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

by Lina J. Potter

  "Oh, right! She was with the queen..."

  "She also led the queen out of the city and delivered her baby. She's a marvel. Praise Aldonai she was in the right place at the right time."

  Eron shook his head.

  "Incredible!"

  "Yet it's true. Soon, she'll arrive at the capital, and I'll ask her to tend to you."

  "Thank you, Count."

  "Altres. We have a lot of work ahead between the two of us. By the way, your family..."

  "What's happened? How are my..."

  Eron shuddered.

  It's not like he really loved his wife, but two decades spent together, not to mention their children and grandchildren, had to account for something.

  "Your son got everyone out in time."

  Eron caught his breath.

  "I never asked Alcine."

  Altres shrugged.

  "Luck and a little bit of savvy go a long way. Your grandson fell ill, and your wife decided against going to the ball. Your daughter-in-law was worried for her son and begged her husband to leave early, before everything started."

  "But how did they learn about everything?"

  "Your house isn't far from the embassy of Ativerna, is it?"

  Eron nodded.

  "That's right."

  "Countess Earton informed the embassy about the coup and told them to leave.

  "And they—"

  "The Ativernans knew who you were and what you were in charge of. It made sense to them to either make inquiries or warn your household."

  "Holy Aldonai! "

  "Yes, it was truly His hand. So your family's safe. The house was damaged, though."

  "Whatever!" Eron dismissed it. "As long as everyone's alive."

  "Yes, Count, and they'll be here in three or four days, so get well, please."

  "Such news can make me stand up and dance," Eron agreed and received Altres' smile in turn.

  The men understood each other well. Altres needed an assistant who hadn't been stained by participating in the coup, and Eron needed to redeem himself, at least in his own eyes. Death wouldn't change anything; only life—life and work.

  His Majesty Edwin needed to rule and prosper for a long time, and they would make sure of it. Maybe one day, they would be able...no, not to forget their failure, but to learn to live with it. To breathe, to walk the earth without dreaming of death. It would be hard labor, but they'd make it. They had no other choice.

  Wellster, The Summer Palace.

  Lily watched her orders carried out from inside the carriage.

  "Great!"

  The springs, the couch...it didn't look nice, but it was comfortable enough for Her Majesty and the baby.

  In a day or two, they would head out to the capital. All they had to do was to take care of their clothes. Appearances were important, after all.

  Thankfully, the Summer Palace stored a number of dresses.

  Lily picked purple velvet for Milia, but the queen vetoed it and demanded something green: the mourning color.

  Lily considered the issue. On the one hand, yes: Milia had lost her husband. The people wouldn't understand if she wore something festive. On the other…green looked awful on Milia. She would look like a sick frog.

  "It's the royal procession and the coronation, and you'll look like you're about to die!"

  "Lilian Earton!"

  "Your Majesty!"

  The two women looked at each other, both indignant.

  Lily was the first to give up.

  "It's your choice, but I think we should look for different combinations of colors."

  "What do you mean?" Milia was confused.

  "Green goes well with white, black, and all shades of gold. It will still look like mourning, but quite luxurious. Oh, and dark cherry is nice, too, as long as you pick the right hue."

  Milia waved her hand.

  "Fine. Let's try it."

  "I'll go to the girls, then," Lily said with a nod and went to the Eveers. To whom else could she entrust such a delicate order? Definitely not the guards or the peasant girls from the village. She needed to have a talk with Master Salsi and ask him to provide a service for the queen.

  ***

  Edwin, Baron Fremont, was running for all his horses were worth.

  The game had been lost, but he still had a head on his shoulders and fully intended to keep it.

  Thankfully, Edwin had good insurance: a small house in the Khanganat and a plot of land. He liked the local ways well enough, too. He'd settle down and live out the rest of his days in peace...

  Ugh!

  That wasn't a good word.

