Kingslayer

by Honor Raconteur

  Tresea raised a finger and wagged it chidingly. “That will not do, General. I want the truth. I want your story of events. Will you not tell it to me?” When he didn’t respond, she looked at him more carefully. “Or is it something that you feel you cannot tell?”

  That…hit closer to the truth than she probably expected. He could not meet her eyes as he responded, “It’s very personal, Your Most High Majesty.”

  “I see.” For a long moment, she regarded him in silence. “Guards, take him to a holding room and make sure that he is properly bathed and fed. Oh, and get him some proper clothing as well.”

  …What? Darius jerked his head back up. “Your Most High Majesty, are you not going to execute me? Or turn me over to Brindisi?” She could use him as quite the bargaining chip if she wanted to.

  She blinked at him in surprise, as if neither thought had ever crossed her mind. “And lose one of the most skilled, talented generals that this world has seen? Heaven forbid! No, I am sure that we can put your talents to better use.”

  Which meant…what? Did she plan to use him? How? He could see no way to be useful to her.

  “Besides,” she said offhandedly as she stood, turning away. “Amusing things are not allowed to escape me. Off with you.”

  Darius was half-jerked back to his feet and forcefully turned around before he could even try to question that last statement. He followed along as they took him back into the hallway, mind in a daze. Not killed? Not bargained away like a piece of dead meat?

