"Commander Masolon," he heard Rona mention his name to the blue-eyed lord. "Commander Masolon?" Her louder voice made him realize she was addressing him this time. When he turned to her, she introduced the lord whose name he had already learned, "This is Lord Norwell."
Except for the half-helm revealing his blue eyes, Lord Norwell was covered from head to toe with steel and chainmail, the Bermanian lion sigil adorning his breastplate. "So, the rumors are true. You fought for the Murasens." He gave Masolon's armor a fleeting glance.
"I am done with fighting a long time ago." Masolon glanced at Rona to make sure he made his statement loud and clear, just in case she still had hopes of persuading him to take part in her war. Did I not take part already? he wondered, but no, that was not how it happened. He was just defending himself. . . and her.
"Not to the latest news I have heard about you, Commander."
"Commander Masolon is no longer an enemy, Lord Norwell," said Rona firmly.
"If you say so, Your Grace," said Norwell. "However, our men will need an explanation for that sudden change of stance. The corpses of their brothers-in-arms are still warm in their graves."
"An explanation?" Rona echoed in disapproval. ''Ask them what they would do if they were in his place? Would they not do the same to the men who raped their sisters?"
Masolon was not comfortable discussing his glorious deed with Rona's men at the moment. "What are we blathering about right now? May I ask why you are not aiding your troops, milord? I have only spent a few minutes here, yet I can tell your left flank is struggling."
Norwell exchanged a look with Rona, who nodded, as if she was giving him her permission to discuss their tactics with their former prisoner. "They are still successful in holding the invaders outside our fort. I'm only to interfere once a soldier from Di Galio's army passes through the gap."
"Are you sure our left flank can stand their ground for long on their own?" Rona asked Norwell worriedly.
"We cannot make a shattering cavalry charge with our footmen standing between our knights and Di Galio's troops, Your Grace," Norwell explained.
"Not if you attack Di Galio's troops from their rear," Masolon pointed out.
Norwell grinned. "You want me to take my knights to the postern gate, then along half the fort's perimeter to stun Di Galio's troops from the other side? That's a big risk, Commander. Our front line will stay without a force backing it up for too long. Only the Lord of Sky and Earth knows what might happen at the wall while we circle the fort."
"Your decision, milord." Masolon shrugged, gazing at the two faltering fronts at the left side of the wall. "But when the odds are not in your favor, avoiding risks is a luxury you cannot afford."
Norwell thought for a moment. "Even if I do what you suggest, that will urge Di Galio to deploy his heavy cavalry. That will trap us between his footmen and his knights. And trust me, he has brought much more knights than we have."
It was not his battle, Masolon reminded himself, but he could not hold his tongue while watching this farce. "He may deploy his heavy cavalry, and he may not." His gaze drifted to the quieter right side of the wall. "Things seem to be in control there. If I were you, I would take those archers down and urge them to mount the left flank of the wall to inflict more damage to the invaders. That might deter Di Galio from sending his precious cavalry to a certain death."
"That might deter him indeed." Norwell nodded thoughtfully. "But it might encourage him to send his cavalry to the right flank as well."
Masolon smiled crookedly. "That is why it is a risk, Lord Norwell."
The right side of Norwell's mouth quirked upward, but he did not say a word. He liked the idea, Masolon could tell, but he was hesitant. And his hesitation was consuming time. And the more time passed, the more men he lost at the wavering fronts.
"I cannot take such a decision without the approval of General Gramus." The clever lord looked from Masolon to Rona.
"You have mine." She did not flinch. "And I'm riding with you in this charge."
"Not while you wear this outfit," Masolon protested. The stubborn girl was going too far.
"My outfit doesn't hinder me from riding."
"I am not questioning your riding skills, Your Grace." Masolon gnashed his teeth. "I am talking about the unnecessary attention you will draw when you sally forth in this dress with your knights. Di Galio will surely deploy his entire army to attack you."
