She saw him and nudged Kago with her elbow. The man gave Kian a quick glance and walked away. Endra regarded him with her dark eyes and pursed her lips. She didn’t seem glad to see him. “What are you doing down here? We’re all busy trying to get ready for the ride north.”
“I came to find you. Tempest is readying the children and I think she may need a break from the task.”
Endra shrugged. “I would like to help her, but I don’t have the time. If she can’t handle the job, I will try to find someone else who can.”
Kian frowned. “That would upset her a great deal. Tempest has grown fond of the little ones, and she can handle the work. I just thought you might want to help her. They are our children.”
“Then you can help her. I think that would solve the problem,” Endra said bitterly.
“Have I done something to offend you or hurt you?” Kian asked, perplexed by the woman’s unusual behavior.
“No, I just don’t have time to take care of everything. I am a member of the Sons of the Reaper, and my brothers are going to war. I have duties to attend to.” Endra stepped closer to him. “I don’t see you doing anything, so why don’t you go play nursemaid?” Endra’s sword leaned against one of the company’s dirty tents. She snatched it up and belted it around her waist. “I won’t be back to the lodge before we leave. There are too many things to do so I will be staying here with the men for the next few days. We will be busy into the night, and I might as well sleep here. It will keep me from coming in and disturbing the children. I know how hard they can be to get back to sleep.”
“As you wish. We will speak later then,” Kian said, his voice monotone.
Endra nodded briefly and walked away.
Kian stood staring after her. Endra acted as if she didn’t want to be around him at all. Something had happened, and he was going to find out what it was.
The palace chapel was stunning, decorated regally in Trimenia’s burgundy, black, and gold. To show solidarity, the red and green of Warmark was prominently displayed in the sanctuary as well. Their green flag with its single red lance hung right alongside the Trimenian banner to represent a union of nations.
Ribbons dangled from the corners of each pew in alternating colors. The large windows that usually let in the sun to light the chapel were closed, since the vows were being exchanged after sunset, so wreaths of spring flowers had been placed on the shutters. Dozens of golden candelabras strategically placed all around the chamber lit the blessed event. The candlelight gave the chapel a romantic glow that several of the guests had readily remarked on.
The formal wedding had been scaled down since the cathedral had been burned, and the queen’s poor health kept the bride’s mother’s attention away from details and silly embellishments. Queen Breeda had some last minute changes that had to be accommodated, but they had been reasonable and easily provided. All in all, Baron Serban had thought the wedding had gone well.
King Mayson had not been pleased to hear that rebels had put a torch to the cathedral and killed Archbishop Lech. Warmark’s monarch had cursed the insurrection and vowed to help rid the kingdom of the renegades any way he could. Baron Serban fueled Mayson’s belief that it was rebels that had struck at the Church. The king’s outrage lessened any suspicion he might have about the army in the south. When Mayson made mention of Dimitri and Pepca’s absence, he was told that the prince was with the army and Pepca had been sent away to a nunnery during the winter due to her improper behavior.
Baron Serban assured the visiting king that the huge force now in the south would spell an end to the insurrection that had plagued Trimenia for the last few years. King Mayson seemed to have little trouble believing any of the lies, especially with the destruction of the cathedral to bolster his claims. Things had gone better than he had hoped. Baron Serban felt he was moving chess pieces around on a board, each one falling in line and playing their part.
The chapel had finally emptied. The baron’s only company was King Petru, who still sat in a pew staring at his hands. Everyone beside Queen Zaria had gone to the ballroom to celebrate. The guests had been informed that the queen still suffered from the terrible illness that had struck her down so suddenly and would be retiring to her room directly after the ceremony.
The absence of the bride’s mother didn’t seem to thwart the revelry. King Mayson had brought a huge group of retainers with him to watch his oldest son take his vows to the beautiful Trimenian princess and they expected a grand feast after the lengthy service, so he had seen to it that the palace staff furnished one. Even now he could hear the band beginning the first waltz.
The baron stepped into the aisle and stared at Petru. If one thing could be said for the weakling, he had made a lovely child. Danika had been stunning in her white gown, her head topped with flowers made from silk. The princess’s appearance had been perfect. None of the guests could take their eyes from her as Petru walked Danika down the aisle.
Mayson and Queen Breeda looked on proudly as their oldest son repeated his vows to the princess of his dreams. The groom had beamed during the entire service, as had he. Not for sentimental reasons, to be sure. Mayson had brought along his younger son Eldin to stand with his brother, a very loving and heartwarming gesture, and one that played to his plans like sweet music.
“Are you coming, Petru? The celebration awaits.”
The king looked up, his face one of resignation. The baron could only assume Petru suspected his time was at an end.
“I don’t feel much like celebrating, Alexis.”
“I don’t care what you feel like, get in there and smile like it is the happiest day of your life. You have guests to entertain.”
The king stood and slowly slid out of the pew. As he did, a messenger entered the chapel. The baron could see the man was winded as he knelt, handing the dispatch to the king.
Petru dismissed the soldier and Serban snatched the letter from the king’s hand.
“More desertions?” the king asked, almost smiling. “That makes more than five thousand in the last two months, by my count.”
The baron whirled and slapped the king’s face hard enough to bring the man to his knees. “This is the work of your son and that bastard Strom, I would wager.” The baron held the dispatch to one of the rooms candle and watched it burn. Tossing it to the marble floor, he stomped out the flame. “It is of no matter. I have more enough men to hold Brova and the palace. As well as a few surprises for any who thinks they are bold enough to come at me.”
