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

by Ireman, M. D.

  CASSEN

  Stephon was quick to leave his cell, accompanied by an entourage of Protectors to escort him to his royal chambers. I wonder if he will be happy enough in his grandfather’s old quarters or if he will soon insist on taking the chambers atop the Throne. The thought of young Stephon residing in either was somewhat amusing.

  Cassen was at first confused to see Vidar’s post abandoned, but as he passed by the final cell he noticed it had a new occupant.

  “You may come out now. Your new king and would-be killer is gone.”

  Cassen thought it wise of the old gaoler to have taken refuge. Knowing Stephon, he might have demanded a sword from one of his escorts and ended Vidar’s long and diligent service to the kingdom.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Please, I am but a humble duchess now that the kingdom once again belongs to a son of House Redrivers.”

  “As you wish, Duchess Cassen.”

  It was good to see Vidar had remained as humble as when Cassen had first walked in as regent. I should continue not to bribe this man or he may think me once again a mere duchess in truth.

  Cassen flicked a coin worth fifty marks to the old man just the same. “Tell me, where would our good friend and father of the king currently be staying?”

  You are getting soft, Cassen, he mused lightly.

  Cassen had his hand in one of his silken folds, caressing his trophy. The very pocket that had kept hidden items of monumental consequence—slips of paper that could have resulted in Cassen’s impalement had they escaped—suddenly seemed inadequate to ensure the safekeeping of the cloth he now fondled. He checked on it regularly to be certain it remained.

  The smell of stale water, rust, and excrement was thick in this section of the dungeon, but Cassen ignored it, remembering instead the scent of the woman from whom he had stolen the soft kerchief. The smoothness of the fabric reminded him of her skin. How was it that her body had remained so flawless over the years, and yet his outward appearance had degraded so visibly? He had been a rather handsome man, he thought…before he’d begun altering his appearance to this thing of his invention. The skin around his abdomen had lost the will to remain firm, hidden under so many folds of silk for so long. But not hers. Her skin was as taut and smooth as any maiden’s. It was almost shameful that he should have to handle her so roughly while forcing her to comply, for fear of damaging its perfection.

  A constant dripping echoed in the lengthy halls of these all-but-empty dungeons. Those few occupants were quiet little mice, staying hidden in their corners as Cassen passed, afraid he’d come to torture them he guessed. The sound itself was torturous—an incessant “splash…splash…splash” that was neither in perfect rhythm nor out of rhythm enough to be truly irregular. He tried to focus instead on the memory of the beautiful sounds made by his Crella but found it was no easy task. What sounds did she make that were pleasant? What sounds does any woman make that are pleasant? he wondered as if to imply there were none. But he knew that was not the case. Many of his lady servants had endearing qualities, and plenty of those were their gentle laughs, giggles, and sighs, though none were made while his presence was known. What did Crella’s laughter sound like? Her sighs? Cassen shook his head in disgust. Why is it I should care?

  He reminded himself again of the purpose of this trip. Alther. That miserable man who had been gifted—and thus had stolen—that which belonged to Cassen. To think of the man as merely ignorant would be an injustice to those born simple. He was fool beyond compare. Proof of that was the ease with which Cassen had manipulated him into killing his own father. Alther was deserving of the punishment Cassen would soon bestow upon him. What sort of imbecile would seek to incapacitate a king to reverse a ruling? Lyell would have seen through the ploy and punished both Alther and Crella far worse after regaining his health. That Alther had gone through with it was inconceivable, really.

  Naïve girls did not bother Cassen so much. They were born into shelter and protected from the brutal realities of the realm. But Alther was no little girl and could not thus avail himself of such an excuse. He had been witness to the way in which things worked in war, in business, and in politics—not that there was much disparity between the three. And yet he remained hopelessly oblivious, far worse than some obtuse princess who at least knew—on some level—that she was living a life of sweet lies.

  That notwithstanding, Alther had handed Cassen one of his most bitter failures when he’d refused to be seduced. In spite of what was said of Shal’sezar, the man ran an impressive enterprise, especially so in his variety of stock. Cassen had seen to the selection of the women himself, ensuring their features ran the full gamut of qualities that attracted men. He himself had found them most tempting, to say the least. But none had succeeded in enticing Alther to exchange more than a few words with them. The implication was obvious: Alther was receiving, or taking by force, all that he desired at his own estate. In spitefulness Cassen had resorted to sending a woman, with a swollen belly or infant at her breast, to Alther’s door once every few months, when only Crella would be home to receive them. But none had reported achieving more than provoking looks of disgust from Crella, who insisted they must be mistaken before sending them off. Cassen’s failure had sickened him then and it sickened him now, and he was unable to decide which would have been worse: Alther invoking a Husband’s Right, or Crella having actually grown to enjoy his company.

  Cassen stroked the kerchief and felt himself calming. To see the look upon your face when I give you this trophy, to see your realization of all that I have taken—it will be sweeter than even the taking itself. Cassen felt a twinge of worry at the prospect that Alther might not be aware of the kerchief Crella kept nestled beside her breast—within the garment that supported her and so unnecessarily at that. He brushed the thought from his mind. All those years of marriage—he will know, or I will make him know. Like the kerchiefs of most noble ladies, it had upon it a unique design that was hers alone. It would not do for a lady to have her kerchief mixed up with another’s, after all.

