"Young Master?"
"The count is at the palace. His son's home."
"Isn't the engagement ball today?"
"His wife's with child," Remi revealed the dark secret to him. "She felt sick in that crowd and stuffy heat, and the viscount brought her here."
"I see. All right, go report. I'll wait here."
***
True, listening to a servant's story might be beneath a nobleman's dignity, but what if it was a matter of life and death? The life and death of the king, even?
In this scenario, you'd hear anyone out, much less a servant. Viscount Dishan received Jack, read the note, and paused.
On the one hand...on the other... No matter which way he looked at it, he needed to figure out the truth.
Jack stepped in.
"Your Grace, if Thomas is right, the embassy will get visitors soon. Maybe you'd send someone to watch it and run to you if anything's wrong?"
It seemed sensible. The viscount agreed, sent Remi himself to the embassy, and in the meantime, went to see his mother. The countess was at home that day. She didn't like parties; her daughter-in-law was unwell; and really...
He asked her to quietly pack all the money and valuables and be prepared for anything. Who knows what could happen...or who.
When Jack and Remi returned to the embassy, Thomas was already finishing his arrangements. Jack gave him back the note and wished him luck. He would stay in any case. The way the embassy was constructed, he could always find a nook. He would wait out anything other than fire. But who'd ever burn a house in the middle of Cardin? The entire capital would end up in flames!
Just tell me where to find you, Thom. You know, just in case?
Thom came clean and told him the name of the inn he was going to stay at. The men shook hands and bid each other goodbye.
***
Interrogating the rest of the mercenaries didn't result in anything. Nobody really knew any facts.
Alcine was a right bastard, Jess surmised, and they had nothing to counter him with. Except for one thing.
In two hours, Count Earton, Leir Olsen, and Miguel of Ivernea held council.
"This is my way," the leir said simply. "I’ve sworn fealty to the king, and I will go to the very ends for him. I'll start sending out birds. You, messieurs, should go."
Jerisson waved his hand.
"Leir...no titles, all right?"
"All right..."
"Jess."
"Ert."
The men shook hands as Miguel stared. Before, they had had no chance for a normal conversation, being too busy with the battle and the interrogation. It was finally time to clear things up.
"I won't go anywhere. My wife and daughter are in the city. I’m with you. One man won't do much good, but I do have an escort—"
"In the city?" Miguel asked softly.
Jess snickered.
"You know it yourself. I had no time to get to the embassy. I had to rescue Her Highness."
"We'll deal with it," Ert Olsen said. "In the mayhem that's coming, any hands will be of use. And you, Jess, are no coward."
Jess gave a curt nod.
"I won't stay," Miguel said. "I'd like to escort my sister and Her Highness Maria to the border, just in case."
Jerisson stared at him aghast.
"Your sister, sure. But why take Her Highness?"
"She's the only heir we have left. If anything happens to her... You must realize that without a legitimate ruler, Wellster will succumb to chaos. And by the way, this country borders yours."
"As if it won't affect you either," Jerisson snapped. "Your Highness, if the princess leaves with you, do you really think anyone will believe she's the real deal? Nobody will accept her. They'll say you found a fake somewhere..."
"They'll trust the word of the king."
"Yes, in Ivernea. Not here."
Leir Olsen kept silent. He wasn't going to argue with the prince, simply waiting for the count to finish.
A veteran soldier, he knew that Jess was right. He didn't want to let the princess go either, but there was only one person who could cast the deciding vote: Maria herself.
So far, she hadn't announced her opinion. Leir had seen only a pale, tired girl who was pulled down from a horse and led into the castellan's quarters, asking for hot water and food.
There really wasn't any point in jumping into the conversation. He should just wait and see.
The discussion, in the meantime, heated up.
"Her Highness is engaged to my cousin."
"Nobody is going to prevent her from marrying him—later, when she's free of all this horror."
