The Axe and the Throne (Bounds of Redemption Book 1)

by Ireman, M. D.

  “I would still be every bit as highborn as I always was,” Crella said with certitude, but she changed the subject so quickly that it let Alther know his point had been made. “And you will be happy to know that after this incident with the bedlamite who stole my pearls and nearly killed you, I no longer have any desire to live here in Eastport. It simply is not safe.”

  Alther was surprised to hear her say as such but was also fully ready for her explanation of how she must return to the Throne to be closer to Ethel or something of that nature.

  “And provided we can find somewhat decent accommodations in Westport, I will be willing to make the sacrifice,” she finished.

  This was not the Crella Alther knew. What is it you are hiding?

  “Of course,” he replied, unable to think of what else to say as he gazed out the window.

  “Then there is the issue of the lady servants,” said Crella.

  “Do not worry about them.” Alther walked back to his seat. “I will speak with Cassen personally and see the matter resolved.”

  Crella simply nodded. He knew she bore no love for the man. She only ever spoke poorly of him.

  “While we are being completely honest with each other, there is one other thing I would like to ask you, my dear wife.” Alther stared at her with all his newfound confidence. “How is it that Stephon and I had broken our fast together this morning if he was with your friends?”

  The blood visibly drained from Crella’s face. So it was Stephon. I’ll need to have a talk with that boy. Alther had not actually eaten with his son that morning, and having tricked his wife only further swelled his confidence. He could understand why his son had struck him. Alther had borne witness to fights between his own mother and father as a child. He knew what it was like to wish to intervene, though, of course, he never had. If Stephon had walked in at the wrong time and seen them grappling, he could have thought Alther posed a true threat to his mother’s safety and acted to stop it. Better a vase than a foil.

  After some time Crella finally responded. “You must be mistaken. You have suffered a bad blow to the head, and your recollection is askew.”

  “Yes, that must be. However…” Alther went completely serious. “It is important that none of the estate staff be wrongly accused of this crime. I will not stand for an innocent suffering punishment when the real malefactor yet roams. Do you understand my meaning?”

  “Very well,” said Crella, turning her head away, resigned.

  Alther took the opportunity to study her nape’s slender curve, as it met with her strong yet feminine jaw. She was truly beautiful, in spite of her manner, and he now felt he had a greater grasp on how best to deal with—if not finally conquer—her.

  If a broken vase is the price of her amenability, perhaps I shall be buying her more flowers. The thought made him grin. It was the most Alther had smiled in his recent memory. He sipped his tea, enjoying both his new contentment and the lovely sight before him.

  ETHEL

  It was a night eagerly anticipated, a night to be celebrated and cherished by all. All except Ethel, of course.

  A myriad of candles, each with their own silken shade, cast a faint glow from their crystalline perches high above. Below were dark wood floors, waxed and polished to a gleaming shine, the marks and scuffs from the small army required to light the chandeliers having been erased.

  Standing atop the floor, dressed in pastel shades, were the finest and most beautiful debutantes of the Adeltian Throne, and thus the Adeltian Kingdom. Scattered among them were the men, some equally young and some much older, who courted them. Unobtrusive music wove through the ballroom, created by a small orchestra tucked away in a sounding corner, and tables were adorned with Adeltian and Rivervalian delicacies that were as much art to the eye as to the tongue. There were cherries, first marinated in Spiceland rum, then filled with thick cream and coated in dark chocolate; there were sugary cookies flavored with mint and citrus, in the shape of the petals of the orange blossom; and there were hundred-layer pastries, shaped as shells that protected a mildly sweet cheese within as an oyster guards a pearl.

