Four-Leaf

      With a short bob of wavy red hair and overly-bright, keen green eyes, the Draik looked now much as she had in the portrait. Spine straight, chin tilted arrogantly in the air, with a slight sneer on her face that might have been mistaken for a smile, had it not been so evidently wicked.

     “You’ve trod on too many toes! Too many egos have been tested, and too many injured!”

      Mahyla, the speckled Draik, listened to this complaint with unbridled disdain. Did she care whose toes she stomped on along the way? How many egos she bruised or deflated altogether? No, not at all. It would teach the weak and cowardly to tumble out of her way, and if, by and by, a few strongheaded foes arose, then she’d be glad to meet them on the field. Her army needed a real challenge.

      “We’ve gone too far this time. Brightvale should be respected as the formidable force they are. They won’t stand for this sort of treatment much longer.”

      Mahyla stared at the Skeith speaking, without saying a word in retort. Of all of the councilmen present, this red Skeith, Articus, had always been her least favorite. She’d sensed, for some time, a weakness in him that was finally beginning to show itself. Those sort of weaknesses needed to be dispelled or crushed mercilessly.

      It was her right, as queen, to do as she pleased, and if she wanted to invade Brightvale, to extend her empire, she was going to very well do as she pleased, and Articus, the pompous mass that he was, would not stand in her way.

      Mahyla snorted aloud, never afraid to display her contempt, and this outright disregard to the council’s fears seemed to send them over the edge toward which she’d been unknowingly shoving them sense her first advances toward Brightvale.

      “King Cove would have never--!”

      But Articus didn’t finish this claim. It seemed even too powerful and dangerous to complete, but he’d already said enough. All of the Neopians present gasped, but the collective intake of breath went unnoticed by Mahyla, who had gone impossibly still, only her sneer fading into a momentary look of disbelieving surprise.

      And then, she released a sharp, angry growl, tightening her hands around the arms of her own throne so tightly that her claws dug deep into the wood. All of the Neopians leaned away, even Articus, who was trying his best not to flinch.

      But his words could not be undone. In his desperation—one that had been mounting each day as he would have been the one to lead the attack on Brightvale—had reached its most desperate peak, and he’d done the unforgivable and mentioned their past king.

      A king they had loved, a king that had loved them in return, and a king that had one day vanished without a trace, leaving only Mahyla, the wicked, in his wake. Though the story had been attempted to be unearthed, Mahyla had told them all that Cove had been a coward, and she had rightfully taken the throne.

      Some suspected that she had been a sister, or some other distant relation, that had become power hungry and done away with their loved king in some unspeakable way.

      They had long since given up hope that he would reappear some day as unexpectedly as he had been gone. The desperate thought that he would return to save them from this tyrant had long since faded.

      “Articus, you fool! You dare to speak his name before me?” she hissed.

      Articus seemed incredibly uncomfortable under his queen’s glare, but he lifted his chin defiantly. At this simple gesture, several of the other Neopians in the room turned their heads, as if to sickened to watch what was coming next.

      “Well, it’s true, and I’m not the only one who’s thought it.” His voice was shaky and slightly squeaky when he said this, but everyone in the room heard and understood.

      The thin, green nostrils at the end of Mahyla’s long snout flared, a contradictory reaction to the slow mile that spread across her face. Her brilliant green eyes seemed to sparkle with danger.

      “Of course, Articus,” she agreed softly. “You’re just the only one fool enough to speak it.”

      There was no mistaking the tone of Mahyla’s voice. Articus had overstepped his boundaries. It was of no surprise to anyone present, even Articus, what she shouted next.

      “Guards! Our friend, Articus, requires time to ponder his allegiance. See him to the dungeons. It’s nice and quiet down there.”

      Mahyla saw the Skeith’s Adam’s apple bob nervously in his throat, but he did not object or resist when he was clamped under the arms by two of Mahyla’s guards, lifted off the ground, and carried out of the chamber. His silence was mildly disappointing to Mahyla.

      Her smile was utterly false when it was turned back to the rest of her council.

      “Well, does anyone else have an opinion they’d like to share?”

      A few Neopians shifted uncomfortably in their seats. One Mynci glanced sadly at the door behind which Articus had disappeared, but everyone remained silent.

      “Very good then. It’s agreed. If Brightvale feels the need to defend themselves when I make my move, we will be ready to fight back,” Mahyla declared, and then her gaze shifted to a Bruce to her left. “My dear friend has now been promoted to fill Commander Articus’s position. Commander Ice, if you will please follow me.”

