Fury (Tranquility Book 3)

by Krista D. Ball

  “You are our king,” Edmund said, glaring at the others. “Our job is to ensure that your vision of Taftlin becomes real.”

  Rutherford returned Edmund’s glare. “I do not require a lecture from a young upstart whose noble lineage barely extends back to before the formation of his friendship with the King.”

  “I don’t need to listen to man whose family’s wealth was built on the backs of human cargo.”

  Rutherford scoffed. “Do not let your friendship with the King cloud your judgment. I’ve seen many friends of kings come and go.”

  Edmund attempted another retort, but his words died as a coughing fit overtook him. Arrago winced at the sounds coming from Edmund’s lungs. Stanley passed Edmund his own wine glass, which he’d not drunk from. Edmund drank most of it before the coughing died down. “Thank you, my Lord.”

  “You have it too, I see,” Stanley said.

  “Came on two nights ago. I can’t shake it. I’m hoping it’s just a passing cold.”

  “That does not sound like it’s a passing anything,” Rayner said.

  Arrago rubbed his temples in hopes of staving off the mounting headache. At this rate, there would be no one left to fight the war because everyone would be in bed sick with this coughing sickness. “Back to the matter at hand. I’m asking for ways to end slavery in this country. I will not be the king of a slave nation.”

  “Then perhaps you should have considered that before you mounted a civil war in a slave nation,” Lord Rutherford said. “Majesty.”

  Arrago bit back a harsh reply. “Since I am here now, are you able to provide any useful assistance in this particular issue?”

  “Taftlin has always been the centre of trade for the North. We have to stick together,” Rutherford said.

  Arrago leaned forward. “To clarify, you’re saying we do nothing because…what? It’s always been that way?”

  “We can ill afford strife, Majesty. We’re already at war and our resources are stretched to the brink. We cannot defend ourselves against…against…” Rutherford lowered his voice, “an uprising.”

  “Majesty…” Lord Stanley’s expression loudly announced that he was internally rolling his eyes, and that only decades of wisdom and self-control were keeping his face as stoic as it was. “I think what Rutherford is attempting to convey is that—”

  Arrago raised a hand. He looked at Rutherford. “My Lord, how many slaves do you own?”

  Rutherford bristled and did not answer.

  “How many?”

  “I do not have the exact numbers…”

  Arrago’s tone hardened. “Guess.”

  “A few hundred, if you count all of my holdings. It is not illegal.”

  Arrago flipped open one of the ledgers. “According to this, eight years ago, you had one thousand and four slaves, and you paid a tax of one sovereign per seventy-five men, and one sovereign per ninety women. Then King Richard did away with the taxation on slaves. Tell me, did you have anything to do with that?”

  “I do not need to justify my finances to a man who’s been king for a mere handful of months.”

  Lord Stanley inhaled sharply and said, “Rutherford! Check your tone, sir.”

  “There’s no cause for a show, Stanley. You have slaves of your own.”

  “I do not. When his Majesty asked me to grant freedom to the slaves at Castle Gree and pay them a year of back wages, I decided to follow my sovereign’s example and did the same.”

  “I was unaware his Majesty actually went through with that plan,” Rutherford said. “We cannot even afford our own troops and we’re giving money to these vagrants?”

  “Most of these vagrants, as you call them,” Edmund said, “have stayed on at Castle Gree.”

  Rayner nodded. “It’s true, though I was surprised. Some even joined the militia. Others have rejoined their families at other royal properties.”

  “And some,” Edmund said bitterly, “are using the money Arrago gave them to free their family members from men like you.”

  Rutherford glared. “I have done nothing wrong.”

  Rayner inhaled, catching the attention of everyone in the room. “I have also followed the King’s example. Though I confess I have yet to release those at my summer retreat in the North. I was hoping to do that in person once his Majesty could do without my guidance. However, I have sent word to compensate them for their work, as his Majesty has done.”

  Rayner looked pointedly at Edmund, as if waiting for Edmund to declare how he’d also freed his slaves like a good Taftlin boy.