  Extravagant balls such as these took place with some frequency; however, this particular event was in celebration of Mazelina, a girl Ethel knew well. The two looked quite similar, truth be told. Both had long hair of dark golden waves that glimmered even in the dimmest light, facial features denoting that of elegance and status, and long slender frames. They could have been mistaken for mirrored siblings if not for their two blatant dissimilarities. Whereas Ethel stood of average height for a woman, Mazelina stood a head taller. Whereas Ethel’s cheeks had natural lines, Mazelina’s had pronounced dimpling. Both height and dimpling were said to be renowned qualities in a young woman, and early on Ethel had envied those very features possessed by her rival that she herself was without. But as time progressed, Ethel found herself politely refusing some suitors of quality, all far too old for her to have ever found attractive, whereas the only suitors Mazelina had to decline until today were so far beneath her station that it was somewhat of an insult that they had even thought to pursue her.

  It was, in fact, rather embarrassing for a girl to reach her eighteenth year and have a ball thrown in her honor. Though the initial intent of such a celebration was to show a young lady in her best light and at the ripest age in the hopes of attracting a mate, it was now perceived more as a final act of desperation, one in which the girl would often settle for an older man as the most sought-after girls all had suitors begging for their hand no later than age sixteen. But Mazelina, refusing to be rid of her heel-raising footwear, towered over most of the men in attendance and yet seemed unable to garner interest from any but the shortest and least comely. Ethel almost pitied her, but reminded herself that their differences were not just in appearance. Mazelina was a girl of quick temper and slow wit, and no man admired such traits.

  A pair of girls walked Ethel’s way, almost as if they planned to speak to her. Their path veered from Ethel’s lonely corner, however, keeping at a safe distance, smirking at her as they passed. Ethel smirked back only on the inside and made no effort to remember their names as she once did. Her lust for spiteful vengeance on her peers had long since died.

  A hush fell over the crowd as members of The Guard entered, their presence possibly signifying some emergency. Ethel scanned the room and noticed pairs of guards had appeared at regular intervals along the second story’s inner balcony as well. Her mother had told Ethel more than once how it had been members of The Guard who had delivered her to their Rivervalian conquerors, having quickly changed allegiances once the kingdom had fallen. That cannot be the case now, Ethel said to herself, attempting to calm her beating heart. There is no one who would threaten our kingdom.

  The cause for their presence was made known when Lyell entered the ballroom. The king had come to only a handful of these events since taking the throne sixteen years past, and each time he had forgone the usual fanfare of trumpets. Since he was without a queen it was expected that he would have attended more regularly until he found a new wife to sit beside him. To most of the girls, the lack of flourish and infrequency of his appearances seemed to add a certain mystique to the elderly man of power. It was not so with Ethel. To her he would always be the loathsome grandfather-by-marriage who despised her.

  Any pity Ethel had for Mazelina quickly vanished. Having the king show at one’s ball was a great honor, raising the girl’s status and increasing competition among suitors. The thought of the king choosing to favor a girl who looked so similar to Ethel herself left her feeling somewhat unsettled and dirty. As the king disappeared into the crowd of young ladies, Ethel hoped it would be the last she saw of the man that night.

  Ethel’s gaze passed over the remainder of the room. Clusters of people stood together, no fewer than three to a group. She knew all the girls well, having attended lessons with them, and most of the boys, if only by reputation. It was not that Ethel was entirely without friends; she had seve
ral hundred friends, confidantes from her youth, gathered together on trays atop the tables. It seemed a cruel matter that the delicacy tables were the only place she could loiter within a crowd without causing the other guests to disperse for fear of being associated with her—the very place she would allow herself only a single trip and for just a taste. It was not out of necessity that she practiced this discipline. As her mother had promised, Ethel had slimmed as she grew taller, though without any change in habit—tonight she had planned her usual two slices of yellow cake accompanied with frozen milk. But the chiding of her youth yet remained, in spite of her figure. I will not give them the pleasure, she told herself, looking about the room at her many detractors, though the chocolate-covered cherries bade her come and keep them company.