      Ice Claw, the Darigan Bruce that she had signified, pushed swiftly to his feet as Mahyla made to stand. She gave her council one last glance before getting to her own feet, nodding maliciously to her fellows, and sweeping out of the chamber in a whirl of her ruby-red gown. Ice Claw followed silently behind her.

      When it was certain that she was gone, the immobile figures of the council finally seemed to breathe again. One by one, with cautious glances at their fellows, they began to get to their feet. The oldest of the members, a grayed Lupe by the name of Jazyl, was the last to stand, and, upon doing so, he addressed the entire crowd sadly.

      “Let’s just hope she’s as lucky as she thinks she is...”

     ~!~!~!~

      Mahyla had left Ice Claw’s company on the orders that he begon preparing, right away, for a potential war with Brightvale. She’d captured plenty of small, secluded villages, had extended her rule considerably since she’d stolen the throne from the desert Draik, Cove—Good riddance!—but she still wasn’t satisfied, and wouldn’t be until she’d made a real mark upon the whole of Neopia. She had something to prove. To herself and to Neopia.

      She would never admit how she had come to this place, or how she’d taken the crown from Cove’s unwilling head and sent him into banishment, but she would freely admit that she had openly opposed each one of his ideas and actions. He’d been too kind, too caring. He hadn’t fully appreciated the power available for the taking.

      She was here to right his mistakes, to make her kingdom as legendary and as awe-inspiring as Brightvale’s. To do so, she had to eliminate the competition.

      “Um—Excuse me?”

      Mahyla paused at the sound of the timid, soft voice, having almost not heard it at all. She glanced over her shoulder, her brow lifting as she spotted the owner of the voice just behind her. She turned slowly to face the small Gelert that was no more than a child.

      A peasant from the village, certainly, judging by the garb that she wore. Her fur was a bright lilac color, but it was dirty and ruffled from the play of the young. Her blonde hair was waist length, but just as ruffled as her fur, and in just as much disarray. She might have been pretty with her large, almond-shaped blue eyes, but it would have been hard to find anyone attractive in the muted grey dress she wore.

      “Yes?” Mahyla asked, her tone crisp.

      She’d noticed that the young Gelert was clasping something in her hands, shielding it from view almost protectively, and she, frankly, didn’t have time for games. She was hardly any more civil to children than she was to adults.

      The youngster seemed to notice this, and she fidgeted nervously under Mahyla’s piercing stare.

      “Sorry to trouble you, missus, but I heard that we were supposed to bring everything of value that we found to you when we’re working in the fields.”

      As simply as that, the Gelert had her full attention.

      “What’s your name, child?”

      “Rylee, ma’am.”

      Mahyla, on one of the rare occasions she ever felt the need, attempted an encouraging smile.

      “And what of value,” she paused, her eyes shimmering momentarily with greed, “do you have for me, Rylee?”

      “Well, I—I found this,” Rylee stammered.

      As if it took a great deal of courage, Rylee shoved her cupped hands forward and opened them to display her treasure to Mahyla, and Mahyla, who against her better judgement was waiting for a jewel or some other valuable object to be revealed, was hit with a great wave of disappointment.

      Clasped ever so gently in Rylee’s paws was a small, green clover. Ordinary and unimpressive. Mahyla, in respect of her audience being a child, pursed her lips to keep from shouting. She should have expected it after all. The poor would never have anything that she could possibly envy.

      “This is a clover, Rylee. I thought you had something of value.”

      There was a great deal of disdain in Mahyla’s voice, and Rylee, though her years were few, picked up on this and immediately took defense. Almost reproachfully, she jerked her paws back and held the clover against her slender chest, as disappointed with Mahyla as the queen was with her. How could anyone say that this green treasure wasn’t valuable?

      “It is of value!” she protested. “It’s a four-leaf clover!”

      Mahyla snorted. “There is nothing of value in a four-leaf clover.”

      Rylee pouted, obviously injured. “Yes, there is! Haven’t you ever heard the stories?”

      As if she had time for a child’s tale! She’d already wasted enough of it standing in this hall. She had other, more important things to do. Neopians to deal with, wars to plot, items to be negotiated, and it was almost time for dinner.

      “I haven’t the time for this, dear,” Mahyla chided her roughly. “Go back to your mother and tend to your chores.”

