Dancing on the Block

by Marina Barinova

  It was gloomy inside and chilled from the stone, though the escorts moved freely. The group spent some time going up and down narrow corridors before coming to a staircase leading upward.

  Hey, not a basement—that’s a good sign. Maybe this isn’t the day I die.

  In single file, they headed up to the second floor. The décor was minimal: simple, whitewashed walls, rough wood floors, primitive copper chandeliers and candleholders. Lasius nodded to the brother protectors, knocked on one of the doors, and stepped inside. A few seconds later, he came back out and address Demos.

  “Are you armed?”

  “Only if you think I could jab someone with this cane,” the treasurer replied playfully.

  “Do you mind?”

  “How could I resist that charm of yours?”

  The investigator let the sarcasm slide and looked the cane over carefully. Not finding anything suspicious, he handed it back to its owner.

  “He’s expecting you.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Brother Lasius.” Demos smiled crookedly and pushed open the door.

  The spacious room was decorated just the same as the rest of the building. The windows were bare of curtains and stylish stained glass, the walls were painted, and the floorboards didn’t quite fit together. His back to the light and on the other side of a large wooden table loaded with books and scrolls, Great Master Ladarius sat on a hard chair.

  “Greetings, Lord Demos,” he said with a bewitching smile as he looked up from his reading. “I hope my helpers didn’t scare you too badly?”

  Oh, aren’t you funny!

  Devaton walked over and overcame the pain in his leg to kneel and kiss the master’s silver disk.

  Ladarius was far from a young man, but he still moved quickly. His light-green eyes were deceptively soft, his refined facial features betraying his aristocratic background. The great master also shaved his beard while letting his hair grow long. The gray locks hung past his shoulders.

  “My encounter with Brother Lasius added an edge to the day,” Demos replied. “I’m not used to visits from Collegium investigators, Your Holiness.”

  “Forgive us for the inconvenience.” Ladarius gestured Demos to a chair. “We needed this to be secret.”

  More secrets? Fantastic! When is my back going to finally break under all of them?

  Devaton sat his battered behind down on the cold chair.

  “I’m all ears, Your Holiness. Incidentally, I didn’t know you were an ascetic.”

  “The setting bothers you?” the great master asked, waving around the room. “This isn’t the main residence, of course. Sometimes, I want to get away from the splendor—it can get on your nerves.”

  Perhaps you just want to get away from all the eyes and ears.

  “I understand,” the treasurer replied with a smile. “But what’s the hurry?”

  “It’s the question of succession raised by Lord Gregor at the meeting of the Small Council. The Collegium isn’t yet prepared to discuss the issue publicly.”

  Demos squirmed in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. It was worse on his hips than the bench in the carriage. Finally, he gave up and just crossed his legs.

  “Were you able to find anything out?”

  “Yes and no.” Ladarius unrolled one of the scrolls on the table and ran his eyes over the text. “Per the report from the Collegium investigators I assigned to this issue, there are no cases in the history of the state where the imperial crown was handed down to a descendant on the female side.”

  Everyone knows that, and it cuts both ways.”

  “Exactly, Lord Demos. There are plenty of smart people out there who can twist that conclusion to fit their narrative.”

  If I hadn’t destroyed Margius’ last will, there would have been a precedent. Not for long, however, I imagine. The empire is too traditional, and the empress wouldn’t have been in power longer than a drunk can stay away from a bender. It would have been too uncomfortable for everyone.

  “And how can I help?” Demos asked.

  The great master handed the scroll to Devaton.

  “I’ll admit, I was impressed by your reaction to Lord Voldhard’s announcement. You were probably the only one at the Council to behave with dignity and attempt to understand the situation.”

  “The law is the law,” Demos replied with a shrug. “What’s the point if the aristocracy doesn’t follow it?”

  “I’m glad we think alike. And that’s exactly why you’re the only layperson I’m willing to discuss the situation with. Even the supreme justice doesn’t know about it.”

  Shast doesn’t know what’s going on? Interesting.

  Demos crossed his arms and looked out the window.

  “I’m not sure I can take responsibility for making a judgement. The weight would be enough to crush me.”

  Ladarius smiled gently.

  “Admirable modesty. Of course, I’m not asking you to participate in the process. I’m just letting you know how things stand: the Collegium has three paths we can take based on the information at hand. The first option is to inform the Small Council of the results of our study and leave the succession law in place. Only descendants by the male line. That would work for everyone with the exception of Highligland.”

  “On the other hand, that fact could be taken in another direction. With the support of Eclusum, the Council could give an order bestowing the right to inherit the crown on male descendants from the female line.”

  “In that case, Lord Gregor would get what he’s looking for, there would be two contenders for the throne, and the empire would split into chaos—there are quite a few people unwilling to trust rule to a stranger. We barely know anything about Lord Gregor. The Voldhards are a well-known family, but Highligland isn’t exactly the empire. Unlike Beltera.”

  No, no, and no, again! Don’t pull me into this, I’m begging you!

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t notice that hint and come back to the subject at hand.” Demos once again started squirming, cursing the trip there. “Whichever decision you go with, there will be people who aren’t happy. I understand your predicament—there’s no way peace is in the cards for the people. But you did mention a third option.”