  It was not a long walk to where Alther was imprisoned, and Cassen found he was only paces away.

  “Who is there?” And after a brief pause, “Please, any news of the kingdom?”

  Alther must have heard his footsteps. Cassen was usually more cautious in his approach, but he had been lost in thought.

  Cassen stopped before coming into Alther’s view. He did not answer.

  “Please, I must know. Any news of the princess? Crella—is she safe? Who sits the throne? Has there been fighting?”

  Cassen heard the desperation in Alther’s voice. He dropped all the feminine pretenses of his own and spoke. “There is no fighting, but a fool now sits the throne.”

  “A fool?” asked Alther sounding of disbelief. “Who is it then? Surely Cassen has taken the throne for himself. He is no fool, but I will kill him. I swear to you on my life—I will kill that vile man for what he has done to me.”

  Cassen sighed. Unrestrained by theatrics the action actually brought some tranquility. “I do not believe you are in the position to make such oaths.”

  “Who are you?” Alther demanded. “Show yourself!”

  “Oh my, you have become quite brazen now that you have killed a king. A pity it was so late in life.”

  “I did not kill the king,” Alther shouted. “I was tricked by that foul creature Cassen. It was meant to be a poison to merely sicken the man.”

  It was shameful that Alther had not devised a more believable story by now. All this time alone in a dungeon and all he could think to come up with was the truth. How had the truth served Alther all these years? And still he did not learn.

  “I believe you. But I am afraid I am the only one who ever will.”

  “What?” The hopeful panic in his voice almost turned Cassen’s stomach. “Please, you must help me. You must tell others. Cassen has sought the throne all this time. It was he who tricked me, and he who had the most to ga
in.”

  “But it is not he who sits the throne. You are right, he is no fool. It is none other than your beloved boy. Stephon is king.” And a fine king he will surely prove to be.

  “He was released? How?”

  Cassen finally walked into view and studied the face of his victim. Alther’s expression was that of stunned skepticism, but it only took him a moment before he lunged forward with all his force, sending one arm as far through the bars as possible to grab at him. Cassen avoided the hand with a rearward step, and watched as Alther clawed at the air.

  “You miserable heathen bastard,” Alther screamed. “I will kill you if I ever leave this cell!”

  “Oh, no doubt, you would try. All the more reason to leave you within it. And heathenism is actually a rather—”

  “Why?” Alther cried out, interrupting him. It was perhaps the most forlorn and pathetic thing Cassen had ever heard. “Why did you not just kill us both? You could have given me a fake antidote. What purpose is there in my living?” He had stopped grabbing at Cassen and collapsed backward on to the floor where he sat with his head in his hands.

  It was at least a reasonable question. Cassen had considered letting Alther die, as it would have simplified things. I had a very good reason, as you will soon see. Cassen rubbed Crella’s kerchief between his fingers. He felt a pang at the thought of leaving it with Alther, but he knew he could not simply show it to him and keep it. That would indicate weakness.

  “Tell me, Alther, what is it that you cherish most in life?”

  Cassen had no reason to believe Alther would cooperate in this game other than for the fact that boredom was like to be a more vile tormenter in this place than Cassen himself.

  It took Alther a long time to respond, and Cassen waited patiently. But his patience was not rewarded with an answer.

  “So you are a man, after all? And not even a eunuch, I’d wager. You tricked Calder—and everyone else.”

  Alther came to this conclusion faster than Cassen would have guessed, forcing him to wonder how much of Alther’s inability to govern came merely from his utter lack of deviousness rather than gross stupidity. In either case, Cassen supposed the order of the revelations would make no huge difference. “How very perceptive of you. And to think I did not even have to drop my silks and show you.”

  “Everyone assumed Calder had. He was a horrid man with evil in his eyes. I could tell as much just from seeing him once or twice. Crella will not even speak of him. It is as if he never existed to her.” He paused. “I fear what she may have suffered under his care.”

  Cassen was a bit taken aback by both Alther’s candor and continued perceptiveness, and as such, declined to respond.

  “You were there. You lived with them. Tell me what I fear happened did not occur.”

  Cassen hesitated for some time before speaking, searching his mind for any reason to not reveal his knowledge to Alther. How nice it would be to finally be recognized by someone who might appreciate the courage required to do what Cassen had done.

  “I killed him for it,” Cassen said.

  Alther, who until now had been pathetic but at least dry eyed, began to weep silently. Cassen watched him cry, still hiding his face with his hands, and wondered why it was that he could not yet take glee in his suffering. He hated Alther more than any other. This is the undeserving man to whom Crella was gifted, used, and unappreciated, he reminded himself.

  “Thank you,” Alther said quietly after steadying himself.

  The words almost made no sense to Cassen.

