The Road of Kings: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 8)

by Lina J. Potter

Bad luck.

  Alcine had already started weaving his web at that point and chose to include Albitta in it.

  He spent more than ten years preparing for the coup, but why?

  There must have been a reason.

  Altres was at a loss. Thankfully, he had his own torturers, trusted people who hadn't been harmed during the takeover. Such assets were rarely let go rather than converted. It was too hard to find people who knew that craft.

  A good torturer needed to do more than procure the truth.

  Depending on the employer's mood, he needed to either break the client or leave their free will intact, transform them into a piece of flesh shrieking with pain or preserve the former appearance.

  Lort ordered not to pay Alcine any special attention and use the intermediate option. The point was keeping him alive until the execution.

  Albitta?

  Same thing.

  Altres wasn't going to show mercy to traitors and lowlifes. Gardwig might have been guilty, true. Maybe he should have acted differently with his wife. It's not like it was her fault she had only birthed girls. He could have let her go, help her build a life instead of ordering her assassinated.

  Fine.

  But Milia?

  The children?

  Those who accidentally got caught up in the grindstone of Albitta's mad revenge? Like, say, the Ativernans.

  How was it the fault of the Roivels and the Elonts, or young princesses who were found in their chambers scared out of their minds? The people who had died during the coup?

  Ah, you couldn't do it another way?

  Tough luck, then.

  ***

  Everyone had their plate full with something, and there wasn't nearly enough manpower to handle even the major errands.

  Altres sorted out the papers, while Chantaine cleaned out the palace. After giving it some thought, Jerisson decided to patrol the capital. At least he'd be useful that way.

  In the meantime, Lort sent a pigeon to Milia, letting Her Majesty know they were safe, and also to Maria in Fort Shedar. It was too early for her to go to the capital, but at least it would allay her worries, and the Iverneans wouldn't get around to any mischief.

  He held no illusions about that: they could.

  Still, things would work out. They must.

  ***

  Edwin Fremont's escape was a lucky one.

  He got lucky enough to slip out of the palace. He also got lucky by being prepared and having ten trusted people with him. The horses, the gates... In truth, his luck was all due to planning. The bones of those who let things slide were currently being picked clean by Altres Lort.

  Edwin shuddered reflexively. That was a man he really wanted to stay away from.

  Bones? It would be worse than that; Lort would cut his flesh off and force him to eat it, if not worse. The count was known throughout Wellster for his imagination.

  Run. There was no other option.

  Where then? To the river?

  Closing down the harbor was the first thing Lort had done. Technically, the order had been made by Alcine, and Lort simply sent a message confirming it. Nobody was to be let in or out, and all the ships were to stay anchored. Anybody who tried to get inside was to be considered an enemy and shown no mercy.

  If Edwin wanted to leave Wellster, he would have to travel overland.

  It might not sound bad if not for Fort Shedar standing on the crossroad of all routes. What was he to do with it? He couldn't ride past; there were probably sentries there. It was a real hot spot; Alcine had sent his men there, too, and if Lort was in Cardin, then the reports from the fortress must have been fake.

  That meant the baron had only one option: stay in the country.

  He would disappear, get to some port, and eventually set sail for...well, why not the Khanganat? There, he could survive, and in Wellster, Lort would definitely get to him, as would Earton.

  His gut feeling had been correct: he really shouldn't have messed with the Ativernans. But the plan seemed to be so good!

  Edwin Fremont was riding toward the Summer Palace.

  It might not be the best destination, but Alcine had his informants and helpers there. They could prove handy, telling Edwin where to go, where the ambushes were, give a tip... And really, why not head there? Just as long as it was far from the capital.

  Virma, the lands of Clan Oronsteg.

  Bran and Angelina felt so happy they didn't want to return to the waking world.

  Still, reality never cared for love; it had its own rules and regulations.

  When Olav's pigeon arrived, Bran couldn't believe his eyes, reading and re-reading the letter several times.

