“What do emperors do?” he wondered aloud. The transformation of his soul felt like the birth of a butterfly, a beautiful, fragile thing emerging from a cocoon of slime.
“What did your father do once he became one?” she retorted.
I’ll have to talk to Rob, he thought. “He…”
“He made peace. He set Eracia against us, and us against them. He made sure our greed was satisfied, and we found ourselves like dogs, waiting for the next delicious scrap. Your father was a ruthless man, but he was also extremely wise.”
James reached over and touched her knee playfully. “Did he have a woman secretly fighting his wars?” he teased.
“He did,” she said without blinking. “Men tend to be suicidal without our help.”
“So you will come back to me once you conclude your trip in Eybalen?” he asked.
“I will. As much as councillors and investors don’t really do any real work, they still must occasionally stir so that people know they’re alive. It’s early summer now. You ought to leave soon so you avoid bad weather before you complete your campaign. I will probably take until the end of the year before heading back. We shall meet before the Spring Festival. Keep your hands to yourself.”
James wanted to laugh, but her face was serious. “I’ll make sure you have a strong escort and bodyguards at all times.”
She chortled once, musically. “If you feel compelled, brave soldier. I can take care of myself, darling. You’re the one who needs bodyguards around.”
He leaned back, already starting to feel somewhat melancholy. “What will you do in Eybalen? Besides making sure the clerks don’t tamper with the records, that is.”
Rheanna picked up the glass again. “Meet with my father. He will be cross with me for not inviting him to our wedding, I’m sure. But he will forgive me.”
“What about your mother?” he asked. What about mine? She’ll be cross, too.
Her mien flickered. “She is…not well. In her head. She lives in this institution. Father put her there several years ago.”
He felt uncomfortable for a moment. And then, he recalled he knew very little of his wife. In all the time she had pursued his attention before their wedding, he had suspected a hidden plot, so he had hardly paid any heed to her as another person, mostly as a potential enemy, and you cared about your enemies’ motives and strengths and weaknesses; you did not ask after their parents. Since, they had both been too busy making him into a leader to focus on the simple matters. He never talked about his mother, not wanting to draw focus to his Eracian heritage, or her whereabouts, so he never asked about hers either.
“What does your father do?” he blurted.
“He’s a banker,” she stated simply. “What else could he be?”
Why are you with me? he wanted to ask, doubt creeping into his soul, souring his mood, but he knew he must not say anything. That was a wrong question to ask a woman after she had pledged herself to you. And she would not forgive him.
There was a knock on the door, a quick rap.
James was annoyed. He did not want this conversation to end. But Rheanna was watching him carefully, expecting him to be who she expected him to be.
He sighed. “Enter.”
The large door, painted soft blue, cracked open. Timothy poked his head in. “I’m sorry, sir. But Warlord Xavier asked for your presence in the war room. Wants to discuss something, didn’t tell me what, sir. And Master Angus wanted me to remind you that your imperial status does not permit you to shirk the lessons, sir. Sorry about that.”
“Fine, wait for me outside,” he told the squire. The door closed.
“Don’t be angry with the boy,” Rheanna reprimanded him.
“I am not!” he almost shouted.
“You project as if you are. He’s just a boy, but he’s loyal. Truly loyal. You would be wise to keep him at your side and help him grow.”
James felt like a child being berated by his mother. “All right.”
“You might want to promote him. In some way.”
He stood up, approached his wife, and kissed her head. “I will see you later.” She rose, too, ready to go about her own business. Pain Daye was bursting with people who thought they could squeeze something out of this Athesian emperor.
“You’ve selected your clothes well today. I’m proud of you,” she told him.
That brought his spirits up. Well, at least he was doing something right. He squeezed her buttcheek, she yelped playfully, and he went out. A horde of women waited to enter the chambers and polish and dust them into submission. They did it several times a day; it was almost depressing. James did not want to know their names, did not want to get used to the notion of having people dress him, comb him, shave him, towel him, and pamper him. As long as he maintained that distance, he could pretend he was a rugged, tough man like his father had been. He could not imagine Emperor Adam letting someone wash his hair.
Two guards at each side of the double doors snapped to efficient attention. They were fully armored despite the heat. It felt like a pretense, even more so since officially becoming the ruler of Athesia, but he knew he must suffer the rituals. It was no longer about his own skin anymore; it was about the future of a realm. Once, the various factions had wanted to assassinate him because he jeopardized their business prospect. Now, they would want to kill for something far more basic. Their own survival.
He had to be careful.
So he went down the corridor, trying to be a wise statesman. Trying to be like his father.
CHAPTER 13
Sergei walked through the small, sparse corridors, arm in arm with Lady Lisa. He knew he was being somewhat silly, like one of those knights in the tales, who were supposed to be vicious and deadly on the battlefield yet chivalrous and gentle at court, especially around women. But the thing was, he felt a weird blob of peace whenever he took his imperial hostage for a stroll, even with a host of soldiers in tow.
Lady Lisa had lost her daughter. He had lost his son. They shared an unusual bond.
