I read over Loki’s words over and over, attempting to decipher what that means. I look at the ravens, then back at the paper in hopes of uncovering the vital clue.
The sun is eclipsed, and when darkness creeps in, I see it. In the darkness, I see Emeline sipping the poison from a vial just as she used a concoction to make me sleep. But her tonic was a lot more potent, so powerful that trained doctors pronounced her dead.
A tonic created by the abbot who knew Emeline was their only hope of saving England. And this was the only way.
The poison made her pulse weaken, but she never stopped. They all assumed she died because the wound she sustained should have killed her…but it didn’t.
“Emeline is alive!” I scream at Ulf, ripping off my hood and face covering.
When the Christians hear me, they turn and point, their hysteria directed at something else, and that something else is Emeline.
When I see her, I beg the gods that this isn't a dream. I will sacrifice anything if it means she is alive and standing behind Aethelbald with a knife pressed to his throat. Just as Lord Rufus attempts to disarm her, a brother throws off his hood, and it seems the abbot was passing robes around to all because Benedict extends a sword and places it to Rufus’s heart.
He raises his hands in surrender.
The church is pure pandemonium.
Ulf and I stand back in awe, unsure what we’re seeing. Emeline meets my eyes, and when she smiles, I am reborn.
“Forgive me, heathen,” she says, her voice hoarse.
“I will punish you later, my queen.”
“Don’t threaten me with a grand time,” she replies, pressing the blade deeper into Aethelbald’s throat.
The brothers take off their hoods, and I recognize their faces. They are here seeking retribution for what Aethelbald did to their fellow brothers and their home.
The abbot was in on this all along. Although peaceful, that doesn’t mean Abbot Maxwell won’t play dirty to bring the bad guys down.
“The good people of England, hear me now!” Emeline says, demanding attention. “I am not a ghost. Or a necromancer has not performed her magic to bring me back to life. The Lord protected me because he knew I wasn’t done with this life.
“I was born to be the queen of England, but Aethelbald lies to you all. He incites war because he lies and cheats. He is no leader. He has killed innocent people. He killed my friends, King Raedwulf and King Beornwulf, all because of greed.
“He wishes to rule all kingdoms. That is not democracy. That is a dictatorship. Aethelbald believes you good Christians to be nothing but fools.”
Emeline wavers, still weak on her feet after being prone for three days. But she doesn’t stop.
“With God as my witness, I promise it was King Aethelbald who delivered what should have been a fatal blow. Yes, I incited war, but only because Aethelbald wished to destroy England. I could not sit back and allow it.
“Not when I have fought so hard for her freedom.”
“She lies! She is a witch! She was dead but has arisen from the dead. She must be burned at the stake!” Aethelbald cries, looking for an ally.
But no one is quick to come to his aid.
“No, she comes in the form of our lord savior who rose from the dead once he was condemned to death,” a villager says.
The crowd nods in agreement.
“I can vouch for Queen Emeline,” says a brother, stepping forward. “Here is the proof.”
He passes the priest a roll of parchment.
Aethelbald squirms, attempting to break free, but Emeline merely snickers.
The priest takes his time reading over the parchment, and once he is done, he shakes his head. “The parchment is evidence from the abbot who documented what happened at the monastery. King Aethelbald, you have committed treason.
“Provoking war in the house of the Lord is punishable by death! The parchments detail all the other atrocities you committed. Blackmail. Extortion. You are unfit to be king! We are shaped in the form of our Lord. Our words are His as we are His vessels.