"Her betrothal was concluded, and I'm Richard's lawful representative. I'm the one to decide, and I'm not going to let the princess go with you."
"You're not her father. As for the engagement...do you have all the papers on your person?"
The papers were in the foreign office, where Robert Alcine ran the show, plague take him. Jerisson knitted his eyebrows.
"Papers are secondary. The king's word is worth more than gold."
"Nobody's breaking it," Miguel retorted, already celebrating victory.
"Isn't anyone going to ask me, gentlemen?"
Nobody had heard Maria come up. It made sense; the castellan's quarters were just around the corner, and a window was open, or the chimney duct, or who knows what.
The princess had already washed up and changed into new clothes. The fortress didn't have any women's clothing, but a shirt and pants suited her well, even despite the turned up sleeves and legs. Her dark hair was down and combed, and her brown eyes were flashing with anger.
The men said nothing. They were no fools and knew that a woman in such state of mind was not to be argued with unless they wanted to part with their heads.
"Your Highness," Miguel said, finally getting up the resolve to start speaking, "we were thinking how to help you avoid danger."
"Yes, I heard."
The poison in Maria's voice would have been enough for three Gardwigs and maybe even one Lort. At that moment, it became clear that she truly was her parents’ daughter: royal blood mixed with a snake's.
"Then, we'd like you to state your opinion, Your Highness."
Her Highness wasn't about to squirm.
"Maria, Count. After everything that happened, you've earned the right to call me by my name."
"Thank you...Maria."
"And now I hope I'll be heard. I have made myself clear, and since then, my opinion hasn't changed. Gentlemen, I can't even understand how you can be so impudent as to decide something for a princess? You, Jerisson, might have a wife and a daughter inside the city, and I have my father's body to take care of. My stepmother and my brothers. My sisters. Do you truly think I can leave them in the hands of my enemies and nobly retreat to Ivernea to tremble in fear under a rock?"
"Why a rock, Your Highness?" Miguel tried to play it off as a joke, but there was no way he could succeed. Maria glared daggers at him, making Jerisson inadvertently remember Albitta.
He hoped she wouldn't bite the hapless prince, at least. He might get poisoned.
"In your bed, Your Highness? Or whoever else who’ll try to discredit me to break off my betrothal to Richard of Ativerna?"
Everyone was speechless. Maria chuckled.
The only man she had been afraid of, her father, was dead. The others...the others didn't seem anywhere as scary.
"Gentlemen, I'm not stupid. I realize what plans everyone has for me. Let's get things straight. You, Miguel, can go wherever you please. I won't keep you. It won't affect the relationship between our countries, at least while I'm alive and can influence it. Jerisson, I hope you'll escort me everywhere. My honor must remain untarnished. Leir Olsen, what are you going to do to retake the capital from the pretender and her ally?"
The men closed their mouths. Jess coughed.
"I'm at your service...my lady."
Maria lowered her head, hiding the bristling sparks in her eyes.
She wasn't angry at Jerisson; there was nothing to be mad at. He had been looking after both her interests and his. He pulled her out of the palace, helped her however he could...
Of course, Ativerna meant more to him than Wellster; it was understandable. And his family, too. Leir Olsen's behavior made sense, as well. He wasn't used to going against a prince. But the Iverneans... Oh no, no hostility, no hateful looks. But she would remember that; she would remember that well.
And now, to business.
"I remember about your loved ones, Jess. We'll do everything to save them."
"Or take revenge."
"I also have someone to avenge. Still, I'll pray to Aldonai for your family to survive."
Leir Olsen smiled. Royal blood, what could you say? She'd never run away from danger, just like her father.
"Take my life, Your Highness, and use it as you see fit."
"I don't need your life, Leir, but Wellster does. So?"
"I'm sending out pigeons. I don't know how many troops we can assemble in a day, but we can't dally for longer. I'll write to Chantaine. He shouldn't be far from here. There are also a few regiments stationed in castles. With their help, we'll try retaking the capital. We don't really have a choice. The longer the enemy's inside the capital, the harder it will be."