Besides, he found it intriguing talking to a woman who had slept at the side of the greatest butcher in known history, a man who had single-handedly reduced the entire Parusite nobility to ruins. A man who had achieved two decades of quiet between Eracia and Caytor, when before, not a summer could have passed without bloodshed. A man who had made him into what he was.
Lady Lisa never complained. She never showed any bitterness or remorse over her fate. She was utterly pragmatic, to the point of ruthlessness, and he thought he was lucky to have waged the war against her daughter and not her. He imagined the outcome of the war might have been different if she had chosen to rule. She would not have been as lenient as Amalia. She would not have made all those mistakes. So why had she given up that chance? He didn’t know.
No, actually, he did know. Why did I drag Vlad along? Why let him taste battle when I could have done better? Because parents were blind when it came to their sons and daughters, deluded and hopeful. But war had no place for sentiments. Maybe Sasha was right.
Matvey, one of his squires, walked ahead. Sergei felt the boy needed more discipline, so he kept him close by. Ever since coming to the city, he had slacked in his duties. The temptations of court were many, and as a conqueror, he could not easily refuse the need to gloat and bluster and show the locals he was better than they. A character flaw, but Sergei had no desire to make him into a better person. After his son had died, he just could not bring himself to be a fatherly figure to anyone. He had even put his other children out of his mind. They were in Sigurd, safe, growing with their mother. Vlad had a baby, too, he remembered. The child will grow without its father.
Only after Matvey assaulted one of the maids had Sergei decided to interfere, pay the girl’s father for her honor and the prospective bastard, cuff Matvey bloody for his stupidity, and now he kept him on a short leash.
“How about offering a royal pardon?” Lisa asked, continuing her earlier train of thought.
/> Sergei pursed his lips. “It’s up to Sasha to decide,” he said.
Five paces in front of him, Matvey stopped and turned back to his lord. He pointed: left or right? Sergei gestured with his thumb. The boy took the right turn. Sergei and Lisa followed. A woman, her hands loaded with fresh linen, scurried past.
“She will most likely choose to fight,” the empress-mother added.
“Most likely,” Sergei agreed. “But we need to bring this war to a conclusion. I do not relish having a few thousand rebels swear fealty, sneak up behind our lines, only to remember they still fought for Athesia.”
“Mistrust will not lend you peace,” Lisa chided in her calm voice.
Sergei turned to her. “Did your husband trust his enemies?”
She smiled sadly. “Yes, he did. He trusted them to do what he wanted them to do. You mistake hardness for strength. He was cruel and ruthless when he chose to be, but he made sure everyone knew they were better off with him being compassionate and forgiving.”
The king took a deep breath. “It’s not as simple as you make it sound.”
“Of course it is,” she said, almost chortling. “If you elect to fight these rebels, you will only get war. That’s guaranteed. But if you offer them peace, they might actually accept it. Brave men make risky choices.”
“You wish peace for Athesia, that’s all?”
“There’s more war coming, and I want to stop it.”
“You do not seem too pleased by your alleged stepson’s claims.”
Lisa’s composure cracked, just a tiny bit. “Whether my late husband has sired any child out of our wedlock is irrelevant. Even if young James is truly his son and the rightful emperor, the future of Athesia is not his to decide. He was not born here or raised here. He is a foreigner. He might even be a Caytorean agent. I care for this realm, for this princedom and its people. That’s the legacy my husband left me, and that’s my responsibility while I live. His claim is interesting, possibly useful, but he will have to prove he means good for this land, or I will oppose him.”
Sergei was truly impressed. He did not often meet people of such caliber as Amalia’s mother. Her behavior had shattered his misconceptions like brittle porcelain. If only he had known in advance, he might have chosen to talk rather than fight. But it was too late now.
Matvey pointed again. Sergei waved him off angrily. The boy led off where he thought his king had meant.
“So what must he do?” Sergei wondered.
“If I were him, I would try to negotiate peace with you. But I doubt he will.”
Sergei knew there would be more bloodshed between the remaining Athesian forces and his own troops. Conquest ended only when the last soldier laid his blade down. He did not like the idea of more killing, but he would not allow the Caytoreans to meddle in his affairs. He owed them a great deal for the blunder with the Oth Danesh, but that did not mean he would silently abide aggression against Parusite sovereignty. Even if this used to be their land once. That made no difference. The land always used to belong to someone else in the past. Until another someone else came and stole it from them. If I back down, I have killed Vlad for nothing. If I keep killing, his death will be equally meaningless. So what do I do to make the pain worthwhile?
“Do you ever wonder what he’s like?” Sergei pressed.
Lady Lisa shrugged. “He is his father’s son. I wonder more about the mother.”
Ah. Sergei said nothing. He had to be courteous.
They walked in silence for a while, their footsteps shuffling.
Lisa spoke again. “You have the initiative, Your Highness. Make use of it. Do not make this Emperor James into a greater hero than he already is. Any further success he gains will only make it harder for you to make peace with him. And the ones who will pay the price will be Athesians.”