"Which could be the perfect opportunity to destroy his army for good. My presence on the battlefield will make my soldiers fight like maniacs."
Did she know what maniacs were? Because she sounded like one now.
"And what will your death make your soldiers fight like?" he asked dryly.
"My death is a risk, Commander." She smiled slyly.
"A pointless risk, it is." Masolon glanced at Norwell, seeking his help. "Perhaps your lord is too shy to tell you, so I will state this plainly: your presence will add nothing. The only thing it will ensure is the failure of this raid."
Norwell harrumphed. "What Commander Masolon wants to say—"
"He is right," Rona cut her blue-eyed lord off. "That is why I will stay here behind these walls."
Masolon sucked in a deep breath of air. It was hard to believe that, for once, he had been able to persuade this reckless girl to come to her senses.
". . . only if Commander Masolon rides with your knights, Lord Norwell."
36. RONA
The maidservants lit the candles in her chamber after the sun turned red-orange, slowly sinking into the horizon. They put a dry, large piece of cloth over her bare shoulders as she carefully stepped out of the bathtub, water dripping over the cold floor. When she was done drying her hair and her body, she picked a brown tunic from her wardrobe to wear below a plain grey coat. No. This is not the outfit I should put on for a war council, she thought to herself. Though the garments she had just chosen were considerably dull, she decided to wear something else, something more befitting such an occasion.
Rona let her maidservants help her with the parts of her silver armor. An armor for a little man, Gramus had described it when he first brought it to her. It was the very armor she had been clad in when she plunged a sword into the belly of the treacherous Lord Jerek.
"You will not need that, Your Grace, right?" A stout maidservant held the helm in her hands.
"What do you think?"
The stout woman scanned Rona from hair to toe in a manner that no maidservant would dare to do. "Your armor delivers the message you want to convey to your men. Still, you don't need to hide your beauty. It doesn't shame a strong queen to be pretty, Your Grace. Go ahead and show them your beautiful face and golden hair. Show them who you are, what you are."
Rona liked the fortyish maidservant. "Who are you?"
"I am Sacura, Your Grace. I was nine when I started serving in the royal palace in Paril during the reign of your grandfather King Handry. You may not remember me because your late mother sent me to aid Lord Aberto's wife in her labor. After she delivered the babe, she asked Her Grace to keep me with her, and since then, I have been here in Subrel, taking care of Lord Aberto's wife and children."
"Aberto? The younger brother of Lord Di Galio?" Rona warily asked.
"Yes," Sacura slowly replied. "Am I in trouble because of that?"
"Unless you are involved in ploys against me or my family, then no, you are not in trouble." Rona did not wish to intimidate the servant who could rather be of help than a threat. "Tell me, did you happen to deal with Di Galio closely?"
"I was closer to Lord Aberto's family, particularly his wife and children. She never did me wrong, I must say. As for her husband and his brother, well," the outspoken maidservant seemed to be weighing her words, "they were generous and kind, I was told."
Rona stood before a long looking glass. "But not kind enough to take you with them when they fled the castle."
"Perhaps they were afraid I might hinder them in their escape," Sacura said bitt
erly. Inwardly, she must be frustrated by her former masters' actions. "The few they took with them were younger and healthier."
Rona believed there was a lot to learn from that maidservant if she dug deeper. "Well, then. Don't forget to return the helm to its place." She beckoned to another girl to bring her the gold-hilted sword.
Now ready for the meeting, Rona had to hurry to the lords and commanders awaiting her. But instead of heading to the meeting hall, she felt like going to Masolon's chamber first. Gramus wouldn't like this, she thought. But she was already beyond the point of worrying about upsetting him. Since her arrival to Bermania with her loyal guardian, the list of reasons for which he should be mad at her must have grown. One day she would explain herself and her acts, but probably that day would not come until after the end of her war against Wilander. After she sat on her father's throne in Paril, the Jewel of Bermania.
