Curse you, Byron! This should be you, not me!
She looked back over her shoulder at the market, at the infinite, gray sea. How easy it’d be to hop a merchant vessel and sail…anywhere. As long as it wasn’t here. They’d gladly take her aboard. Why not? She could hoist a sail and handle a sword with the best of them.
What a life it would be!
Lulled to sleep by the waves, every day a new adventure, a new port of call. But just as quickly, the fantasy faded. That would never be her life, no matter how badly her soul yearned for it. She swore an oath to uphold the Five Tenets, and that oath was the only thing that guided her, the only certainty in her life.
Her fingers closed around the handle and pulled. She was greeted by gruff voices and drunken laughter; she recognized her uncle’s acoustics, rising above the rest as usual. The tavern wouldn’t fill up for a few more hours, so they had the run of the place. The trimmings were sparse: twelve wooden tables in the center of the room, walls lined with empty casks, and an iron chandelier topped with candles that the barkeep lit by hand at the beginning of each day. Across the room was the bar. Her uncle and his men were surrounding it, occupying four of the nine stools. There was an open bottle of Lokavian spiced wine sitting between them.
“Ah, my dear niece!” Osiris slammed his mug down, splashing wine across the bar. “Come and give your Uncle Osiris a hug!” He stood and limped toward her, dragging his right leg.
She smiled weakly and accepted his embrace, her face against his chest; he smelled of spirits and tobacco. “Good to see you, Uncle. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Our ship got loaded down faster than we anticipated. We needed somewhere to offload. Just so happens, Anthena was the closest port.” Osiris looked back and saw his men still sitting, drinks in hand. “Get up on your feet, you salty pricks. This isn’t some whorehouse. The Lady of Anthena, my niece, stands before you. Show some respect.”
“Sorry, sir,” they mumbled over each other as they jumped to their feet.
“I apologize, my dear. These men of mine are hard to break.”
She granted Osiris’ men a genial smile. “It’s quite alright, there’s no offense taken. I’m sure you gentlemen are due some relaxation. So please, as you were.”
“Ever your mother’s daughter.”
“New war wound?” Her eyes fell to his lagging right leg.
“Pirates tried to board us near the Barrow Strait. We killed them good, but I took a dagger in the thigh. The leg hasn’t been right since.”
“Would you like our doctor to take a look at it while you’re here?”
“No, no, I’ll be fine.” He patted his thigh one good time and sat back on the stool. He’d taken his fair share of war wounds: he had lightning bolt shaped scars across either cheek and the rest of his body was riddled from neck to navel—and now thigh—with the slashes and gashes he’d earned from tavern brawls and high sea tussles. Osiris pulled brown rolling paper out and began lining it with tobacco. “Make you one?”
“I would never.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.” He licked the paper, twisted it up nice and tight, and set a match to it, exhaling a mouthful of smoke along with an extended sigh of gratification. “How about a drink?” He grabbed the bottle, shaking it with a slight look of disgust. “I see you’re still pawning off this Lokavian piss water.”
“They supply us with spirits, we supply them with ore; a contract is a contract. And I’ll pass, for now. I’ve still got matters to attend to.”
“Ah yes,” he took a drag from the cigarette, blowing his smoke toward the ceiling, “the attack on the mine. Terrible business. Is everyone okay?”
“Men have been dispatched. I’m still waiting on a report.”
“Unfortunate.”
The front door pushed open and a momentary flash of light filled the room. An old man with patchwork clothes and a week's worth of white whiskers shuffled toward the bar; his feet never completely leaving the floor. He kept his head down and his shoulders slouched forward. He fell against the bar to the right of Osiris’ men, elbows first.
“What’ll it be?” Rinebart—the barkeep—spoke as if he knew the fellow well.
“Something tall and strong.” His voice crackled with phlegm.
“Mugs are still the same size as they were last time.”
Osiris shook his head at the exchange and turned his attention back to Roserine. “As happy as I am to see you, I have to say, I was expecting your brother.”
“That’s a reasonable expectation, seeing as he is now the acting King. Sadly, my brother has chosen to…abscond.”
“Not a promising start to his reign.”
“On that, we agree.”
“Just as well, I suppose I’ll speak with you. I trust you’ll pass my words along to the little King.”
“I’m sure I’m more than capable of satisfying whatever grievance you may have, Uncle.” She coughed as the smoke from his cigarette clouded her face.
“Less a grievance, more a concern. My men and I have noticed that ore prices have risen considerably these last two visits. I understand that the recent attacks have left you in a tight spot, but I was hoping we could make some sort of…arrangement, perhaps.”
“What arrangement might that be?” She should have known, typical Osiris. His concern stretched no further than his coin purse. His inquiry regarding the well being of those involved in the mine attack had been nothing more than a greed-soaked preamble.
“Did I do something to offend?”
“Just come out with it, Uncle. I don’t have time to chase you around the bush.”
“Okay then,” he extinguished the cigarette, “down to business. You front me the ore. Due to the shortage, I can sell it to my people at a premium. I’ll split the profits with you. You’ll make double your coin, easy.”