  What by the gods did she intend to do with him then?!

  ~~~

  For two days that question weighed on his mind.

  Far from the prison cell he expected, his guards instead shoved him into a holding room in the very back of the palace. The stone walls were thick, the windows so narrow that he could barely stick an arm outside, and the door had an impressive stoutness to it. Even with an axe in hand it would have taken him some time to break through it. But even though the room could obviously serve as a prison cell, it didn’t have the right look for one. In fact, it looked more like a hastily converted storeroom. A simple bed had been shoved into one corner—not a pallet, but an actual bed with a wooden frame—and a wash basin in the other, though some cautious person had tied a simple chain around the basin’s handle to prevent it from being used as a weapon.

  They only took him out of the room once, in the afternoon of the first day, and even then he didn’t go far. They showed him to a public bath and gave him just enough time to scrub the dirt and sweat away. Then they shoved fresh clothes into his hands, allowed him to dress, and dragged him straight back to the room. The clothes were even nice ones—the loose fitting black pants, crisp white shirt and belted sash had never seen use.

  A pretty, very young maid came in three times a day to deliver meals and take away the old dishes. She acted skittish around him, although he did not do anything to intimidate her. But it could be that she knew whom she waited on. Or it could just be his looks. After so many years of being a soldier, his skin had the same darkness as a Niotan’s, but he had the blond hair and ice blue eyes of Arape, his home country. Arape had been a part of the Brindisi Sovran for so many generations that most people had forgotten it once existed as an independent nation. Anyone with fair coloring was “Brindisi” and that was that. No one from Brindisi would be welcomed here.

  The room didn’t have the size he needed to truly train, but he found a way to work around the cramped area and do a full set of stretches and exercises. He partially did it out of a sense of routine—he’d been training his entire life. It just didn’t feel right if he didn’t train. But he partially did it to ease the boredom as well. Aside from sleeping and eating, he didn’t have anything else to do.

  Except worry.

  His treatment here was unexpected. It could almost be on the level of hosting a political prisoner—almost. Darius didn’t really have a political mind—his deviousness lay in other areas—so he didn’t know what to make of all of this. Queen Tresea clearly expected something from him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what. A handy military advisor, perhaps? He couldn’t think of anything else.

  His mind toyed around with the idea for those two days, looking at it from every angle. If she truly asked him to be a military advisor for her country, would he accept?

  Darius had been serving in the Brindisi military since he was fourteen. The third son of a merchant family, he’d known early in life that if he wanted to eat, he’d best find an occupation early on. His family simply couldn’t afford to feed their seven children. Becoming a military man had been the simplest option available to him at the time. Looking back, he realized he actually had missed a few other trades, but he didn’t regret the choice. Fighting and strategy suited him perfectly. He’d been serving Brindisi for a decade and a half, now. And yet…he’d never felt particularly loyal to it. Protecting Brindisi had been a way to protect Arape, that was all. Any affection he’d had for the Sovran had quickly dissolved once he’d risen to the rank of general and been invited to the court. Seeing court politics in action had sickened and wearied him. Trading good men’s lives to keep those men and women in power…the balance didn’t even out, in his mind.

  He’d kept serving after that simply because he’d sworn to do so. But that oath lay invalid now, as Prince—now King Baros—had released him of it before ordering him to run. But where did that leave him? If Queen Tresea demanded an oath of loyalty from him, he could certainly give it. But did he even want to?

  Did it even matter what he wanted?

  His thoughts spun round and round without any resolution until the afternoon of the second day.

  He could hear the lock rattling as someone inserted the key and unlocked it. Only it was hours yet until the girl with his evening meal should arrive. Suddenly alert, Darius swung off his bed and gained his feet, eyes facing the doorway. Guards to take him somewhere? Someone else?

  The very last thing that he anticipated was for Queen Tresea to glide through the doorway.

  After a split second of frozen surprise, reflex took over. He glued his arms to his side and gave her a deep bow. “Your Most High Majesty, you honor me.”

  “My, how proper.” Her voice held the smoothness of a veteran politician, with no hint of what she really felt. “Please rise, General.”

  He did so cautiously, eyes studying her as intently as she studied him. She did not wear the purple of royalty today, but instead the amethyst blue of her nation. Aside from that, nothing from her appearance had changed since he’d last seen her.

  The door, to his complete surprise, closed behind her. He didn’t care how many soldiers were outside, putting her inside without any means of defense was stupid. He could snap her neck or take her hostage within seconds and no one in the hallway would be able to react quickly enough to stop him. And yet, this woman was not stupid. She had held out against the Brindisi Sovran for eight straight years without the proper amount of troops or reserves. That took more than courage—it took considerable intelligence.

  So why do something so senseless?

  “Your Most High Majesty, I think I and your guards would feel better if that door stayed open,” he stated as neutrally as he could.

  Her eyebrows quirked in an amused slant. “No doubt. But I do not wish this conversation to be overheard.”

  Meaning…whatever she was about to say needed to stay confidential? Why?

  “I have given you two days to think.” She gave every sign of being at ease. In fact, her manner would not have been out of place at a state dinner. “I have also taken this time to think. I realize now that it was folly to demand answers from a veteran general. You are used to keeping secrets from your enemies, are you not?” she smiled to show that this did not upset her. “And we have certainly been enemies. But if I were to make a place for you here, in Niotan, so that you may live, would that not make you my ally?”

  So she really did think that she could do that? “How,
Your Most High Majesty? As an eternal prisoner? I’d rather face the gallows.”

  Her eyes crinkled up in a true smile. “Yes, I wager you would. No, you would be a full citizen here. I would have your military advice on hand. I fear that without it, we will not be able to fend off Brindisi’s advance.”

  Even with his help, that was probably not possible. At least, not forever.

  “But I cannot offer this until I know why you killed that foolish king.” Her voice was soft, coaxing, as if speaking to a wounded animal. “Will you not tell me?”

  The opportunity in front of him could not be easily ignored. Baros had ordered him to live, but very few people would allow him that luxury when they discovered his true identity. This left him with few options. But this woman—he knew her well enough to gauge her sincerity. He had been fighting against her and her generals long enough to see what kind of monarch she was. Her loyalty to Niotan could not be questioned. Her love for the people had the fierceness that every ruler should possess. Darius admired her for those qualities alone.

  Could he trust her? He just didn’t know. But at the same time, she had a good point. She could not trust him either until she understood why he had done what he had. And his only bargaining point at the moment was this offer. If he ignored her outright, he’d likely not get another.

  So he blew out a resigned breath and faced her directly, shoulders straight, chin firm, and gave her the succinct version. “Did you know, Your Most High Majesty, that I am actually Arapeen?”

  She blinked at this apparently random question. “I did not.”