  The rest of his days? Nothing interesting would happen to him or anything new, really. He wouldn't be able to show his face anywhere outside the Khanganat and would spend at least fifteen years stuck there. What a life!

  He felt sad. It didn't, however, preclude him from stopping by a village: yes, the very same one. Edwin needed to restock, and Arno Saran could help with that. He knew many people corresponding with the duke, as well as those keeping an eye on Chantaine in the Summer Palace.

  Fortunately for him, the baron didn't ask about the location of Saran's house straight away. Instead, he decided to find out the latest news, taking up residence in the center of all rumors and gossip: the village inn.

  He and his men hinted that they were going to the capital, asked for food and drink, and seated themselves at the table. Edwin casually threw out several silver coins—twice the price of the meal they had ordered.

  The innkeeper himself emerged to serve such generous customers, bowing and setting the table. Bit by bit, they started chatting.

  "They say the capital's in turmoil these days, sir."

  Edwin hadn't mentioned he was a baron. He pretended to be surprised at the news.

  "The capital? In turmoil? Shouldn't it be celebrating the betrothal?"

  "No!" The owner shook his head emphatically. "Not at all! There are no celebrations. It's pretty bad. Must be a mess of some kind!"

  "Really? Sit down, good man, and do share the rumors! What kind of mess? We'd hate to get plucked out like chickens if we get into a scuffle!"

  When he needed to, Edwin could easily talk like an ordinary illiterate mercenary. The innkeeper bowed, sat with them, and started talking.

  He told how one day (the horror) Virmans had shown up in the village, followed by the royal guard.

  They caught Mister Saran, and then Mister Tourlet, and...

  People were saying they had been hanged after an interrogation inside the palace. What could they have done, really?

  It was baffling and not good, either.

  The soldiers headed by Count Chantaine darted off to somewhere, all decked in battle uniforms.

  They were also saying that the queen herself had arrived at the Summer Palace, while the king (THE HORROR!) got killed in the capital!

  "The queen?" That definitely drew Edwin's attention. It's not like it mattered, though. Even if she was there, Chantaine must have assigned guards to her. Fremont didn't have enough men.

  And what next, then? What would he do with the queen?

  Nothing. Let her be, really.

  Edwin could understand Her Majesty. She had fled, saving her children and her own skin, and got to the palace. That was worthy of respect.

  The innkeeper, in the meantime, was pouring out every last bit of knowledge he had.

  Yes, the queen had supposedly miraculously fled the capital and had the king's third son. The village maids told everything!

  The palace was also full of various Eveers and other Virmans led by some countess, Earmon or Earlon.

  "Earton? "

  That got Edwin's undivided attention. He might not have any issues with the queen, but he did have it in for the countess and then some—for all Eartons, really.

  Several questions revealed the truth.

  The queen, Countess Earton, and various rabble taken in by the countess were in the palace. The queen was supposed to head o
ut to the capital soon. Maybe the generous sir could invite himself into the retinue?

  Edwin considered the idea and nodded.

  "I suppose so. I'll sleep here and go to the palace tomorrow."

  In the evening, as he lay on the bed lazily crushing one bedbug after another, Edwin Fremont contemplated getting his revenge.

  Jerisson Earton had deserved payback, and so did his wife Lilian, whose involvement didn't feel like a surprise either.

  There was only one problem: reaching her. Her Grace likely wasn't stupid enough to go to the village or go walking around the woods at night as fairy tale heroines were wont to do.

  No, that was doubtful. What could he do, then?

  Using a crossbow was a safe bet, but would he pull it off? And how would he escape afterward?

  Edwin spent a long time coming up with a plan. He really wanted to get back at her for his humiliation, but he also wanted to live a long and happy life. It was a dilemma.

  By morning, he had killed at least a hundred insects but still hadn't arrived at a decision. Frustrated and sleep-deprived, Baron Fremont took his place by the table and took a mouthful of cherry brandy.

  Damnable flophouse!

  Maldonaya take Lilian Earton!

