Severance (The Sovereign Book 1)

by Michael Pritsos

  Smoke was tumbling from almost every building around the circle. Flames that dyed the night sky orange were now taking their place amongst the dawn’s light. Donovan looked about him and saw the puzzlement on his men’s faces. The arrows were falling less fiercely now but Donovan knew it was not for retaliation of Anapos but rather the lack of arrows altogether. “We’re done here,” he announced to his men. They were still confused but the circle broke apart anyway, the men flooding back to the dock resembling the green waves of a tide receding.

  Donovan stalked forward and kicked away the sword his enemy had been using as a crutch. The Thalassan tumbled to the street with a groan. The Gaian captain said nothing as he leaned forward to rip the valuable clasp from his enemy’s throat. Leaving the bleeding warrior of Xiphos to whosoever might find him, Donovan picked up the longsword and walked casually back toward the dock. He lifted his horn to his lips and blew three long notes. The din of feet clattering on cobblestones soon filled the atmosphere as the Gaians all retreated to the docks. Not a single Thalassan barred their path as they left, preferring instead to weep bitterly and tear their hair over the loved ones lost that early morning.

  Seth hopped down from the manor along with his archers, sending them all forth to prepare the ship to leave. Donovan called after them to tie a Thalassan ship to their own as well. Several other captains were instructing the same to their men as they prepared for departure, but only eight Thalassan vessels were in the harbor to begin with. Seth joined his captain for the short walk up the gangplank and barked the orders to leave.

  “I saw you spare that one,” Seth said abruptly. “Why?”

  Donovan showed him the spoils still clenched in his hands.

  Seth whistled at the make of the sword. “Even still, that ain’t like you.”

  “Oh I wouldn’t say that,” Donovan replied. “I disgraced that big bastard by taking his things right off his person. He had more blood on his thighs than a woman at the turn of the moon. Even if he survives he will have to find some way to live with the shame of being bested by a Gaian and left to bleed on the streets of his own burning city.”

  “He’ll want to repay the favor,” said Seth. He wore a snide grin.

  Donovan watched the distance grow from feet to yards and more as the Gaian fleet pulled away from Anapos. “Any Thalassan is welcome to try.”

  Roselyn

  Hordes of ships covered the sea’s landscape in a medley of house colors dimmed by a setting sun. They stretched as far as the princess could see and although the wind was pushing the sloops’ masts quickly to the north, she could hear the oarmasters’ drums even from where she stood. Or is that just the beating of my own heart?

  The castle walls stretched impossibly far below her and when she peeked between the crenellations she noticed that they were no longer surrounded by Pontos’ grand city. Instead they were sitting right atop the water. Like a great ship hewn of grey stone and lichen-covered rock, they swayed ever so slightly with the waves. Roselyn turned around to see her mother dressed all in black, with a black crown replacing her sapphire-studded one, and her hands barely held onto a rusted scepter.

  The scepter clattered to the ground and the noise was deafening. Roselyn shut her eyes and covered her ears until quite suddenly the ringing stopped. She slowly opened her eyes again to find that Patrick had picked up the scepter himself. He was dressed in red and gold, bedecked in ragged jewels that looked like they had just been plucked from a ship’s grave. Her husband did not smile at her but simply moved to her side. He stared over her shoulder to where the ships were all formed to the north. When she turned back around they were gone.

  “Wake up, my sweet,” Patrick whispered beside her. She glanced at him again and opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. He touched her swollen belly tenderly. “Wake up, darling.”

  Roselyn woke with a start to find Patrick gently stroking her stomach. It was still dark in the room but the grey light of morning was just beginning to show between the drapes. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “Was it the same dream?” Patrick asked softly.

  “Yes,” Roselyn said. The word came out as a dry croak. She cleared her throat and reached for the cup of water waiting on the nightstand.

  “It’s just a dream,” he said. “You’re just worried about Thalassa. That’s all.”

  “It’s a legitimate worry,” she replied perhaps a little too coldly.