  He nodded, unsurprised. “When I rose to the rank of general, King Farhan brought me to him so that I could swear oath to him personally. I gave him the traditional oath of loyalty from Arape. Are you familiar with it?”

  Her face had become like a marble statue, expressionless. “It has been some time since I learned of it. Refresh my memory.”

  Darius kept his tone flat and level, staring at the floor, as he recited, “I offer you this: my strength until it has failed me, my courage until it is gone, my wits until they have faded, and my loyalty until you release me.” He lifted his head and locked his eyes with hers. “As long as you protect the people of Brindisi, I will do the same. You have my word.”

  “The consequence of breaking an oath for an Arapeen is death, is it not?” The tone made it a statement rather than a question.

  He answered it regardless. “It is.”

  Her eyes closed in fatalistic understanding. “I see. Considering the events of last year, I certainly see why you would be forced to kill him. Farhan did more than just break an oath—he disregarded it completely.” She looked at him again, with a thousand other questions in her eyes, but she clearly realized that she wouldn’t get any more answers from him today. In fact, she had been blessed to get the answer she had. “General, I wish for you to consider being a military advisor on my council of generals. You will be granted full citizenship as well, of course. This is the very least that I want to offer you. Will you consider it?”

  “Brindisi will hound you once they discover that you are sheltering me,” he observed dispassionately.

  “They are already hounding me,” she pointed out in amusement. “Will you consider it?”

  He inclined his head in agreement.

  “Good. Until tomorrow, then.”

  Queen Tresea was good to her word. She came again the next day, almost before his breakfast dishes could be collected. Once again, the door shut behind her. Darius gave the closed door a weary look but decided not to debate the matter this time.

  He expected her to ask about his offer, but she said instead, “What do you want, Kingslayer?”

  Darius regarded her blankly, forehead gathered in a frown of bemusement. “Want? Forgive me, but a prisoner such as myself is in no position to make demands. Rather, it is I who should be asking yousuch a question.”

  She shook her head and smiled at him as if she were speaking to a child. “Forget your present status. If you could have anything, do anything, what would it be?”

  He recognized the question for what it was. She was probing him, trying to find what motivated him. What he couldn’t understand was for what purpose. As her prisoner, she could order him to do anything and he would have very little room to disobey. Well, without losing his head in the process. But even though she wore that patient, enigmatic smile, he saw in her eyes that the question had been asked in all seriousness.

  So he gave a serious answer. “I would stop Prince—now King—Baros if I could.”

  Whatever answer she had expected from him, that was not it. Her eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Stop him? From doing what?”

  “Driving the Sovran into ruin,” he sighed.

  “I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

  “No, you probably can’t see the signs yet.” His eyes went blind to his immediate surroundings and even though the queen stood directly in front of him, he did not truly see her. “I doubt anyone can, outside of the Sovran. But inside, I could see the future path of it quite clearly. Brindisi is overextended. The Sovran just doesn’t have the resources, the manpower, to keep going as it has been. Even with the resources and troops that we’ve taken from the conquered lands, it’s not enough.”

  She had that unfathomable look in her eyes again. “Do you not have any more selfish goals? Even now you are worried about that Sovran more than yourself. If you did not want to live, to find a life of peace, why have you been running so hard for the past year?”

  He shook his head, a weary smile on his face. He had run because he had been ordered to live. After fifteen years of following orders, he had obeyed this last command out of sheer force of habit. “Your Most High Majesty, do you know why I fought for Brindisi? It was not for the sake of the Sovran, I assure you. I did it to protect Arape. My home country is a part of that Sovran, after all.” Although now he was absolutely sure that Arape would actually do better if they governed themselves again.

  She took two steps forward, locking her eyes with his. “Brindisi is the greatest Sovran of this age.”

  “Yes,” he agreed instantly. “But it won’t last much longer. I give it another twenty years before it starts to unravel at the seams. The decisions that King Baros has been making recently is only hastening that process.” He left it at that.

  She listened to his words patiently, without expression, until he stopped speaking entirely. “I see. So, you wish to stop him. How would you do it?”

  “Not by killing him,” he answered dryly. He half-suspected she had that notion in her mind somewhere. “Then the problem would be passed down to some other man. It would never end. In truth, I am at a loss. I taught that boy everything I knew for five years about warfare, and I spoke to him many times about my concerns for Brindisi. He still insists on following his father’s footsteps. I don’t know that my words could reach him now.”

  “I see. Then perhaps action is in order?” That mischievous light in her eyes sparkled brightly and her lips curved up.

  He watched her cautiously. He’d seen that look before on a woman’s face—trouble inevitably followed. “Perhaps it is time to reverse this question, Your Most High Majesty. What do you want?”

  “I want you.”

  He blinked at her quite stupidly for a moment. “As your military advisor?”

  “I want you,” she repeated emphatically with a finger planted against his chest, “as my lead general.”

  “That’s—” he clicked his mouth shut before he instinctively said something that would get him beheaded right there. Why had the offer changed? Swallowing, he rephrased, “That’s the act of a desperate ruler.”

  “I am desperate,” she admitted frankly. “And it’s your fault that I’ve been driven to this. Your victories over my armies decimated any hope I have of driving Brindisi away from my borders. The only thing that has saved me this past year from falling entirely is the disarray Brindisi fell into after the king’s dea
th and the loss of you. I do not expect this reprieve to last long.”

  No, it wouldn’t. In fact, he’d be surprised if it lasted another three months.

  Still…him? As lead general for a former enemy? Would that even work? He stepped away from her so that he could pace the narrow confines of the room. After fighting against her forces for so long, he knew good and well their strengths and weaknesses. He could probably draw her up a list right here of what her generals needed to do.

  He didn’t doubt her sincerity, not for a moment. He really had driven her into a corner. In fact, before he had been yanked away from her borders and ordered north, he’d estimated it would have taken only another two or three months before Niotan was conquered. Right now that would no longer be true, as she’d had a year to recoup some losses and draw in resources. Still, Niotan could only withstand so much more before it would fall.

  Could he save this country? No, that wasn’t really the question.

  Should he even try?

  He stopped abruptly, head falling back so that he could blindly stare at a corner of the ceiling. For some reason, his heart was pounding, blood starting to quicken as if he were gearing up for battle. Ridiculous. He shouldn’t even be considering this. Fighting against the Brindisi Sovran, the Sovran he served faithfully for the past decade and a half…it was madness.

  In the back of his mind, a small voice whispered, If Niotan, a small and remote country, defeated Brindisi’s armies and kept its independence, then the momentum of Brindisi’s conquering will falter. That might be all that’s needed for Brindisi to lose the grip they have on the world. If just one country can stand up to them, then others will surely try to rebel…some might even succeed…

  Such a risky gamble. And yet, some reckless part of him yearned to try. He snorted at his own wayward thoughts. At this point, what do I have to lose?