  For Edmund’s part, he raised his hands and said, “Don’t look at me. My father was an abolitionist. My family’s been fighting Taftlin slavery my entire life.”

  “That explains your father’s low position at court,” Rutherford spat.

  “Do not disrespect his memory, old man.”

  “Gentlemen,” Arrago said. He didn’t have to shout or swear. He was the King. His word was law. Hmm. His word was law. Celeste kept telling him that he had to stop asking for permission from his advisors. They were there to guide him, not lead him. There were certain laws that the Council of Lords voted on, but those typically dealt with the Council itself. He’d not even called for a formal meeting of the Council of Lords yet, using the war as justification.

  Edmund had detailed all of the arguments his father had made for ending the trade, as well as methods to reduce the impact on the nobility. Arrago didn’t care two straws of hay about the nobility, but Celeste had warned him that he needed them on his side. He was an imposter in their eyes. He couldn’t push them too far, or else his fate would be like Daniel’s. He couldn’t do good if his head was on a pike outside The King’s Palace.

  He also knew this wasn’t an easy road. Letting things carry on was the path of least resistance. But he was given this duty by the Gentle Goddess and he would be failing her if he sat back and watched the suffering of Her people. What’s more, he’d be profiting from the sale of flesh and blood, and he was certain Apexia did not put him on the throne to be a slaver. No, he must follow his conscience and the will of the Gentle Goddess, no matter the personal cost.

  And the first step to achieving that goal would be to surround himself with advisors who were supportive of his vision.

  Arrago stood. The others jumped to their feet a moment later. He raised his chin. “Lord Rutherford, thank you for your many years of service to the Taftlin crown.”

  “Majesty?” Rutherford said, confused.

  “Lord Stanley, do I have a smaller estate or some property near where Lord Rutherford’s own seat of power is located?” Arrago asked.

  “Um, yes, Majesty. You have…well, I’d have to look to be sure, but I’m certain you have a small summer house in the area, with some two thousand or so acres of land.”

  “Then, at your leisure, please give Lord Rutherford one of my smaller estates. And kindly give him half of the lands associated with the property so that Lord Rutherford may retire comfortably without the worry of me coming for his slaves.”

  Lord Rutherford stared at Arrago in wide-eyed shock. His face turned purple as he held back whatever comment was on his tongue.

  “Lord Rayner.”

  “Yes, Majesty?” the other elderly man replied, looking as surprised as Stanley.

  “You know the nobility better than I. Please recommend three candidates amongst the peerage to take over Lord Rutherford’s duties. I’ll meet with them as soon as you can arrange it.”

  “Of course, Majesty.”

  “You are dismissing me?” Lord Rutherford demanded. “Me?”

  Arrago kept his voice even, though his hands were shaking. He folded them behind his back, so the men in the room wouldn’t see his nerves as a weakness. “I am dismissing you. Also, I am rewarding you for your many years of service. Thank you, Lord Rutherford, for your commitment and dedication to the Taftlin throne. May your twilight years be comfortable.” Arrago raised his voice to shout for assistance from the guard outside his
door.

  “Majesty?” The human guard answered.

  “Please ensure Lord Rutherford is assisted in every way possible as he departs for his estate. And please let the stables know his Lordship will be in need of my personal carriage. I want him travelling in the best fashion.”

  Lord Rutherford stood and gave Arrago a seething glare. He inclined his head stiffly and marched out of the room.

  After the door was shut, Edmund said, “That was unexpected.”

  “I will not have anyone advising me who does not share my hopes and dreams for Taftlin. Am I clear?”

  “Very,” Edmund said.

  “Completely,” Stanley said.

  “Understood,” Rayner said. “Though, next time, Majesty, would you consider running your decisions by one of us?”

  Arrago smiled. “I ran it by the Queen.”

  Rayner bowed. “Of course. Her Majesty, as ever, has a keen sense for politics. It is a shame she is not a man.”