  Then he went to see Angelina.

  "What’s wrong? "

  Bran was blunt.

  "A mutiny almost broke out in Virma. Olav says the Hardar, who almost killed us, are involved, on top of other clans."

  "How's Richard?" Angelina asked, worried.

  "He's alive."

  "But?.." The princess had always been empathic enough.

  "Tira was killed."

  "Holy Aldonai! "

  The princess put her hand on her mouth. Tears flooded her eyes.

  Poor Richard!

  As soon as he allowed himself to have a drop of happiness, destiny deprived him of it forever.

  What had he done to deserve it?

  Bran walked up to his beloved and awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders. If she were any other woman, he would have known what to say and what to do, but with Angie, he felt lost like a young boy.

  "Her murderer is dead, too."

  Angelina accepted his embrace and thought that at least Bran had managed to defend her.

  He would have given his life for her, but Richard failed. Poor brother. Poor Tira...

  "What’s going to happen now? "

  "I'll go to Clan Hardar, tell them the good news." Bran chuckled. "And we'll return to the Hardrings."

  Angeline gave him a questioning look. Bran gently traced her moist cheek with his hand.

  "I know we have no future, but you're here, and I can't refuse that…at least while we're in Virma."

  The answer was a kiss salted by her tears, and Bran forgot everything, both the fact that it was daytime and that he...no, he had locked the door out of habit and also visited Wulf before talking to Angelina. The warriors were packing up, and he did have some time. Maybe only an hour, but it was his and his alone.

  The others could wait.

  ***

  There was one thing Bran was wrong about.

  They could only march out the next morning. Angelina refused to let him go so much that even forty bulls couldn't have budged her.

  She wanted to go with him, and her argument was a deadly one.

  Would he really leave her alone with Aldonai knew whom?

  What if something happened?

  Was Bran ready to spend his whole life lamenting that he hadn't kept his beloved safe? He might just as well!

  He couldn’t object to that, and neither did he expect any combat. Bran was sure that the Hardars had already learned about the incident. Hardrings weren't the only clan with pigeons, and everyone had their agents in the enemy's midst.

  Bran was going to go not with war, but with an offer of peace, and Angelina could only emphasize that.

  And really, how could he abandon her like that?

  Upon learning about a loss such as Richard's, he couldn't help but realize how easy it was to lose a part of his life and start treasuring what was close to him, realizing how fragile life was and how thin was the thread connecting people.

  No, Bran couldn't leave Angie. He'd rather gnaw his own hand off.

  Fine.

  They would ride together.

  Chapter 6

  Wellster, The Summer Palace.

  "They've won!"

  The morning started with wonderful news.

  The pigeon released in the evening reached the palace only by late noon, unable to fly at night. T
he people were cheerful and congratulated each other.

  Lily made haste to Milia.

  The latter had already been told, but nonetheless met the countess with a smile.

  "Yes! Victory!"

  Lily sat on her bed, touched her head, checked her heartbeat, and examined her.

  "Great. I think that in five to ten days, I'll permit you to move to Cardin."

  Milia sighed.

  "I'm not sure I'd like that. Would it be possible to move a part of the court here?"

  "Isn't this the Summer Palace?" Lily asked, surprised. "It's already autumn."

  "So? It's just a name. There's also the Small Palace, the Green Palace, the Rose one... They called it that because of its amazing rosary, by the way. It doesn't matter much where I live. Without Gard..."

  "Maybe you're right," Lily agreed. "You have children. Cardin might not be the best place for them. It's so dirty, and here, you have scenery, lots of air—plus, it's not like you'd have to move the entire court."

  "Altres will decide. But I don't think I'll need a hundred people here. A hundred and fifty at most."

  Lily nodded.

  The queen mother's court was a political issue, but having met with Altres Lort, Lily held no doubt: Milia's court would be full of spies, informants, and guards. She was just too defenseless.