  Having caught a glimpse of Griffin, Ethel turned her eyes downward. With her youthful plumpness no longer able to be blamed, it was perhaps even more cruel that he still refused to acknowledge her presence. That he had ascended social rank and gained popularity so rapidly after disowning her only worsened the hurt. As whatever girl Griffin currently favored passed Ethel in the hall, smiling repugnantly, it was little respite to know she would be able to mirror that smile if she wished, after Griffin had moved on to the next girl.

  Another renowned guest was making his entrance known, distracting Ethel from her solitary plight. The wealthy middle-aged man rarely missed a ball but was never seen, nor expected to be seen, pursuing any of the young women. Surrounded by several of his own ladies, Cassen strode in with all the ostentatiousness that one would expect from the Duchess of Eastport.

  It would seem both the king and queen are in attendance tonight. Ethel tittered in silence at the blasphemy of her thoughts and studied the demure girls accompanying Cassen. All three were of or below average height and petitely built, but while two had the fair skin common among Adeltians, the other had an olive-colored complexion that Ethel found intriguing.

  Ethel had little need for the typical services a lady servant would provide, yet she had long dreamed of having one such lady to fill a more desperate void. Seeming to read her thoughts, Cassen turned her way, and it was not long before he, in all his silks and glory, was upon her.

  CASSEN

  “Good evening, Lady Ethel,” said Cassen.

  Ethel performed a diminutive but elegant curtsey. “Duchess Cassen, how pleasant to see you again.”

  Cassen studied her face. You hide your hatred for me better than your mother.

  “I hope my presence is not scaring off too many potential suitors, but my taste for the exquisite makes it difficult for me to avoid going straight for the most radiant diamond when I see it.” Cassen found there was no better way to win the trust of a young highborn girl than with embellished compliments, but in this case it was almost sincere.

  “If I did not know better, I would assume you were pursuing my hand in marriage, if not at the very least a dance,” said Ethel.

  “No, I am afraid I am not built properly for either of those tasks,” Cassen said with a false simper. “The best I can do is drape myself with silks and hope their buoyant grace will somehow distract from my lack thereof.” Ethel did not seem to find his self-deprecation as humorous as most noble girls, always eager to consort in some form of derogation. “So do tell me, why is it that you, in all your loveliness, stand here alone, bereft of any suitors bearing proper equipment?”

  “I had pegged you for a smarter man, Cassen. It no doubt has something to do with my birth parents, the details of which escape my mind at the moment. Was it on my mother’s side or the side of my father? I can never quite remember.”

  Ethel’s ditzy girl charade was entertaining to Cassen despite the fact that she referred to him as a man. The ones who see me as a man are the ones that must be watched the closest.

  “Then they are fools. Had I a son, I would instruct him to pursue you to the edges of the realm.” Cassen made a dismissive gesture with his hand toward a group of young men who loitered in a corner.

  “It makes no difference to me. Most of them are arrogant fools that I would have no interest in.”

  Now there is a lie.

  “Ah, but arrogant confidence is more oft rewarded with success than is humble indecision.” Cassen hoped to get her to disagree on account of principle.

  “Fultaer?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Cassen asked, somewhat in disbelief.

  “Are you in the habit of quoting others to impress young girls at such events?” Ethel's own confidence was near offputting.

  “I did not know young girls were taught philosophy in schools of manners.”

  “Young girls can read books the same as old men.”

  “And do you agree with that which I have plagiarized?” You can remember the words, but can you comprehend them?

  Ethel’s response was delayed as she surveyed the room. “It certainly looks as though it is the most arrogant and cocksure of the men, both young and old, that woo my fellow debutantes.”

  Ethel suddenly looked as radiant as the diamond he had originally accused her of being. I will make you an ally, or at the very least I will keep you contained.

  “How perceptive you are, my young lady. And please forgive my rudeness for not having yet introduced my own ladies. With me tonight are the young ladies Amalee, Mollie, and Annora.”