  Apparently, bedbug bites had an unexpected effect of stimulating brain activity, as, by the end of breakfast, an idea took shape in his mind.

  It would allow him to both get his revenge and get away with it. He needed to try.

  It's not like he had anything to lose, either—at least he would reckon with her. And with that thought, Edwin sent his men to scout the area. He needed a good place for an ambush.

  Virma, the lands of Clan Hardring.

  "My name is Ian Gardren."

  Olav looked at the dirty, unkempt boy and saw that his eyes were the same as Bran's: smart and bright.

  "By Olive the Crusher! Where did you come from?"

  Olav's phrasing was a bit awkward, but the boy understood him. With a sob, he started his story, telling everything about the attack on his clan, his escape with his sister and her nanny, his brother's death, and their journey to the Hardrings—to his father.

  Olav could only shake his head.

  "Do you know who attacked you?"

  "They descended upon us like knaves, their faces hidden," the boy replied.

  One more repercussion of the war.

  How would Bran deal with it?

  His eldest son might not matter in the grand scheme of things, but Bran loved him with all his heart, and his wife... Fine, he might not have loved her, but it was his clan and his people.

  There were still Gardrens in Virma, of course, but not his blood kin—only those who lived under his protection. How would he go on after that?

  Olav imagined telling all of that to Bran. Yikes.

  "Let's go, young warrior. I'll set you up and have your women taken care of."

  Ian nodded gratefully.

  A leaden burden of fatigue suddenly overwhelmed him. He knew that if he lay down or even sat on a bench, he wouldn't stand up, never.

  He had done his best; he had been strong, watching out for himself, his sister, everything...

  He had reached his destination and was heard. His duty was over. Someone else would decide what to do with the news he brought.

  "Where's my father?"

  "He's in Clan Hardar. I think he should be back soon."

  The boy gave a curt nod.

  Disheveled and bristling, he reminded Olav of a baby shark.

  Yes, Bran had raised a good boy. He would never bring dishonor to Clan Gardren. But what would happen to the clan?

  Olav wasn't stupid and had a good grasp of Bran's character. Sometimes, fate dealt blows capable of breaking even the strongest of men.

  Wellster, Cardin.

  Altres Lort came in without knocking. He didn't really need to knock, anyway. If Albitta wanted a meeting, she would get it.

  He had no desire to do it, of course, but that was the right course of action. He would meet her, look her in the eyes, and say the words he didn't even want to think.

  It wasn't cruelty, only necessity, just like lancing an abscess. If you neglected to do it, you would die in agony later. Still, Altres had hesitated almost two days before entering those chambers.

  Guards were standing watch in front of the doors.

  There were also guards inside, but they would have to leave. A conversation like that didn't need any witnesses.

  Her former majesty Albitta raised her head from a book that she had been staring at like a mechanical doll.

  She wasn't even reading, only scrolling through pages to keep her hands busy.

  Her nails had been chewed down to her fingers, Altres noticed.

  It had been a long time, but Albitta always used to chew her nails when she was nervous; he still remembered that.

  He remembered Gardwig grabbing his wife's hands, asking her to calm down.

  So much time had passed... For a second, Altres felt nostalgic.

  "Hello, Betty."

  "Albitta!"

  Altres was glad to see sparks in her seemingly faded dark eyes. How else could he bring a woman out of her shell?

  Only make her happy or angry; both options worked, as long as he managed to dodge afterward. After all, women were unpredictable and often pretty good at throwing things.

  "It doesn't matter anymore. Betty, Albitta...do you know how it ends?"

  Albitta shrugged.

  "Chopping block?"

  "Yes."

  "I had my suspicions."

  "You knew it would happen from the very start."

  "What else should I have done? Accept your sentence and put my throat up for a garrote or my cup for your poison? What did you prepare for me back then, Altres? After the divorce?"