  Ladarius nodded.

  “And it seems like the best one to me. We just play for time.”

  “Can we afford to do that right now?”

  “Voldhard is young and hotheaded. Still, he might have enough sense in him to retract his claim, so we need to give him time to reconsider. And we can buy all the time we need—a single order to review all the religious books in the kingdom would mean years of formal study. In the time that takes, we could come up with other issues for the Duke of Highligland to concern himself with. For example, another war with the Runds.”

  “Lord Gregor didn’t strike me as a patient man,” Demos said with a shake of his head. “I’m afraid he might make a reckless move.”

  “Time has a way of settling even the unruliest of nerves. Believe me, Your Grace, it has broken men far more stubborn than him.”

  “They say the young Voldhard has a personality like his father, and Lord Rolf wasn’t known for his pliancy.”

  “Ah, yes,” Ladarius said with a reminiscent smile. “He kept the peace on the border with Rundkar for a good while. If his son took that duty on himself, as well, the situation would figure itself out. And that would be the best option for the empire, I would think.”

  The treasurer sighed.

  “I doubt we can count on getting that lucky. Really, I would advise against dragging everything out. Who knows what the ruler of Highligland might do if his patience runs out?”

  “His arms aren’t that long.”

  “But he has a hot head. He could be dangerous.”

  The great master thoughtfully unrolled another scroll.

  “I’m aware that the decision of the Collegium, whatever it might end up being, will bring about a war of resentment,” he said shortly. “But t
his isn’t the best time for unrest, and so I think it wisest to keep from offering a verdict for as long as possible.”

  Devaton smiled humorlessly.

  “The longer the bowstring is pulled back, the farther the arrow flies when it’s released.”

  Ladarius suddenly looked up from his papers and peered closely at Demos.

  “You’re very cautious, Your Grace.”

  “Caution has a way of keeping you around longer.”

  “Why are you avoiding power?”

  There’s that, too. I’m also at risk of burning down half the palace if I overdo it and don’t snuff my powder in time.

  Demos tilted his head to the side and met the great master’s gaze.

  “I wasn’t prepared for that kind of responsibility, Your Holiness. I’m Demos Devaton, a highborn manager, and I have neither health nor the love of the people. Yes, I’m a faithful servant of the state, but my knees shake when I think about gold thrones. The only way I’m able to manage a duchy and the imperial treasury is that I was raised from a young age to do exactly that. But an entire empire is too much. I wouldn’t be worthy of such an honor.”

  Ladarius played with the chain his disk dangled from thoughtfully.

  “So, you don’t want to rule at all?”

  “I just don’t want to take on more than I can handle.”

  “Lots of people would disagree with your assessment. It’s no secret that you’re considered the most well-suited successor to the dead emperor.”

  “I don’t share that optimism.”

  “In that case, let me ask you a different question,” the great master said with a sigh. “Will you defy the will of the Council, the Keeper, and the people if you are chosen?”

  As if I’d have a choice.

  “If that is fated to be, I won’t stamp my feet and throw a tantrum. Although, I have no intention of being crowned.”

  “That’s good enough for Eclusum.” Ladarius nodded, stood up, and took a few steps toward the door. “Thank you for your transparency. I imagine you have other business to attend to.”

  “Sadly, that is the case.”

  “One more thing. I decided to name Brother Lasius my palace representative, so he will pass along news to you directly from me. If you need to tell us anything, you can speak with him. Brother Lasius is a faithful servant of the Keeper and a reliable man.”

  Your faithful servant and a reliable spy for Eclusum, you mean? Get in line, Your Holiness—there are plenty of people in the palace trying to dig up my secrets.

  “Thank you,” Devaton replied. He overcame the pain once again to kiss the great master’s silver disk.

  We’ll add a little righteousness for good measure.

  Already at the door, the treasurer turned.

  “You can count on my assistance, Your Holiness,” he said quietly. “Our methods may be different, but I imagine our goal is the same. I can’t let disorder rule the empire.”

  Ladarius smiled disarmingly.

  “Exactly, my son. I’ve kept a close eye on your achievements, and I don’t mind telling you that I find them impressive regardless of the connection House Devaton has with the Ennians and the slaves I condemn with my whole heart. But, if I had to pick someone to rule the country, my bet would be on you.”

  You want to make me your puppet?

  “I’m flattered. But Lord Gregor’s intentions also deserve your attention—he’s a former pupil of the Order, after all. I assumed his surprising fate would capture your attention.”

  “I am keeping an eye on him,” Ladarius replied calmly.

  “It may be wise to find out more before it’s too late. For all of us.”

  After bowing again, Demos walked out. The same group led by Brother Lasius awaited him on the other side of the door.

  “My orders are to deliver you back to the palace,” the investigator said.

  “What a relief that I won’t have to walk back,” Devaton replied with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Incidentally, would you mind grabbing some pillows?”