  The three lady servants curtsied in turn when their names were said. Now to convince you that you need one. And to think, if I am successful, how it will anger your mother. Perhaps she will break another vase atop Alther’s head. Cassen’s pleased expression was more for the thought than for his pride in his ladies’ graceful display.

  “I am honored,” Ethel said to the ladies. “It is known throughout the kingdom how coveted your services are. It is much to the Throne’s detriment that such services are only available in Eastport.” Ethel had dropped her sardonic tone, pleasing Cassen to know she may be speaking with honesty.

  “Yes, that is normally the case, as it is known that the ladies must return to my care and protection shortly after dark. But it is not without precedent that a lady servant could remain in the service of a fellow lady of nobility, provided she were living in the absence of men.” Would that interest our little friendless bookworm?

  “It would have to be Annora.” Ethel seemed to shock even herself with her forwardness as Cassen observed she moved to put her hand over her mouth and stopped mid-gesture.

  How did I know one diamond would seek the other?

  “I am afraid that most likely cannot be arranged.” Cassen delivered the words with feigned reluctance. “Annora currently has a patron, you see.”

  “It must be her,” said Ethel, this time with conviction. She may not be like most of the debutantes here, but Cassen knew stubbornness was bred into all highborn girls.

  “You put me in a terrible spot.” Cassen did his best to look troubled. “I will see what I can do—as a favor to you and your family—but I cannot make any promises. All I ask in return is that you put in a good word for me with your mother. I fear she despises me without cause, and I am powerless to correct it.”

  “I will,” said Ethel. “That I promise you.”

  “Very well. Annora must return with me tonight, but you two can dawdle in the meantime.”

  Ethel did another quick curtsey and motioned for her new servant friend to come join her. Annora looked to Cassen, and he nodded his approval. Cassen watched what he believed to be the second and third most beautiful gems of the kingdom make their way toward the delicacy tables.

  TITON

  A thick crust of frost blanketing the fallen leaves made silent travel near impossible as they approached the Dogman village. Snow clung to the western side of the many slender guardians, some birch and the other a type of oak that grew oddly straight and tall. The trees would have formed a natural barrier had they been any closer together. Large webs, gilded in ice and absent spiders, hung ominously between the trees.

  “Never attack Dog
men at night,” Titon’s father had told him. “They are so weak and pathetic that you are more like to suffer casualties caused by your own men striking each other in the darkness than of a Dogman managing to fight back. And their demon-dogs can see in total darkness.”

  Titon wondered how true those words were—any of them. This village did not appear as though it was built by weaklings or idiots. The construction of their homes was sound, and their efficient use of the land for crops impressed him. He had heard so many stories about the impotence of these people that he now feared it may have all been bluster; there was certainly no shortage of it among his people, he was learning.

  He had with him just over twenty men, and while a few such as Decker may have justified counting as double, the potential existed for as many as forty men to be in this village, strong after a good night’s rest and just now preparing to go outside for a hard day’s work. By contrast his people had barely slept, kept up by the giddiness of the prospect of drawing their first Dogman blood.

  “Remember, men,” whispered Titon, “Keep your range. Do not close on an armed Dogman when you can kill him from afar.”

  “Yes,” said Decker. “Listen to my brother. I may not need your help killing these Dogmen, but I will need you all to help carry back the plunder, so try and stay alive.”

  The men gave a hushed chuckle, putting Titon on edge with the unnecessary noise. None of this feels right, he thought. I merely wish for it to be over.

  “We creep upon them until detected,” Titon further instructed. “Only then do we charge or make a sound. Do not enter a home without a partner to watch your back, and do not turn your back on an occupied home from which a man can spring and attack you.”

  The group nodded in anxious approval, and they all began to creep forward. With a growing sickness in his gut, Titon wondered if perhaps it would have been a better tactic for the leaders to stay toward the rear so that he could more easily direct the assault and call out orders if need be, but it was too late for that.