      Mahyla made to gather her dresses and sweep around the Gelert, but what Rylee said next stopped her dead in her tracks.

      “King Cove would have known the story. He’d know this was valuable,” she grumbled, her child-like pride injured, as she’d felt that her gift would awe the queen.

      Mahyla whipped around, Rylee’s age, for a moment, forgotten as anger flared hotly into her green eyes.

      “WHAT? What did you say about...” She swallowed. His name was distasteful in her mouth. “About Cove?”

      Rylee took a frightened step back, pressing against the opposite wall of the hall, hugging the clover to herself now.

      “I just meant... Well, he knew the stories, your highness. He would have known this was a treasure.”

      She hated to be compared to Cove, her rival, her bane. They had all tried to compare her to him at first, but she’d quickly taught them not to. There was fear of punishment in merely uttering his name now, but Rylee, young and naïve, did not know the danger she was in by talking of the king in such a reverent manner.

      Drawing in a deep, furious breath, Mahyla crouched in front of the lilac Gelert, her tone deadly gentle.

      “Are you suggesting that Cove knew more than me?” Mahyla demanded. “Fine then. Tell me the story, young Rylee, and then there will be nothing that he knew that I don’t, no reason for you to compare the two of us again.”

      Though Mahyla was only a breath away from her face and the fact frightened her, Rylee seemed mildly elated that she was going to be able to relate her story to someone else. A story she obviously prized dearly.

      “A four-leaf clover is really good luck,” Rylee started, causing Mahyla’s eyes to roll. “It’s true! How do you think Dr. Sloth always gets away?”

      Mahyla, like the rest of Neopia, didn’t have an answer to that, but she imagined it was something more powerful than a stem of grass. She waved her hand impatiently at Rylee.

      “There’s a story in the village about a farmer who found a four-leaf clover. That year, his crops were very bountiful, and he made a lot of Neopoints. He could finally afford to pay off his debts and feed his family.” Mahyla thought she saw a whisper of envy flash through Rylee’s gaze here. “The next year, an old Lenny showed up on his farm, starved and lost. He was a king, but his carriage had been attacked by bandits, and he’d fled to safety.”

      Weakling, Mahyla thought inwardly, scowling, but she didn’t interrupt. Rylee ignored her expression as well and continued on.

      “He fed the king, and allowed him to sleep in his bed and stay in his home until he’d recovered. They became very good friends, having a lot in common, which was a great surprise to the farmer. When the king recovered enough to make the journey back to his castle, he promised the farmer he’d repay him.”

      Rylee’s eyes glimmered with excitement at this point, but she stopped speaking, looking expectantly up at Mahyla, as if she should have known the ending to this tale. Again, she was struck with the feeling that she was wasting a great deal of her time for nothing. Refusing to speak, even to urge the Gelert onward, Mahyla returned her stare, her lips pressed tightly together.

      Finally, Rylee’s own impatience gave in.

      “The king never had a family of his own, and when he was gone, he left everything to the farmer, who’d been more kind to him than anyone he’d ever known,” Rylee explained.

      Of course. Always happy endings, Mahyla thought. “Is that all?”

      She was already queen. What did she need a four-leaf clover for if its best prize was a crown? Sort of anticlimactic, in her opinion.

      “Well...” Rylee’s gaze dropped to her feet.

      “What?” Mahyla questioned impatiently. “What else?”

      “I...” she swallowed visibly. “Some say that the farmer was Cove’s grandpa.”

      Cove...? This entire story was about Cove? She’d wasted all this time to hear about his ancestor’s fortunes, to hear of his family’s success? Mahyla’s nostrils flared, and, without thinking, she snatched the clover out of Rylee’s paws, ignoring her yip of protest, and shredded it into pieces, letting it fall like green snow to the floor between them.

      “Unlike your great Cove, I don’t need luck, child! This is what I think of your luck!”

      Furious, the queen whirled around and stomped off down the hall, leaving Rylee to stare pitifully down at her broken four-leaf clover, tears welling in her eyes. She had wanted it to bring her own poor family fortune.

      Halfway across Neopia, in the high mountains of Shenkuu, Cove Macduff jolted awake to an empty room in which he could have sworn he heard the whispering ghosts of the past.

      The next day, Mahyla awoke to the news that Brightvale would attack within the week with Meridell at their side, greatly outnumbering Mahyla’s forces.

      Like the tattered four-leaf clover, Mahyla’s luck had been torn.

The End