Her head was shaking before he’d finished. “Can’t do it.”
“You won’t consider it? There’s no way you’re moving it at the price you’re asking.”
“We front you the ore and then what? Wait around four or five months to see a return? What if your buyers don’t pay the price you’re demanding? What if you’re taken by storm or piracy? The risk lies completely with us.”
“Listen, I understand there’s a shortage. But how do you expect me to make a profit at the price you’re asking me to pay? I need that ore. This crew needs that ore. We have contracts outstanding that—”
“As do we, Uncle. And after today, I don’t know how many of them are going to be filled. If you can’t afford to pay what we’re asking, then you’ll have to go somewhere else.”
“I have to say, I’m surprised you’re speaking to me this way, Roserine; especially after everything I’ve done, and continue to do, for Anthena. I spent the best years of my life on a ship procuring the things that have kept this land afloat; been doing it since long before you were born. And now, when I stand before you in need, you turn your back to me.”
“Oh please, don’t feed me that line. You left Anthena and hoisted a sail on your own accord. We have our own merchant vessel, we didn’t need yours. My father stayed and did the hard work required to bring this land to life; he would have welcomed your help, but he wasn’t going to beg. While you were off filling your pockets with coin and your belly with wine, it was Anthenians like my father and the men at the mine that kept this land afloat, not whatever knickknacks you happened to come by while stumbling your way across random islands.” Roserine pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head in frustration. “I really don’t have time for this. If you want cheaper ore then leave some of your drunken deckhands behind to help secure the mine. Otherwise, you’re wasting my time.”
A thick wall of silence grew between them.
The conversation around the bar had stopped completely.
Osiris’ eyes were cold and still.
He broke into raucous laughter. “Everyone is so serious.” He turned back to the bar to pour another glass of spic
ed wine. “If we can’t do business, we can’t do business. Such is life. No reason for bad blood over it.”
“I’m glad you see it that way.”
“How is my brother?”
“Still dying.”
“That is unfortunate.” He drank and smacked his lips. “I’d very much like to see him.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. He’s far too sick for any visitors.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t completely true. Her father was sick, but he could handle visitors. However, he had no love for his brother. Seeing Osiris, listening to him prattle on about the price of ore, would only cause unneeded stress.
“That is also unfortunate.”
“I’ll give him your love. Now, if that’ll be all, I have to see about the mine.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you for your time, I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon,” he spoke with his back to her, his voice low and detached.
“I’m sure we will.”
2
Roserine paced the north balcony of castle Volkheeri. Her strides were long and deliberate, the clopping of her boot-heels echoing against the high ceiling. The balcony looked out over the north wall, granting a panoramic view of the moonlit lands beyond. From where she paced, she could see the soldiers walking their patrol routes along the top of the wall, appearing as nothing more than pale shadows. Everyone was on high alert. The city guards had been taken off of their usual patrol and pulled closer to the castle in case the Eval attempted a full-scale siege. Whether they were capable of such a thing, no one knew; their exact numbers were a mystery. Every attempt to track them had been a failure. All anyone knew was that the Eval resided in the hills far north of the wall and acted as guerilla fighters, striking and disappearing back into the shadows. Many thought this tactic made them cowards. Roserine couldn’t help but admire it. Their tenacity, their single-mindedness, their confidence—the confidence it took to move such a small contingent of soldiers against superior numbers and fortifications—was remarkable. Even more remarkable was their success. They’d wounded Anthena time and time again and the injuries were starting to stack up; the ore shortages, the plummeting morale of the mine workers, it was hitting the coffers hard.
Roserine stopped pacing and gripped the edge of the cold, stone railing. All the pacing in the world wouldn’t calm her mind; her thoughts were moving faster than her feet. She was waiting for updates on the situation at the mine and the whereabouts of her brother. For all she knew, the mine could be beyond repair and her brother could be lying dead somewhere beyond the wall.
He’d better be dead!
His death would be the only suitable excuse for his absence. She’d been picking up his slack a lot over the past six months and she was growing weary. As their father’s ability to rule diminished, more responsibility fell to Byron, and as Byron made himself scarcer with each passing day, those responsibilities fell to her. She was quite sure that Byron spent more time beyond the wall than behind it. On most days, she could take the extra weight. On most days, she didn’t begrudge Byron his jaunts. He’d told her they were to clear his head, to try to come to grips with the tragic reality of losing his father, to try to ward off the shock that had come with suddenly being the acting King of Anthena. She understood that. She empathized with that. Part of her even pitied him. But she was struggling, too. She was losing her father, too.
Her restless isolation was interrupted by the sound of the wooden doors groaning open at her back. “I regret having to disturb you, my lady,” Eirik’s voice broke the silence. As the commander of their forces, he was perhaps the only soul in Anthena that’d had a more trying day than her.
“Your regret is best reserved for the ones we lost. I’ve been anticipating your arrival. Approach and report.” She greeted him with a bow of her head, hands folded neatly at her waist.