  “I know,” Patrick said. “We shall have to start mixing you a sleeping draught, I think.”

  “I wouldn’t think that would be good for the baby,” the princess said.

  “Neither is restless slumber.”

  She shrugged absently and decided to get up anyway. There was no way she was going to be able to fall back asleep now. The day’s proceedings would at least give her a welcome escape from her own internal struggles. She took her time in preparation and Patrick left close to an hour before she was even close to ready. Roselyn tried on several gowns, each one suited to how big she had become in the past months, but none of them looked flattering in any way.

  As the day progressed, Roselyn felt uncomfortable as she sat on her throne to Patrick’s left. He was seated in her father’s throne, and her mother was on his right. In spite of her best efforts, the black and silver gown felt more constricting than usual that day. She was constantly shifting in her seat to fight the little breathing room.

  “Namaily,” she called to one of the ladies of the court. The young girl was also still wearing black to mourn their king. Namaily came prancing eagerly to the seated princess.

  “Your Highness,” she curtsied delicately.

  “Would you see if that man in the corner would fetch me a fan? He isn’t within shouting distance and I am quite overheated.” Roselyn smiled at the young girl. She had always been her favorite member of the court for she was never gossip-prone like many of the other girls.

  “Yes, of course!” Namaily turned towards the man at the opposite end of the hall with the same enthusiasm as when she first approached Roselyn.

  Patrick leaned over. “I could have called for the servant.”

  “Aye,” Roselyn replied with a smile. “But Namaily gets flustered when the ladies start with their scandalous chitchat. I could see it on her face.”

  “You’re much more sensitive than I gave you credit for, my love.” Patrick leaned over and brought Roselyn’s hand to his lips for a tender kiss.

  “You flatter me, so!” Roselyn replied with exaggerated flirtatiousness, rolling her eyes with a sarcastic grin.

  The banter of husband and wife was cut short by yet another farmer coming in with a complaint for the new regent. The man kissed Patrick’s hand and backed up again to kneel.

  “Go ahead,” the regent began.

  “I was wondering about the state of which hands were going to be delivered to my farm, Your Grace,” the farmer said. He was an older man, probably in his early sixties, with a bent back and a pair of crooked black eyebrows. “If you ‘member, I was promised two sons of Nemo to work on my farm once they turned eighteen. Now I’ve been told we won’t be gettin’ any. All the sons of Nemo are being pushed into military service. I only have one son, Your Grace. The two of us have a tough time tendin’ to both fields and livestock.”

  “We are at war, my good man,” Patrick said calmly. When the farmer said nothing in reply, the regent continued. “Would it be possible for you to hire on extra hands from the city? There have to be a couple men out of work.”

  “I was going to pay them small wages, as I was told I was able to do, Your Grace,” the farmer said. “Eighteen coppers a day is all I can afford. That would total just about eight and a half silvers a month. Most men that aren’t orphans to begin with will not work for that. And if they do they’re not the hard-workin’ sort.”

  “I can give you two gold pieces, one for each man,” Patrick said. “I would suggest you split them up and do not give the gold to them right away, but
rather just add a silver or two to every month for the next two and a half years. That should get them working for you hard enough and with extra means… in time you’ll be able to pay them that extra silver on your own.”

  The farmer’s jaw could have struck the floor. “That would be most gracious, Your Grace…”

  Patrick loosened his own purse and drew two shiny coins for the man. “I wish you the best of luck.”

  The farmer thanked his regent once more and left the room in a much happier state. Is this day ever going to end? Roselyn wondered. Usually she was happy to see her people come in with a crisis and leave with a solution, however, that day her health was keeping her from focusing on the tedious process.

  Where is that fool with my fan? Roselyn wondered angrily as she searched the room for Namaily’s round face. She found her back with the other ladies with a subtle hint of distaste painted on her delicate features. When she made eye contact with Roselyn the young girl jumped from her seat and came rushing back to the throne.

  “Well?” Roselyn asked, her patience growing thin.

