wrung his paws, and blinked out tears. He was all snot and prayers, covered in the blood of his comrades . . . and he had peed down his legs. Standing all around him were armed mastiffs with bloody swords, laying all around him were the gaping heads of his friends . . . Yes. He was ready to talk. He was ready to tell everything.

"If you want to live," Azrian said to the prisoner, "you will tell me everything. The names of the nobles involved, the other soldiers who spied - I want details and I want it all."

"Y-Yes, your highness," wept the prisoner, still shaking uncontrollably. Azrian was surprised when he crouched down and kissed her slippers. "Th-Thank you for your mercy . . . your highness . . ."

Azrian's eyes softened, and when the prisoner had straightened up again, she touched his head. "What is your name?" she asked him.

He sniffed. "C-Cambridge, your majesty."

Azrian looked away. "I thought so." She turned from the cell. "Captain Carnell, interrogate Cambridge. Then have him cleaned up and fed."

"Yes, your highness," Captain Carnell said stiffly. He didn't look at Azrian but stared coldly at the wall, and as she moved past him, a worried thought passed through her mind.

Azrian clicked from the dungeon as fast as her legs would carry her, and as she reached the door and fresh air, she could hear the guillotine fall and the crowds cheer. Echridge was dead then.

Azrian couldn't stop the sudden tears that filled her eyes. Was this what her life had been reduced to? Killing brutally to survive? She pulled out her kerchief and went blindly to a stone bench, where she sat and wept a moment. Primus sat beside her in silence, watching her weep.

"You shouldn't cry," he told her. "Someone might see."

Azrian scowled. "I can't _take_being Donica all the time. Just let me have this moment. Please."

"Alright." Primus looked away.

"And why shouldn't I cry?" Azrian went on after a pause. She scowled as she wiped her tears away. "I only have to act like Donica. I don't have to really become her. I c-can't _believe_this was her life - constantly killing those who would kill her --"

"She was called the Red Queen for a reason," Primus said quietly.

Azrian glared at him. "You're supposed to comfort me right now. What good are you?"

Primus placed an uncertain paw on Azrian's knee and she laughed through her tears. The corner of his lips curled in a slight smile. He took the kerchief from her and dabbed her face.

"What you did was necessary," he said in a gentler tone. "Necessary not only for your own survival but for the survival of your kind as well. You may be too young to see that now, but one day you will look back and realize that all the blood you shed today amounted to the freedom of your kind. And then you will regret nothing."

Azrian sniffed quietly, her long lashes angled down as she stared at her knees. "Carnell is going to be a problem, isn't he? He's very angry that I had some of his soldiers executed."

Primus looked off thoughtfully. "He became a problem the moment you were unkind to him at the masque. But yes. Killing some of his soldiers probably didn't help. He views them as foolish boys who were trying to earn extra money for their families and got caught up in politics. Of course, what they did was treason. But he will always view them as his foolish boys who committed treason."

"What should I do with him? And please don't say kill him. I could send him away. Put him at another post?"

"Yes. Replace him immediately. With someone loyal, perhaps in favor of supporting fox equality. He doesn't believe his soldiers deserved death, and trying to convince him otherwise would only turn him further away. He's a soldier, and soldiers only serve those they believe in, those they can stand behind. Carnell will not help you tip the scales for foxes. You were never going to have him around your finger."

Azrian sighed miserably. "At least Echridge is out of the way."

Primus shook his head. "Someone will rise to replace him soon enough. Life as queen of Varimore is a never ending battle - and that reminds me." He looked at her. "You will have to select a new council member to replace him."

Azrian could feel a headache coming on. "I trust you have ideas?" She stared off across the yard, hating Ti'uu for sending her alone into the lion's den without a clue as to how to survive it. She didn't know anything about any of the noble houses or how dog politics really even worked! But then she remembered: she wasn't _supposed_to be alone. Etienne was supposed to be at her side, helping her. A tear escaped her eye and she bit her lip.

"It's alright," Primus said. "Don't think about it right now. The day is almost over."

That was true. It was evening, and twilight would be spilling purple and pink across the sky before long. Azrian closed her eyes and let the cool breeze ruffle Donica's long red mane.

"I'll run a bath for you," Primus went on, "and you can go to sleep."

"And wake up tomorrow and face it all again," Azrian added miserably. "No wonder Etienne ran away. And no wonder he didn't want to be king."

"I think the prince would have made a fine king. And you are a fine queen."

Azrian glanced up at Primus and smiled. They sat on the bench for a time, side by side, in the courtyard, listening to the distant toll of the bells and watching as the black birds swirled across the gray sky. It looked like rain and the breeze was picking up.

"Primus?"

"Your majesty?"

"Please take me to bed. I feel too ill for supper."

"Yes, your majesty."

Primus stood and helped Azrian to her feet. They walked off together through the garden, Azrian leaning on the big Beauceron's arm.

"And Primus?"

"Your majesty?"

"Never call me the Red Queen. Promise me?"

Primus laughed softly. "I promise."