  "A dagger," Altres confessed unabashedly. It hadn't been his idea, but Gardwig's; he wasn't one to be judged. Yes, he had followed the king's orders, but who wouldn't?

  "A dagger for being a faithful wife and mother. A chopping block for a coup. What else was left?"

  Altres shrugged.

  "You managed to escape. Couldn't you start a new life?"

  "Start with what? I was almost thirty and had given birth to four children..."

  "That boy isn't Gardwig's son, is he?"

  "Didn't Robert tell you?"

  "He did. I just don't believe him?"

  "Why is that?" Albitta was clearly mocking him.

  "Because Robert Alcine is mad," Altres replied simply. "He'd send anyone to the gallows as long as... What's that boy's name? Henry?"

  "Does it matter now?"

  "If he has at least one drop of Gardwig's blood, Robert would be happy to spill it."

  Albitta snorted.

  For a second, she wanted to lie—only for a second.

  As if having guessed her thought, Altres added, "I'm not asking, but I don't want one more sin on my conscience."

  "Do you have any of it left?"

  "You know, Betty, I've never killed children. Could you say you wouldn't have done it to Gard's sons?"

  "He sentenced me, and I sentenced him."

  "What about the children?"

  "They simply pay for their parents' sins."

  "Should your children pay for yours?"

  "My children...I wouldn't have recognized them. I haven't seen them for so long... What's the point of this conversation, Harnie?"

  Altres flinched. That name should have died with Gardwig.

  "I don't know, Albitta. I don't know."

  "I do," she said with a bitter and mocking smile on her face. "The loyal dog lost its master and wants to bite someone, doesn't it?"

  Altres shrugged.

  "But you were never capable of killing without an order, Harnie."

  "Really?"

  The conversation grew more and more ridiculous.

  Why had he come there?

  Why had he started all of it?

  She sighed.

  "You
'll kill me anyway. But I...at least I avenged myself, Altres. I have no regrets."

  "Gardwig wanted a son. He didn't do it out of spite—"

  "He didn't sleep with the ladies-in-waiting out of spite; he didn't eye up a replacement for me out of spite; he didn't give you the order out of spite... He was kind, right? I didn't appreciate that kindness, though. I dared to survive and make my own plans."

  "Didn't your plans have too high of a cost?"

  "A cost?"

  "Wellster. You would have never held on to power, and neither would Alcine. The entire country would be swept in flames and drenched in blood. Would it be just?"

  "What about what was done to me?"

  "Gardwig had to give his country an heir. I remember that you didn't want to have any more children."

  "Because each time I was pregnant, my husband was busy plowing every woman in the palace."

  Altres threw his hands up.

  "I didn't say he was right to do it."

  "And you don't say I am."

  "Gardwig was a good king, Albitta."

  "And was I a bad queen? You condemned me back then, Altres, and you're going to carry out your sentence now. Is it just?"

  "No."

  Albitta placed her book on the bedside table, stood up, and paced the room.

  "I would have killed you if I could."

  "I know. Even back then. You wanted to, didn’t you?"

  "Yes."

  "Then why did you want to see me, Betty?"

  "Do I get my last wish?"

  "Yes."

  "I want you to be present at my execution and give the order in person."

  "Why do you want that?"

  "Look at me as I die, Altres, and remember, remember for the rest of your life that I was innocent when you sentenced me to death. You did this to me."

  Altres sighed.

  He had nothing to say. She was right. They had sentenced her and betrayed her, and their evil came back to haunt them. At least Gard's children managed to remain unscathed.

  "I will, Betty. Is that all?"

  "Yes."

  "Goodbye, then."

  "See you later, Harnie, one last time...when?"

  "Tomorrow."

  "Send me maids, then. I want to look good as I go."

  "All right, Albitta."

  Altres bowed and left.

  He needed to be finished with everything before Milia returned to Cardin. But why did he feel so rotten? What was that nasty feeling? Or was that the road of kings he had heard all about?