  “He said he would bring it as soon as he could, Your Highness!” Namaily looked terribly apologetic, yet Roselyn could tell she was grateful to be able to leave the circle of gossip twice.

  Roselyn bit her lip, considering what to do. “See if you can find him and hurry him along… if you cannot seem to locate him, find someone else that will do it immediately.”

  Namaily nodded and turned to leave.

  “Excuse me,” Patrick said, and the girl stopped and swirled back around to face him. “If you find that man, send him to me.”

  “Shall I have him fetch a fan first?” Namaily asked, directing the question at the regent.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Patrick answered with a tight smile. “Send the insolent one my way and then ask my man Theodore to bring the fan for my wife.”

  Namaily curtsied to Patrick and hurried away to do his bidding. Roselyn smiled at her husband. “You’re having my most innocent lady deliver a lamb to the slaughter.”

  “She’ll survive the horror.” Patrick winked. “That man should know that if he receives the order to get a fan for an overheated and very pregnant princess he should probably avoid taking his time.”

  “Well, I appreciate you defending me, but you could have had her tell Theodore to bring the fan before going to find the impudent fool.”

  Patrick laughed heartily. “Please forgive me, Your Highness. I’ll just take care of that myself.” He waved Theodore over and instructed him to retrieve a fan for Roselyn. The man was back in seconds with a very intricate, handheld wooden fan and presented it to the princess. She accepted it gratefully and began using it to cool herself off.

  Suddenly, the doors at the end of the hall opened with a crash and a man stalked into the room with severity set in his face. Roselyn tensed at the way the man carried himself, and was shocked to see that it was Thanos, one of her late father’s most trusted advisors. He had not bathed or even bothered to comb his wild appearance before coming forth to see the regent.

  “I suppose getting rid of that servant will have to wait,” Roselyn muttered as Thanos charged towards the end of the hall where they were seated.

  Patrick stood to greet the man but was visibly taken aback as well. Lord Thanos marched up to the throne and knelt on one knee for less than a heartbeat before he rose again. “Anapos has been sacked, my liege.”

  “Excuse me?” Patrick was incredulous.

  “Anapos… my home… has been sacked by those sons of whores from Gaia!” Thanos erupted. The servants in the hall wavered for a moment, uncertain of whether to scuttle from the room or come closer to hear the biggest news Thalassa had to offer since the death of the king.

  “The Gaians control it?” Patrick asked. He seemed remarkably dense for a second but Roselyn wished to place her hand on his. This was never what he had bargained for, even if he knew it could come any day in his position. The regent shook his head dubiously as though trying to stir away a funk. “Tell me what has happened, my lord.”

  Thanos was beside himself. He chewed on the inside of his mouth. “Those bastards came just before dawn, around twenty ships’ worth I believe, and wreaked havoc on Anapos’ capital. They burned countless buildings, killed two hundred and seventy-one of my warriors and left my brother to die as well. They took eight of my vessels, and killed… no… butchered over five thousand of my citizens!”

  “By the gods,” Roselyn muttered. She knew the populations of nearly every city in Thalassa, and if her studies were still accurate that meant that a tenth of Anapos’ capital’s population had been eradicated in this Gaian assault.

  Patrick raised a hand to placate Lord Thanos but the man appeared as likely to spear the new regent as he was to do likewise to a Gaian. “I want them destroyed, Lord Patrick,” Thanos declared. “I want them destroyed and that duty lies with you now.”

  “We must consider this—”

  “What is there to consider?” Thanos exclaimed. “Most of my men were positioned elsewhere and those bastards knew it. We caught a couple of the whoresons trying to steal into the castle and pressed them for information. They were sent from Tartarus by the admiral there, Ultan, to destroy the city and leave at dawn.”

  Patrick tried to comprehend the information. “To destroy the city…”

  “Aye!” Thanos exploded. “And they did a right good job of it, too! I have less than a thousand soldiers in my command now, with just over three hundred of them stationed on Anapos to keep it safe. How in the name of all we hold dear is that comforting? I watched my city burn, Patrick. I watched it burn and could do nothing but offer the safe haven of the castle as men, women, and children watched their lives turn to ashes. My younger brother bleeds night and day from wounds that open every time he moves.”