All of it meant committing his heart to this cursed land. But he did not want to anymore. He did not wish to see more tragedy. His soul was spent. Let Sasha handle the situation—only, he feared the outcome.
“Do you think there can be a favorable resolution to this war?” he asked, almost hopeful.
Lady Lisa freed her arm from his. “There can be only one ruler in a land. Any land. This one already has three. Luckily, I’ve stepped down just in time. Try to make your sacrifice into something meaningful, I implore you.”
Sergei pushed the blackness down, into his stomach. It would resurface before he fell asleep, but he wanted a clear head now. “What do you think happened to Amalia?”
Lisa shrugged again. “I want to believe she’s alive somewhere, and without her body, I will never stop hoping. But for her sake, and for the sake of the people, I wish you will never have to fight her again.”
Candid, brutal. He was humbled. And also felt liberated. His pain was not unique. His selfish anguish lessened when he talked to her, made things seem more reasonable, more logical, more natural. There was more to it than his own sense of indignation.
Once he had thought himself hard. Now he understood he was as fragile as his own father had been, vain, self-centered. Sasha was the one with the stomach for hardness and tough decisions. Only she did not care about pain and suffering, and that made her dangerous. Well, you could not have everything.
“What if she’s found?” he asked, dreading her answer.
“I expect you will know what to do,” she told him.
Sergei expected her to hate him, to despise him. But no. Despite everything he had gone through, despite all the hurting, she wanted him to be sensible and compassionate. No bitterness. He wished he could be like her, be a better man. He wished he had her strength, her logic.
I promised to eradicate Adam’s line, and here I am, talking to his widow. He had promised himself. So what? What did that promise mean? Wasn’t there more to character than one’s self-indulgence? Maybe. But he didn’t know the answer yet.
“Will your daughter have the same wisdom as you, my lady?” He diverted his crushing sadness to her.
Lisa reached up and stroked one of the hanging tapestries. “If Amalia is alive, I truly hope she has learned her lesson. The one I could not teach her in the sheltered reality of court life.” She looked at him, her gaze cold and piercing. “Twenty years ago, your father sallied forth from Sigurd to fight infidels. He ruined your nation. A year and a half ago, you went to war over pride. It’s always been your choice, Your Highness. You alone hold the future of the realms in your hands. A unique chance, a unique privilege, or a curse, if you are not courageous enough to grasp it.”
There was a man approaching from the other end of the hall, Adviser Theodore, walking with old dignity, wrapped in a dark purple robe. Sergei knew the moment of intimacy he had shared with his hostage was gone. His options did not look any less bleak, but the pain in his soul was reduced to a bearable level.
“Thank you again, my lady. I’m honored.”
“I am just doing my duty,” she chimed almost too nonchalantly. “I am trying to save Athesia.”
“Your Highness,” Theodore spoke in his slow voice.
There was another pragmatic man, Sergei thought. But this one cared nothing for who led, as long as there was someone to advise. He was devoted to this city. A strange notion, to live your life in service to an ideal. But it was probably easier than putting your faith in people. Sergei felt his belief in the gods and goddesses should have nourished him through his agony, but all it did was mock him.
He wondered if Adam the Godless had ever been a believer, and if he had lost his love for the gods through life’s hardship. Once such a notion had seemed crazy, blasphemous.
“Yes, Theo,” Sergei barked, perhaps too harshly.
“Lord Mayor Benedict asks for your audience,” the adviser intoned.
“Not my sister’s?” That was curious.
“No, Your Highness.”
Sergei scratched his ear. He did not like Mayor Benedict. That was a man who only cared about his own good. He was supposed to worry about the city�
�s needs, but all he had done since Sergei had taken Roalas was to make sure the king’s wrath and justice were diverted elsewhere, far from him and his rich comrades, far from the alleged rumors of their fickle loyalty and involvement in the siege. Sergei knew for a fact that the Athesians had fought all too honorably, given the circumstances, but he could not dismiss the notion of plots or secret plans that had been born inside the city.
The king looked at Theo. An honest man. Well, he would not have expected any less from someone like Emperor Adam. The old adviser was a valuable asset. He had lived through four changes of power in this sorry city. He knew how Roalas thought better than any other man. Sergei needed that knowledge, needed to understand the people he was ruling now.
“What does he want from me?”
Theo made a vague gesture. “He did not specify, Your Highness.”
Sergei sighed. “All right, I will see him in an hour. Anything else?”
“Your sister has left the manse. She has gone to preside today’s hanging.”
Sergei turned toward his hostage. “Lady Lisa, we will talk later.” He nodded at one of his guards. “Please escort Lady Lisa to her quarters.” He followed the old man through the palace, back to the court room.
He found it empty, save for two guards, and a stooped woman dusting a suit of armor. She bowed her way out of the hall.
“Get this fire doused,” he ordered, knowing someone would hear and make sure it was done. It was stifling hot.
A small flock of servants came, bobbed their curtsies and their nods, went about setting the court room for a meeting. A boy with hair the color of ripe carrots remained by the set table of food and drinks, waiting to serve if needed.
“No. Matvey will do it. You are dismissed, lad.”
The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) Page 13