  Could Lort want to change the game to his tune?

  No, that was unlikely. That said, he would probably play a hand in the heir's education. They'd grow up complete bastards.

  Maybe it wasn't too bad.

  Any good ruler needed a touch of steel and ruthlessness, being able to become a villain for both their own people and the enemy if it meant that the country survived. Such was the road of kings.

  ***

  "WE'VE WON!"

  Maria was happy as a baby, which made sense considering her age. She was jumping in her place and clapping. Watching her, Leir Olsen was tempted to dance, too.

  Victory!

  It could have been so much worse. Olsen had estimated his own prospects at Her Majesty Albitta's court as pretty gloomy. He would have been hung or, in the best-case scenario, exiled to an estate. But in the current scenario, he had every chance to get a real title, maybe a baron or even more. After all, he had chosen the right side, and Altres Lort, with all his cruelty and smarts, knew how to be generous—just like Gardwig, may he rest in peace.

  Her Highness would, of course, marry and leave...

  "What else?" Maria asked, watching him with hungry eyes but unable to make sense of the shorthand writing.

  A pigeon couldn't carry much, after all; if you wrote everything directly, you'd need an albatross, at the very least. Thus, they used a cipher.

  Leir Olsen knew it and could easily interpret, unlike the princess.

  "The princes are alive, and so is the queen."

  "Yay!"

  Maria was completely sincere, but the Iverneans escorting her turned sulky and exchanged looks.

  Leir Olsen smirked.

  Nothing you can do here. You'll have to make do.

  If the queen and the princess were alive, Maria became...an ordinary card. It was worthless to bet on her; she'd never gain power.

  No need to kidnap her, no need to force her to marry Miguel. He could just as well relax and stop guarding the girl so diligently. But could he, really?

  He couldn't. He knew of such things.

  Leir Olsen might not have heard about Finangles's law, but he was aware of the gist of it.

  As soon as he let his guard down and decided the worst had already passed...

  It was too early to sheathe his sword. Let the soldiers watch Maria and the guests; who knows what might happen later?

  "When can I return to the capital?" Maria seized the bull by its horns.

  "Your Highness, Count Lort says it's still unsafe," Leir Olsen said, looking at the cipher. "They're holding the fort."

  Maria sighed.

  "Is it safe here?"

  "I can ensure your safety, Your Highness."

  "Thank you, Leir Olsen." The princess smiled. "I'll be the first to petition for lands befitting your title."

  The leir bowed.

  "I'll be very grateful, Your Highness."

  What else did he want to be happy?

  His own house to meet old age. He already had some money saved, and his wife would be happy if their children would get a title.

  All he had to do was not to let his guard down. The rest would come.

  ***

  Altres Lort walked into the hall, his pace firm.

  The Assembly had seen a lot over the last days. They were watching him with the eyes of rabbits who had soiled their pants: big and ready for anything.

  No wonder: Alcine usually had a short way with anyone able to mount a resistance. After Count Estorn's execution, the rest were quiet, knowing that they could lose their heads at any minute.

  Nobody said anything as Altres walked toward Gardwig's throne. Unlike Alcine, however, he didn't take it. He sat on the stairs and stretched his legs.

  "Dear Assembly!"

  The Assembly listened.

  "I, Count Lort, ask to be bequeathed the title of regent for His Majesty Edwin. The coronation will happen in...let's say, five days."

  It would have been worse if he had thrown a brick into the crowd. Everyone was agitated.

  Baron Egran spoke up first. He was no fool, being one of those who had always supported Gardwig. Altres liked it that he was still alive. It was good.

  He wasn't mentioned in Alcine's papers. Maybe Altres should have paid more attention to the baron. Resourcefulness, survivability...what else did one need to be a full-fledged agent of the crown? Loyalty? He seemed to have it in spades.

  "May I speak, Your Grace?"

  Altres Lort graciously nodded.