Maria gave him an approving nod.
"You’re right, Leir. Do it, and I promise you a dukedom."
"I'm not doing it for a reward, Your Highness."
"And I'm not rewarding you. Not yet, at least. I don’t hold enough influence for it."
Miguel’s mind was racing. If he and Lydia decided to leave, he could forget about Wellster. If they lost...he still had a chance to get a piece of the pie and save the princess. He also needed to write to his father, quick. If they won...
If he left and the Wellsterians reigned that chaos in, they would never forget it. When you abandon a man in trouble, don't be surprised when he refuses to shake hands with you.
"My sister and I will stay. Leir Olsen, use my men as you see fit."
Beggars couldn't be choosers, so nobody really asked why he had changed his mind. They just nodded and sighed in relief. In a situation like that, every man counted, especially a score of them.
"Then I propose we chart a course of action," Leir Olsen said as he leaned over a map. "Look, our fort is here. That's the Summer Palace, where Chantaine's troops are. At dawn, I'll send a pigeon, even a few of them. Could you add a few lines, Your Highness?"
Maria smiled, removing a signet ring with a royal crest from her finger. A diamond with an image of a lion with a rose in its paws, it was a masterpiece. At first, the golden lion seemed to be engraved on the gem, but then you saw the clamps holding the gem and the figure.
"It's as if my father had a premonition...He told me to wear it today."
"This is..."
"The lesser royal seal. Not the king's, no, but the queen's. I was given it for one night, just so I could make an impression."
"Does Chantaine know about it?" Miguel was the first to catch on.
"Nobody else would have dared to touch it. It's punished by death."
"Well then, let's make haste. I'll send the pigeons and dispatch messengers to Chantaine. That's one. Here's the castle of Dolan. It has a fifty-man garrison. Your Highness..."
"Tell me what to write."
"And here we have the Earson and Calon estates. They're always at odds, and they must have at least a score of mercenaries each."
Maria nodded.
Yes, the Earsons and the Calons were the talk of all Wellster. Nobody was quite sure about the reason for the bad blood between the neighbors, but for some time (at least fifteen years), they had been carefully guarding their lands and borders against each other.
"I'll write to them. Let them come. Maybe they'll make peace while we're at it."
"I could go," Miguel offered. "To both of them. I think they'll believe me."
Leir Olsen narrowed his eyes.
"Your Highness, what if something happens?"
"One can't survive all deaths at once."
That was something the leir couldn't disagree with. He had also heard a lot about lords Earon and Calon. Stubborn lot, the two of them.
On the other hand, nobody was going to attack the fort—according to the mercenaries, Alcine didn't have enough troops for everything. Sending out the prince seemed safe and sensible enough. At least he wouldn't get underfoot.
It would be truly perfect if he took his sister with him, but the old leir couldn't dare to hope for that. Still, two royal scions were less than three, even if he preferred zero.
Why do you test me so, Aldonai?
***
Duke Alcine was fiddling with the ring he had taken off Gardwig's hand. He needed to write to the Summer Palace.
Why fight Chantaine? Luring him into a trap was much easier. He would fall for it, too: he had no news from the capital yet, and the king's assassination...no, it wasn't something one could believe just like that. He had at least two days. He would succeed.
He must.
Albitta slipped through the door.
"His signet ring?"
"Now yours, as a regent. Then Henry's."
"You still haven't found my son?"
"We're looking for him, dear. Lie down and rest. You look tired."
Robert knew what to focus on. Albitta cared about her looks more than she had ever cared about her children. Children could be made, but beauty—oh, beauty could never be returned if you let your guard down.
Worried, Her Majesty touched her cheek the smoothness of which she took pains to maintain.
"Yes, I should lie down."
"Go, then, my queen, and let your servant do the work for you," Robert Alcine said with a smile.
He had to spend five more minutes buttering Albitta up and breathed a sigh of relief when she was finally out the door.