Two of her new Skandivian guards—the ones replacing their brave fellows who had died nobly defending her—offered to escort her, but she ordered them to stay posted at the door of her room. Along her way to Masolon's distant chamber, which she had made sure was almost isolated to keep him away from the sight of Gramus and his men, a few more soldiers hurried to accompany their unguarded queen, and she thanked them with her utmost gratitude, insisting on resuming her way on her own.
The desolated corridor leading to Masolon's chamber was only lit by one torch. Better this way. Not much visibility for any audience. Suddenly, she found herself thinking of Herlog, Masolon's house, him carrying her to the bed they had shared once. Now she knew why she refused all the offers of company on her way to his chamber; because she could not predict the outcome of this encounter. Though she was not sure when it had exactly started, she knew something had been growing between the two of them. An affection. A desire. It was foolish and immature, and it should not exist for all the good reasons, as well as the bad. But it did exist. She would be blamed for it, for forgetting who she was—a queen and a King's daughter. A long line of lords and nobles must have desired her. And from that line, and only that line, she should choose whomever she wanted, deliberately and mindfully. But here she was, falling for some nobody from nowhere. A handsome nobody, mind you. But there were other handsome highborn young men from that line. Why him among all of them?
You are overthinking it, Rona, part of her mind told her. It was just a brief summer breeze, and soon it will be gone.
Only now did she realize she had been lingering in front of his door for a while. Fortunately, nobody was watching.
She knocked and from behind the closed door came his cautious voice, "Who is it?"
A simple question it was, but surprisingly, she was not prepared to answer it. Should she firmly say 'Queen Rona'? Because just saying 'Rona' might make him think she. . . "It's me," was all she said, dismissing all her stupid thoughts.
"Your Grace?" Her throat tightened upon hearing him address her by her title. "Who is with you?"
"Nobody."
He slowly opened the door, his sword pointed at her. His eyebrows rose in astonishment for a moment before he looked right and left, as if checking that there was nobody else around. "It is you indeed." He grinned, pointing his sword down.
"May I come in?"
"I would never deny you." He made way for her, and she warily stepped in. What was that nervousness for? She was the one who had come here out of her own will.
"Do you usually receive your guests this way?" she scoffed, glancing at the sword in his hand.
"Not when they are armored." He placed his sword on a small table. "Their chainmail rattling as they slowly approach my room."
Now he knew she had lingered outside. There was nothing embarrassing about that, or was there?
"You picked the right outfit this time." He pointed his finger at her armor, a sly smile on his face.
She could not help laughing at the innuendo. "This is for the war council I'm supposed to head. I don't need an armor to deter you though."
The way he looked her up and down made her feel naked. "But you need it to deter yourself?"
His insolence; she hated him for it, she liked him for it. "Mind your manners, you bastard." Her smile lightened the tone of her rebuke, if she was rebuking him at all. "Haven't they brought you some clean garments?" She nodded toward the sleeveless tunic he used to wear in Herlog.
"Well, your men were generous enough to put me in a chamber. And oh, they rid me of the cuffs as well. However, they have not brought the bathing tub I demanded yet."
The heavy masculine odor of his body still hung in the air of his chamber despite the open window. She did not complain though. She would not. . .
"I will see to that." Through the open window she gazed at the woods facing the western side of the wall of Subrel. “I didn’t thank you for what you did today.”
“You mean saving you at the tower? Or riding with your cavalry?”
Chuckling, she turned to him. “At the tower you had to fight to save your life, and I even helped you there,” she teased him. “But the raid was different. It was something you could have simply walked away from.”
“The way you put it is so romantic, but that is not how it happened.” Masolon scoffed, his smile fading. “You knew how to push me into your battle.”
Something was wrong with him. What did she miss? “I beg your pardon, Masolon. I believe I’m well acquainted with you now to tell that no one can push you to do anything against your will.”