  “My prayers go out to him,” Patrick offered. “How much in damages has Anapos suffered?”

  “Not counting the ships,” Thanos began, “my advisors tell me it will cost me and my people over six hundred pounds of gold to rebuild what was destroyed.”

  Patrick thought for a moment. “I can delve into the treasury and give you five hundred pounds of gold.”

  “It’s not even about the coin,” Thanos snapped. He raised his hands apologetically. “It is generous of you, my liege, but don’t you see that something has to be done here?”

  “Retaliation,” Patrick said with an odd tranquility. “You’re right, it is needed.”

  “Let me lead this,” Thanos pleaded. “Let me raze Tartarus to the ground.”

  “I will give you five hundred pounds of gold,” Patrick stated. “I will also send forth two hundred of my soldiers from Pontos to take the brown cloak of House Xiphos. However, your place is with your people.”

  “That’s not good enough,” Thanos argued.

  “I am loath to remind you to mind your place,” Patrick replied, all tranquility evaporated. “Anapos will be avenged. You have my word on that. You still need to look to your isle. What kind of lord would you be if you left your people in their most dire circumstances?”

  “Fine,” Thanos relented. “Then at least let my brother lead.”

  “You said that his condition was critical.”

  “Not Nikos,” Thanos said. “Arkouda is already stationed on Triton. Let him bring his men to that front. He has three hundred under him. You’ll need much more, though.”

  “Tartarus has two thousand soldiers in its employ,” Patrick said pensively.

  “Sixty-two less than that now,” Thanos replied. “Nevertheless, you’ll need to send one hell of a fleet.”

  Roselyn calculated fifty men on every vessel. “We’ll need forty ships to match Tartarus’ numbers.”

  “Then we shall send forty ships,” Patrick concluded, looking at Thanos, “under the lead of Sir Arkouda, of House Xiphos.”

  Lord Thanos nodded his acceptance. Only then, when the conversation’s heat had died to a simmer, did a servant step
forward from the side of the hall to offer a cup of wine to the nobleman. He took it graciously and downed the entire goblet in one draught. “I should return to Anapos as quickly as possible.”

  “That would be appropriate,” Patrick stated. “Theodore.” He snapped his fingers at the clerk who pattered his way over to the throne with a bowed head. “Have five hundred pounds of gold delivered to Lord Thanos’ vessels before they take their leave, and draw the names of two hundred guardsmen to accompany him.”

  “Yes, my liege,” Theodore replied, never looking the regent in the eye. He bowed from the room with Thanos trailing close behind.

  Roselyn rose from her seat on the throne and watched the men exit the hall with tired eyes. Perhaps that dream was about this, she reserved. Previously, the Thalassan war with Gaia had merely consisted of various sea skirmishes and small battles. Lord Thanos’ visit brought with it news of a horrifying reality for Thalassa: this war was finally going to break the surface. Thousands of soldiers will be sent from various islands to attack Tartarus and Roselyn knew many of them would not return.

  “Roselyn,” Patrick was suddenly at her side.

  The princess looked up at her husband with a start as his voice brought her from her thoughts. His eyes were filled with worry, and it seemed as if he was turning his attention to her for the first time since Thanos had arrived. “What is it, Patrick?”

  “You’re… bleeding…”

  Roselyn followed her husband’s gaze to the floor in front of her. There were five sizeable droplets of crimson red at her feet. Her mother gasped as she, too, noticed the blood and came rushing over. The queen let out a cry as her eyes fell upon Roselyn’s cushioned seat that was now soiled with a dark pool of blood. Namaily had returned with the servant midway through the conversation with Thanos, and she, too, gasped when she looked from the stained seat to the floor. Roselyn stared from one terrified face to the next, beginning to panic. Suddenly, she felt a sharper pain than she had ever known, and then her world went black.