He had done all he could; there was nothing to do but wait. But until then...
A minute of triumph. Just one minute.
He hadn't gotten his hands on Gardwig, but his replacement was going to serve just as well.
***
Count Dishan opened his eyes. Every part of him was in pain.
Of course, it would be, seeing as he woke up on a rack. But what had happened?
The count concentrated, waiting for the black wave of pain between his temples to pass, and remembered.
Alcine. The soldiers. Betrayal. Darkness.
From the looks of it, he had been hit in the head. But what about the king?
Dishan tried to move his eyes and groaned. Even a movement as simple as that resulted in his head seemingly splitting apart.
Aughhh...
"He's awake, Your Excellency."
"Good."
The man Dishan hated more than anyone else in the world stepped into the circle of light before him. It was Duke Robert Alcine: elegant, perfumed, dressed in immaculately clean clothes, and wearing a look of contempt and superiority.
"Finally, we meet, Dishan."
"I'd rather never see you again."
The count tried to spit at the traitor, but his throat was far too dry.
"And you won't."
Dishan would have loved to fall silent, proud and disdainful, but...
"What happened to the king?"
Alcine didn't say anything. Instead, he stretched his hand. As the royal diamond signet sparkled on his finger, the count realized that it was over. Gardwig would have never parted with that ring.
"You wretch!"
He had no strength left to do anything more.
"I'm the winner," Alcine replied with a soft laugh. "The winner."
"Bastard."
"I'll get to Lort, too. He'll hang next to you."
"I hate you! I hope you rot!"
"You'll have to wait for that. A long time."
Dishan gritted his teeth but didn't get to say anything. Alcine still had a mad and blissful smile on his face.
&nb
sp; "It's you who's in my power, Dishan. And...you'll be regretting it for a long while."
The count sagged in his chains, knowing that speaking was useless. There was no use trying to talk sense into a lunatic. They had their own logic, their own thoughts, their own laws.
"You'll live. I'll visit you from time to time to check up on you, to cheer up... How many bones do you think a man can survive having broken?"
"Damn you!"
"I am damned. I've been damned for a long time."
He gave the torturer a nod.
"Let's start with his legs. Just make sure he doesn't get gangrene. I don't want him to die. He needs to hold out a couple of years."
Dishan groaned. It wasn't especially manly, but knowing about his lot and being a plaything of a rabid madman...
Later, he would consider his options—figure out a way to die and deprive the duke of that pleasure—but that would be later.
The torturer stepped forward, and he felt it again. Pain, intense, and enormous, and never-ending. It bloated out the sun, and the world around him exploded, shattering into pieces. The count screamed, knowing that it wouldn’t change anything.
He only stopped screaming when he was thrown on the floor of his cell, its icy stones dulling the pain in his broken legs.
Aldonai, have mercy on me.
Aldonai, have mercy on Wellster.
***
Albitta was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Of course, she couldn't actually see the ceiling, as the canopy above her blocked the view. It was impressive, gold-embroidered, decorated with tassels and trimming worth the price of a ship. Gardwig had been spoiling his latest skank.
Albitta sneered. Sleep wasn't coming. Too much had happened too quickly.
Maybe she could have some wine? Have a servant heat it? Albitta rejected that idea at once. She wasn't sleepy at all. She wanted to sing, dance, do something...
And then, her cup could be poisoned. During the daytime, her food was tested on prisoners, but would it be tested in the middle of the night? Robert had assured her that she had nothing to be afraid of, but she still wanted to be careful.
Her servants. When had Albitta thought about them last? Never, really. At first, she was a noble lady, then the queen. It had never occurred to her that they were people with their own feelings, thoughts, and desires. Servants were a tool to make her comfortable, albeit a walking and talking one. And then, it changed. It turned out that they were as human as her, with opinions of their own—and they had to be reckoned with.
The Road of Kings: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 8) Page 3