He sat at the edge of the bed and let out a deep breath. “Since I came to this chamber, my mind has been so preoccupied that I could not get any sleep. I could not help thinking of every word you said to me, here in Subrel, and there in Herlog. And you know what, Rona; I am really confused.”
She hoped it was just one of his silly jokes, but her hopes vanished now. “What confuses you, Masolon?”
“You would have killed me in Herlog if you had the chance. Do not deny that you had hidden your dagger because you intended to use it when the right time came. But look at you now," he chuckled nervously, "so concerned about my safety that you prevented your general from letting me leave this castle. Your concern about my safety, however, did not discourage you at all from sending me on a cavalry raid to fight your enemy's troops. So, what do you think? Should I not be confused?"
Rona was shocked by what he was inferring. "Are you telling me that I have manipulated you to do what I want? How dare you! I hurried to your rescue before my troops stormed your miserable village. When I refused my men's calls to execute you, I made myself vulnerable, allowing them to question my aptitude for leading them. Do you think I have done that because I need you? Oh, please! Can't you see? I saved your life more than you did mine or you ever would!"
"And I thank you for that." He was unmoved by her rage, his arms folded. "Still, you are not giving me an explanation."
"An explanation for what? For saving your worthless life?"
"Say it, Rona." His voice grew firmer as he rose to his feet and approached her. "Say it was all about involving me in your clash with Wilander."
Both her shock and fury rendered her at a loss for words. What drove her even madder was his composed manner while throwing his foolish accusations at her. He was deliberately choosing every word he said to her. He had pondered them very well before she came to his room. "How can you be so stupid, so brainless?" she bristled. "How can you. . . You know what? You are free to go. No. I'm commanding you to leave my fort immediately." She stalked past him toward the door of his chamber.
"You know I never regarded you as a queen to obey."
"You will, starting from today." Rona stopped, barely looking at him over her shoulder. "If I find out after the meeting that you are still here, I will return you to your cell down in the dungeon."
She felt the veins of her head distended as she strode away from the damned chamber. It was a bad idea from the beginning, she chided herself, imagining the nonsense Gramus would heap on her if he learned a
bout her humiliating visit.
You knew how to push me into your battle, Masolon's words rang in her ears. How did she end up hearing this after all she had done to protect him? What had she sown to reap his ungratefulness? That foolish, witless bastard, she almost screamed, if it were not for the guards or the maidservants who might be nearby. I am the foolish one for overestimating what I imagined existing between us. We are just a couple of strangers who shared a bed once after getting drunk, and that's all.
She had better clear her mind before she joined her vassals in that war council. It was all about involving me in your clash with Wilander, Masolon's voice haunted her. He was a nobody, she reminded herself. And that nobody should not preoccupy her mind that much. She had greater issues to worry about now, but she could not help her anger. And her anger angered her. Once I am with my lords and commanders, I will be too busy to think about him, she hoped as she approached the meeting hall.
All her lords were there save for the late Lord Lanark, may the Lord of Sky and Earth curse his soul until eternity. Her vassals pushed to their feet when she entered, but she gestured to them to remain seated as she went to her chair at the head of the long oaken table. "I presumed you might have started already." She did her best to feign a smile. "Where is Payton?"
"All commanders and captains are staying in the courtyard, Your Grace," answered Gramus, his face grim and tired, unlike most of those lords who had led from behind the ranks. "We can never predict when Di Galio might strike again."
"He is too wise to risk losing more troops at night, General," Darrison pointed out, nodding toward Jonson's nephew. "He did not see Lord Norwell coming with his knights in daylight."
"A very bold move it was." Jonson grinned at his nephew.
Rona noted that frown on Gramus's face when more lords joined the acknowledgment party of the gallant Lord Norwell. The blue-eyed lord nodded, a slight smile on his face.
"If someone is to take credit for that bold move, it should be Queen Rona for taking a difficult decision at such a critical time."
Queen of Rebels Page 26