Eirik’s heavy plate rapped loudly as he marched forward, one hand on his sword, the other bobbing stiffly at his side. “The Eval scaled the wall using hooks and ropes. They killed two men on the wall before moving undetected toward the mine.”
“But we tightened security around the mine, did we not?”
“We did. And they gave the Eval a hell of a fight, but it wasn’t enough. The Eval split into two units. One unit used the wall to fire arrows down on our men while the other attacked from the ground. It was very coordinated. Very precise. Their archers remain the best I’ve ever seen.” Eirik was a leather-faced man with a bushy goatee; he had a considerable circle of scar tissue punctuating his right cheek from where he’d taken an Eval arrow to the face.
“How many dead?”
“We lost twelve men, in total. Four of them died in the fires. The rest of them died fighting the Eval. The fires are under control, but the damage to tools and equipment is extensive.”
“Curse them!” She balled a fist inside an open hand.
“That’s not all. Two men were taken.”
“Taken?”
“I’m afraid so. Some of our men saw them being forced over the wall.”
“Who?”
“Walsh and Sullivan. They both had families.”
The names weren’t familiar. “Their families will be compensated, as will the families of all the men that lost their lives.”
Taking hostages was a new atrocity for the Eval, and a daring one at that. What was the purpose of such a tactic? To garner information? It had to be. What else would they need hostages for? There would be no ransom. The Eval had no interest in material wealth. Their name—Eval Naturae—meant People of Nature; coins and castles weren’t something they aspired to.
“I want the men we lost replaced by tomorrow. I want the number of soldiers around the mine and along the wall doubled; they were spread too thin last time, I want the bulk of them to remain near the mine. I don’t like the way this feels. Who knows what they will learn from those men.”
“Walsh and Sullivan are good men. They’ve lived their lives by the Tenets. I have no doubt they’ll remain loyal to Anthena.”
“Every man is loyal until he isn’t. Do what I asked.”
“My lady, with all due respect, we have no men to spare.”
“Pull them from the fishing crews, conscript them from the market. I don’t care what you have to do. Just get it done.”
“I’ll have to run it by the King.”
“My brother is not here. You’ve been given an order. We have ships coming in daily, demanding resources that we don’t have. My own uncle has threatened to find his ore elsewhere if we cannot deliver. The future of our land is at stake. Are you going to risk it all because you can’t handle taking orders from a woman?”
Eirik lowered his eyes, reluctantly submissive. “Consider it done, my lady.”
“You’re dismissed.”
The weight on her shoulders was reaching critical mass. The pressure behind her eyes was building. Anthena was burning and she was trying to beat the blaze back with a dishrag while its ever-absent King danced around the flames. She’d been trained to be a diplomat. She negotiated trade agreements, not battlefield maneuvers. Sure, she was a master swordswoman, but only because her father had forced the issue.
Distant hoofbeats drew her from her thoughts. On the other side of the north wall, sitting atop his horse, awash in a puddle of torchlight, was her brother. The soldiers on the wall had begun calling out his arrival and working eagerly to raise the gate. Her blood began to boil as she watched him sitting stoically atop his steed. She turned in a huff and stormed through the double doors, made a straight line through her bedroom out into the empty hall, reached a curved staircase and took the stairs down two at a time. She marched through the throne room, the kitchen, and the courtyard; by the time she reached the outer bailey her fingernails had dug sizeable indentions into the heels of her palms. As she exited the outer bailey she ran right into her brother as he was handing his horse off to a scrawny stable boy wearing dung-stained sackcloth.
“Sister, nice of you to greet me.�
�� The carefree lilt in his voice and the toothy smile on his face made her want to smack him.
“You picked a fine day to go gallivanting. Tell me, what was it this time? Chasing down lost cattle? Finding the perfect stone with which to sharpen a blade you never use? Or did you just need a break from the arduous task of doing absolutely nothing around here?” She was screaming at him by the time the last words left her lips.
Byron’s eyes flared as droplets of her saliva glistened on his face. “You’ve got no cause to speak to me that way!” He shoved past her.
She followed after him. “I’ve got every cause!” He was unbuckling his armor as he went, moving across the courtyard toward the dining hall. “I’m the one that’s been stuck here doing your job!”
“My job? Last I checked, father still lives.”
“Now you’re intentionally playing the fool. You’ve been charged with carrying out his duties until he passes and your Kingship is officiated. Or would you rather see me take the throne?”
He stopped and turned, standing beneath a narrow archway, the door to the dining hall at his back. “And what if I would?”
“Wait, what?” She must’ve misheard him.
“What if I want you to take the throne? What if I don’t want to lead? What if I can’t?”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she was able to find the words. “Byron, you have to. Father left the throne to you. The people need you. I need you.”
He shook his head, eyes drifting toward the starry sky.
“You’re really starting to worry me.”
He looked at her and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. I saw the smoke and I hurried back as quickly as I could. But I had no doubt my brave sister could handle it without me.”
Blood & Stone: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 3 Page 2