  Chapter 25. Ellisdor

  The castle had changed over the previous eight years. The towers and walls had been fortified, there were new living and household spaces, and even the dungeons seemed bigger. Servants bustled around the inner courtyard, which was packed with tired refugees. The ducal guard stuck to the walls—Artanna noticed that Gregor had reinforced them. But she still didn’t know what danger he was afraid of. Her fighters got settled in the barracks, while Artanna herself was kindly offered quarters in the manor house. She was still having a hard time believing the duke would be happy with her there as just an advisor, however.

  She squinted out at the morning sun. The bright rays played with her crystal glass.

  “It’s barely light out, and you’re already drinking?” Vezzam’s quiet voice pulled the Hundred leader out of her reverie.

  “What else am I supposed to do? Whenever I’m stuck in Ellisdor, I just want to forget everything.”

  “The duke is calling for you.”

  “I’ll be right down,” the mercenary leader said with a nod before downing her wine.

  “Any orders for me?”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “What’s the point of having me there?”

  “You think we’re at the market?” Artanna shot back irritably. “You’re my Second, remember?”

  It looked like Vezzam paused in embarrassment.

  “I didn’t think I’d have to meet the duke, at least, not right now.”

  “I’m calmer with you around,” Artanna said. She carefully placed her glass on the table and tightened her belt. “Whatever happens, I want you to know everything about the adventure we’re about to get ourselves into.”

  “Whatever you say. But, if you really want your Second’s advice, I don’t like any of this.”

  “Me neither,” Artanna replied with a sigh. “But I have to go through with it.”

  She remembered the small hall well—all Rolf’s closed meetings had been held there. The mercenary woman thought back to all the weeks she’d spent hanging around the windowless stone sack.

  The advisors fell silent when the mercenaries appeared. Gregor was sitting in a massive, high-backed chair, while everyone else was arranged on benches covered with dusty rugs. Aldor den Grauer, who the Hundred leader knew well, was sitting to the right of the duke, though he was wearing an embroidered tunic made of fine wool instead of his old habit. A ring of the castle keys hung on the baron’s belt; the archchancellor’s chain was on his shoulder. He also looked much more confident than the Aldor she’d known a decade before.

  Next to Grauer, was Kiver den Lange, the eldest son of Count Urst and someone she also knew from the old days. She’d known the big fellow since he was a baby—she wouldn’t have expected him to turn out bigger than Gregor. Kiver had turned into a powerful warrior with a kind face that somehow seemed out of place with the rest of him. Having Lange there made her feel better, as Count Urst’s family had always taken her side. Of course, much could have changed over the previous eight years, and Kiver wasn’t his father. Artanna’s eyes met Lange’s, and she couldn’t surprise a smile. His charm was too much.

  And that was the last of her potential allies.

  The Vagran next saw Rainer and Friedrich, sons of Count Lamont Ekkehard. Her vague memories of them were enough to avoid a closer acquaintance—the talks she’d had with their father told her his offspring had probably inherited his otherworldly arrogance and enviousness, qualities that followed every younger branch of their great house. Was it not envy that had pushed Lord Lamont to give the absurd order to begin the fateful battle without awaiting Rolf’s reinforcements and Artanna’s reconnaissance? Wasn’t it the same bravado that ruined Lotar when he threw himself into the fray in an attempt to save his relatives as they were being hacked to pieces by the Runds? Wasn’t it the same Ekkehards who denounced her as a traitor so loudly, even as they were actually the traitorous ones? She doubted they had be
en anticipating her return to Ellisdor or approved of Gregor’s decision. The Hundred leader had known back then that she couldn’t turn her back to them, and that was truer than ever.

  At Gregor’s left hand, sat a formless pile of cloth and gold in which lived Wilbert den Haltsel, the Voldhards’ decrepit and irreplaceable treasurer who still apparently clung to life with gritty tenacity. He’d somehow managed to keep afloat in the sea of papers all those years. When he saw the Vagran, Haltsel nodded and gestured to the spot next to him. Artanna shrugged and sat down, leaving Vezzam standing by the door.

  “I remember you well, Lady Artanna,” the treasurer said softly.

  “Do they still use my name to scare children?”

  “Who knows? I have a different nightmare: I can still see the sum Lord Rolf paid to buy your manor in Givoi. Why did you come back, Lady Toll? Why aren’t you sitting there where you were banished to?”

  The Vagran smiled charmingly.

  “Ask His Grace that and please tell me what he says. I don’t know why I was summoned, either.”

  The old man muttered something to himself and cast a reproachful glance at the duke.

  To the surprise of the mercenary, there was a monk at the council, as well. He was looking around with a friendly smile at everyone gathered there, slowly working his way through the metal beads on his rosary. Artanna grunted to herself when she saw the large silver disk hanging around his neck. She was no fan of the clergy—they spent too much time talking and too little time being useful. With that said, judging by the rumors making their way around the castle about the Latanian’s near brush with death, that particular monk had already proven useful.

  “Finally,” Voldhard said with a smile, nodding a greeting to Artanna. “I’d like to introduce you to Artanna nar Toll, commander of a mercenary brigade from Givoi.”

  “Artanna the traitor?” Rainer asked. “Of course, we remember her.”

  The Vagran grinned.