  "Glad to see you alive, Baron."

  "And so I am, Count."

  The baron wasn't faking it, either. He was looking the count straight in the eyes, his voice wavering.

  Only someone who had survived something like that could understand that, the horror of a mutiny, the bloody head of the king. A usurper on the throne, fear for your family—not even yourself, but your loved ones, whom that bastard would certainly use to get to you. What would you do in such circumstances?

  And then there were honor and loyalty, things useless for survival, but necessary for living on. How would one save his own humanity if he lost them?

  Over the last few days, the baron had hidden his wife and children and sent out servants from the city with orders for his estate's steward. In the meantime, he was busy thinking of what to do next.

  By all appearances, he needed to look for allies and raise a rebellion against Alcine, but how? Where? The baron had no such skills.

  He got lucky, though.

  Altres Lort came in and destroyed the pretender.

  "So, Their Highnesses are alive?"

  "Alcine really wanted to get to them." Altres smirked, looking vicious enough for the Virman god Holosh. "Thanks to our friends from Ativerna, Her Majesty was able to survive, and so were Their Highnesses."

  Altres watched their faces.

  Thankfully, most of the nobles seemed to be genuinely relieved, even happy.

  A living king guaranteed stability, continuity, and succession, from father to son. His Highness Edwin might be young, but age was a matter of time.

  And Her Majesty was alive, too?

  "I have more good news. His Royal Majesty Gardwig was cowardly assassinated, but another son of his was born later: His Highness Gardwig, named after his father. The mother and the child are healthy and are currently resting in a safe place."

  Silence fell, and then...

  "HURRAH! Hurrah to Her Majesty! Hurrah to His Highness Gardwig!"

  The nobles shouted from the heart, letting out all their horror in those screams. Altres smiled as he watched them.

  You might be scum, but I don't have anyone else. He had to work with what he
had.

  Afterward, everything was simple. The nobles unanimously declared that Prince Edwin was to be crowned in five days with Altres Lort as his regent.

  Milia? Everyone knew the queen—as well as her inability to rule. Some wouldn't mind appointing her regent, anyway—Altres could see it on several, Aldonai forbid, muzzles. It was hard to call them anything else, really.

  That's what life was; if some had their house on fire, others would rush to line their pockets with the stuff they'd lose.

  It didn't matter. He was able to knock off the overly insolent hands. At the moment, they might be quiet, but later, they'd start hissing behind his back, shoving their daughters and ladies-in-waiting on him, trying to drive a wedge between him and the queen.

  Altres sighed. He would have loved a wife like Lilian Earton. Gardwig had mentioned to him the need to marry, true. If he had a wife like her, he could have assigned her to the queen and felt secure for his rear, through and through. Lilian Earton would have never allowed anyone to get too cocky.

  For a second, a smile appeared on Altres' face. Still, to the count's honor, he never entertained the idea of arranging an accident for Count Earton. That would have been too much. Some lines could never be crossed. Aldonai could forgive you if you amused yourself by partying in the vicinity, but if you trespassed, you'd pay for it, and the price would be high.

  It wasn't laws, even, not exactly; it was the lines that any decent person set for themselves. Or not quite decent, really.

  Anything had happened in the life of the king's butcher, even backstabbing, but he had never done it to those he considered allies—or friends. Count Earton was a friend, and Lilian Earton had all but saved Altres' life. After all, if he had found Milia and her boys dead, all he could have done was to hang himself out of grief. No, he could never betray someone like that.

  As for marriage...well, he'd probably have to do it eventually. It's not like he had a choice. Ugh, wasn't there enough on his plate?

  ***

  When Jess came back to the palace, it was already dark.

  Fortunately for him, Alcine's hirelings had scattered away without thinking of resistance. Why fight for an all-but-dead employer? There was no point. All he encountered were a couple of altercations on the streets, never getting a chance even to warm up, let alone actually fight.