  “Don’t let her hear you say that,” Arrago said. “Now, in addition to finding a replacement for Lord Rutherford, I would like a committee of three women established to consult with Celeste and myself.”

  “Women, my Lord?” Rayner asked.

  “You do know what a woman is?”

  Edmund poorly stifled his snicker, which led to another coughing fit.

  “Yes, Majesty, I am dimly aware of what a woman is. I’m merely confused as to why you would want a committee of them.”

  As Arrago was about to explain his intention for Celeste to have a more pronounced role in rule, the door swung open.

  “Amber! What’s the matter?”

  “Arrago, you must hurry.” She glanced at Edmund. “The Queen is in labour and…you must hurry.”

  CHAPTER 7

  The Past

  The royal apartments consisted of several interconnected rooms. The stone balcony Bethany was currently loitering on—along with Arrago, Jovan, and Edmund—was connected to the personal drawing room where Celeste normally entertained her guests. It had been too cold all winter to be out here—for a while the doors had iced over—but now the late spring thaw let them use the additional space.

  Bethany was glad of it. It was a fine day, and the wind wasn’t cold. Inside, the fires were roaring and even Bethany was overheating. She could only imagine how uncomfortably warm Celeste must be while she laboured, but apparently it was bad for women to give birth in cold rooms. And what did she know about midwifery?

  Arrago paced back and forth across the balcony, boots scuffing against stone. At times he’d mutter to himself, sigh, and go back to pacing. Ten hours and no real progress. If Celeste didn’t have this baby soon, Arrago was going to wear a hole through the stonework.

  “If you don’t stop pacing, I am going to tie you to a rock,” Bethany scolded. “Majesty.”

  King Arrago whirled on her. “I’ll stop when this is over!”

  She shrugged and turned her gaze back out to the settlement of soldiers down by the shore. The tide was coming in and waves crashed against the cliff face. The wind was pervasive, but not dangerously strong, and it would help melt the ice and move the icebergs away.

  For all of her complaints about this country, Bethany secretly loved the icebergs. She couldn’t see one now, but there’d been one in the straits two weeks ago. It was amazing. Icebergs were gorgeous, majestic creations. Each its own unique sculpture. Edmund had told her that the one she saw wasn’t even a true iceberg—not by local standards—and that Sir Eli, Edmund’s father, had once taken his family out on the ocean to see a real one. It was fashionable for the nobility to do it at least once in their life. Edmund said the iceberg they saw was so huge it took two hours of sailing to see both ends.

  She’d love to see one that huge.

  Arrago collapsed in a wooden chair. “Why is it taking so long? Shouldn’t the baby just come out?”

  “No amount of complaining will make the birthing process faster,” Bethany answered calmly.

  Arrago scoffed. “What do you know about birthing?”

  “Absolutely nothing, Majesty,” Bethany admitted with a smile. “And neither do you.”

  Arrago glared for a beat, but then chuckled. “Fair enough. I’m worried, nothing more.”

  “I know.”

  Edmund stood near the entrance and, though wrapped in a blanket, began coughing. Bethany looked over at him worriedly. He looked miserable.

  Jovan walked across the balcony to smacked Edmund’s back. “Go inside where it’s warm.”

  “It’s too warm,” Edmund complained. “It was making me sweat.”

  “Out here is making you bark like a seal,” Jovan replied.

  Arrago said, “Come on. I’ll come inside with you. Let’s find you some wine or broth or something.”

  Bethany and Jovan shared a glance, but they dutifully followed the friends inside. Bethany closed the wooden doors, followed by the no doubt hideously expensive inner stained glass doors inside a wooden frame. Which was why there were outer doors: to protect the showy, expensive inner glass.

  Edmund grumped and complained, but he soon collapsed in the chair furthest from the fireplace. Arrago picked up one of the blankets that the maids had piled near the stone hearth and threw it over Edmund’s already blanketed shoulders, while Jovan poured Edmund a glass of wine. Edmund tried to say his thanks, but another coughing fit overtook him.

  Bethany knew exactly how he felt. Her ribs ached from coughing, and she was only suffering at night and first thing in the morning.