  “Though he deserved far worse,” Alther continued. “Crella has suffered more than any understand. She is not the monster she seems. She shrouds herself in effrontery for protection, but she is not that which she portrays. I tried to protect her and to show her she was safe. But who was I but the son of the man who conquered her people, a constant reminder of the man whose clutches her aunt killed herself to avoid. And to think my father locked her away in the very place from which her aunt had jumped.”

  Cassen had nothing to say while watching the tormented man. This was what he had come here to witness.

  “And Ethel? She is the result? Crella was not the type to have become pregnant at so young an age otherwise. That appalling man. Thank the Mountain for crushing him before Ethel’s birth.”

  It was I who crushed him, not your feckless mountain god. But the thought had no weight to it.

  “Please, see that they are not harmed. I will die in here—that much I know. I will not speak another word against you, not that it matters as none would believe me. But in truth, I will hold you in higher esteem than I hold myself if you do this one thing—not for me—but for two innocents who have known nothing but derision and contempt. I see how your lady servants look to you, and I know you have never mistreated them. They would not act as they do toward you otherwise. You are a father to them. They may not be your daughters by blood, but you would not let harm befall them, nor would you cause it yourself. I only wish my father had shown the same respect for Ethel.” Alther rubbed the skin on his forehead with increasing violence. “That pig of a man deserved to die for his behavior. To court one’s granddaughter, even if only by marriage…it was an atrocity.”

  But I do let harm befall my daughters, thought Cassen. I encourage it. And that is why I stand here and you are confined.

  “My father’s death was the only thing that would see Crella freed. I realize that now. I thank you for tricking me into being braver than I truly am. Please, do as I could not. See that Ethel and Crella are cared for, in order that they do not suffer under what is to come for this kingdom—likely nothing but war and bloodshed.”

  Alther looked at him now. With the exception of Sacarat, Cassen had not been looked upon by another man without seeing the disgust and repulsion present in their eyes. But whereas the Satyr looked at Cassen as an equal, Alther looked at Cassen for what he truly believed himself to be—a man who held the power to do all that he pleased. Alther pleaded to him as a beggar pleads to a king, and something about it revolted Cassen beyond explanation.

  Without saying another word Cassen turned and walked away. Alther at least did not degrade himself further by attempting to call out to Cassen any last pleas. You pathetic, groveling man, thought Cassen nonetheless.

  After Cassen had walked a good distance, he realized he had his hand in his silks where Crella’s kerchief still lay. His intention of revealing to Alther that Crella was now his toy had not exactly gone as he’d planned. He fought back the swell of self-accusation as he felt the soft fabric between his fingers and imagined how lovely it must still smell—a scent somewhere between citrus and the onset of autumn, yet impossible to fully discern. I simply did not wish to part with my token of conquest so soon. That is all.

  DECKER

  It seemed their entire clan had gathered in the tiny bedroom. Soon Titon son of Titon would come back to life. Soon everyone would see that Decker had not murdered his only brother.

  Decker stood at Titon’s bedside. Thick white sheets covered his brother. Though no giant to begin with, Titon had come to look scarily weak and sallow during his many days asleep. We will hunt for tree rats and make another stew of them with tinder berries, Decker told him without speaking. We will eat until we nearly burst, and you will regain your strength quickly. I promise.

  He did not believe his sleeping brother could hear his thoughts the way his mother could, but it did no harm. And he must think of things to say in order to keep Titon from hating him. Decker was determined to do everything in his power to ensure he recovered fully, bearing no scars of the wrong that was done him.

  Decker had come to recognize what must have driven Titon into his rage; she stood opposite him at the bedside. Even so, Decker hoped his brother would see Red first. It would not do to have him awaken to the sight of the one who had put him into his coma. It was a sickening realization, though, that this would not be the only time Titon had awakened to see her sad, beautiful face after
having first been knocked unconscious by Decker. What sort of man am I? How can I ever be forgiven? Decker merely hoped that Titon rose healthy this time as he did the last, but without the humiliation that had followed it. It turned Decker’s stomach to remember.

  Titon’s eyelids began to quiver as if struggling to part. Decker imagined the difficulty one must have opening their eyes after so long a sleep. Sometimes he would have to rub his eyes just to speed up the process of rising with the Dawnstar. Why are you not doing the same? Are you unable to move your arms? If I have caused you a waking sleep I will throw myself from a cliff in shame—but not before ending yours, I swear that to you, brother.

  It was hard to imagine a crueler fate to be suffered by a warrior: to be alive and aware but unable to move the limbs. It was not something Galatai liked to discuss or imagine, and thus none had spoken of it when it came to Titon. Those who suffered such a sickness begged for death from the onset, though no man desired to be the one to have to fulfill that wish. The job often fell to their father. I will do it, and I will not delay, thought Decker determinedly.

  Growing impatient, Decker glanced at Red. It was a mistake. Seeing her—truly seeing her—for perhaps the first time stirred a slavering desire to devour her. The unrivaled beauty of Kilandra seemed a distant memory. The urge to climb over the bed and have her overwhelmed him, but he would not. Out of respect for my brother, he told himself, but he knew it to be false. It was out of fear. The look of shame she would crush him with was all that kept him from acting on his lust. Scorn from such an enchantress would reduce even his father to a quivering boy.