  Allric and Erem walked into the drawing room. Erem headed over to the sideboard and began filling up a plate with food. Allric approached Arrago and asked for news.

  “Nothing since your last visit,” Arrago said. “What’s it been?”

  “Three hours,” Bethany said with a dramatic sigh. She glanced up at the clock. “She’s been in there ten hours now. How long does this take?”

  Allric chuckled. “Bethany, it’s her first. She might be in there a couple of days.”

  Bethany made a horrified sound. “Remind me never to have children.” Arrago looked up at her and gave her a sad, weary smile. She returned it. “You’d think we would have figured out a better way of having babies by now.”

  “I’m sure women everywhere would agree.” Allric sat down in one of the plush chairs next to Edmund. “How are you holding up, Sir Edmund?”

  Edmund tried to speak, but was interrupted by more coughing. He grimaced and said, “Miserable.”

  “Never mind childbirth. I wish we could rid our soldiers of this illness. We’re losing more to coughing than Magic at the moment.”

  “Say, Bethany?” Erem asked, “This food’s for everyone, right?”

  She stared at Erem blankly. He held a large plate, piled high with bread, jams, fruit preserves, boiled vegetables, and boiled salt fish. “How mannerly of you to ask.”

  “Of course the food is for everyone,” Arrago said. He glanced at Bethany and said, “She was the one to ask the servants to bring it up.”

  “I figured we’d miss dinner, but I wasn’t expecting to miss days of meals,” Bethany complained, though she smiled.

  “Is Celeste still doing well?” Allric asked.

  “Last we heard there was some concern about hemorrhaging, but…” Bethany glanced at Edmund and lowered her voice, “They have three healers in there, plus a midwife and her assistants. Eve and Amber are both with her, too, at Celeste’s request. All we can do now is wait.”

  “She’s a strong woman,” Jovan said. He clamped Edmund on the shoulder. “Right, Arrago?”

  “Right,” Arrago whispered. “I’m worried.” His voice trailed off. “I’m worried.”

  Somewhere further back in the royal suites, a woman wailed in unabashed agony. Bethany cringed. She didn’t want to be here at all, but Edmund had asked her to come. She couldn’t very well say no. There had been an endless stream of people in and out of the suites, none of them familiar. They weren’t for Cele
ste’s benefit, either. They were there for the glory of nobility or some such stupidity. Celeste’s aunt, the Dowager Duchess Arsenia was too elderly to come, and Celeste’s cousin, Cassandra, the current Duchess of Arsenia had already written to say she was with child and afraid to risk the trip.

  All of that meant poor Celeste was beset by strangers. That’s why Bethany was still there, waiting: she didn’t like the idea of strangers intruding on her friend.

  That thought had given her pause. But, yes, she did think of Celeste Clover, Queen of Taftlin and wife of Arrago, as her friend. They’d all been through too much during the last year not to have developed something resembling friendship, or at least mutual respect. She had the utmost respect for Celeste. She was a strong, able woman who used words and privilege as skillfully as Bethany used swords. Celeste’s commands could cut ice at times. Her word was law and she never had to raise her voice; a mere look of disapproval was all she needed to get her point across. Bethany envied that.

  “At least we know two of the women in there with Celeste,” she said. Bethany glanced at Arrago, whose eyes were pressed tightly shut.

  “That’s something,” he said.

  “Celeste didn’t want to be alone,” Edmund said. “That’s what she told me a couple days ago. She’d already asked Amber to be at the birthing.”

  “She was lucky Eve was around,” Erem said, running his last piece of bread across his plate to wipe it clean.

  “Eve didn’t say anything to me,” Jovan said. “I had no idea the Queen wanted her in there.”

  “Celeste hadn’t planned that,” Edmund said. “But once she started, I think she wanted any woman she knew and trusted. And Eve was willing.”

  “Eve’s great like that,” Jovan said, with a measure of pride in his voice. “It’s why I won’t marry her.”

  Allric roared with laughter. “She won’t have you, and you know it.”