“With Constantine’s rebels, they will be a formidable force,” Petru said, coming to his feet.
“I will swat them like flies; I have only allowed the rebellion to go on this long to fool Mayson. While the army drives deep into Warmark, I will destroy my enemies here. A few deserters and a handful of peasants cannot stop me now. It is far too late.”
Serban watched as Petru’s eyes widened. The king knew Trimenia was lost, but had not been truly aware of the invasion of Warmark.
“You’re going to attack our allies?” Petru said, his voice cracking.
Petru looked so stunned, the baron nearly laughed.
“It is no concern of yours now, Trimenia is mine. Go join the party, Petru, but before you do, I have a gift.” The king only looked at him dumbfounded, most likely still trying to digest what he had just discovered. “I have decided that I am going to let you go to Thessa with the bridal party. You can escort your precious Danika to the capital of Warmark and help get her settled in her new home.”
Petru was silent for a moment, his eyes filling. “You would allow this?”
“Why not? It is no longer important for you to be here, and the healers can see to Zaria while you are away.”
“I don’t understand why you would show me mercy now?” Petru asked, his voice shaking.
“You have served me well. Why not reward the outstanding cowardliness you’ve shown? Besides, I think I can trust that you’re not going to mention anything of what you just
learned to Mayson?”
The king moved to him, his lip trembling, and took his hand. “Of course I won’t say a word. I thank for this you, Alexis. I thought you planned to do away with me and Zaria.”
“There is no need for me to kill you under the circumstances. Now away with you. Go see to your daughter.”
“Aren’t you coming?” the king asked.
“Shortly. I have a bit of business to attend to first.”
The king hurried from the chapel like an eager child, delighted that he was leaving Trimenia no doubt.
Serban motioned to the dark corner of the chapel and a large man moved out of the shadows. Reddish blond hair hung down to his mail-covered shoulders, and close set blue eyes looked out of a wide, heavily bearded face. The baron regarded the new commander of his mercenaries. Taor Snell, the brute was called, and he was sure the man had more than a drop of Viborg blood in him. He was not Bernard’s equal by any means, but the mercenary was intelligent enough to follow orders without question. “Is everything in place, Captain Snell?”
The mercenary gave a nod. “Five hundred men await the procession in the location you ordered.”
“That should be more than enough, and you understand how I want this to look?”
“Your orders were clear, Baron.”
“Fine. This is important, Taor, no mistakes or I will be very displeased, understand?”
“It will be done as you wish, my lord.”
“Good. Now go join the others. I want you there when Mayson arrives so you can see things go smoothly.”
The mercenary bowed and exited through the back of the chapel. The captain would have a long ride ahead of him.
Serban looked out the window at the rising moon. There was nothing to do now but wait.
It was three days before the palace finally emptied of its guests. The baron pushed back the curtain and peered from the king’s chamber window. The coaches and carriages had been loaded, and the two kings had taken their respective places inside them. He watched the column of two hundred of Mayson’s finest royal guardsmen lead the bridal party out of the palace gates.
Petru would no doubt alert Mayson to what he planned. The weasel would confess all he knew. It was just a matter of when he could work up the backbone to admit what he had done. It mattered little, it was too late for the King of Warmark to doing anything now but try to rush back to Thessa and prepare for a war he would never see.
The sun was about to rise, and he needed to hurry. No sense getting caught out in the light for such a small gratification. He chuckled at the thought of all his plans and years of preparations being undone because of a ray of sunshine. The next few days would prove if he had made the right decisions over the years and trusted the right people. It was unfortunate that some things couldn’t be overseen personally.
Stepping to the large canopy bed, he looked down on the sleeping queen. Zaria hadn’t been the same since he had mutilated her. The poor thing had barely been able to sit in the chapel pew and watch her daughter wed that buffoon. It had warmed his silent heart to see her weep for what he had taken from her.
He ran the back of his cold hand across her cheek. Zaria was still as beautiful as ever, even in such poor health. Petru had never deserved her. The royal healers insisted her condition was improving, and though the queen had some ways to go in her recovery, she would one day be her old self again. Unfortunately, the healer’s prognosis would prove to be quite wrong.
Letting his fangs slide out to their full length, he leaned over the queen and sank his teeth into her neck. His body throbbed and trembled as he gorged himself on her sweet blood. Raising up from his meal, the baron took a small kerchief from his waistcoat and wiped his mouth.
“You do taste good, Zaria, a shame I can’t keep you for myself.” He jerked the pillow from beneath her head and crushed it over the queen’s face. Zaria didn’t resist as he murdered her.
Serban lifted the pillow, and the queen stared up at him with dead eyes. Not a flicker of struggle or a hint of defiance. The baron tossed the pillow back over Zaria’s face with a sneer. The queen was as much a disappointment in death as she had been in life.
* * *
Petru couldn’t believe he had escaped the palace. He was sure Alexis would kill him and Zaria after Mayson left. Now that he knew the undead noble planned to invade Warmark, it was a mystery to him why Mayson still lived. Petru surmised that the baron may have allowed them to live for his own deranged pleasure. The evil thing took great satisfaction in watching others suffer.
Looking across the carriage at Danika, he found his daughter all smiles. She was holding her new husband’s hand and batting her eyes at Henry. King Mayson and Queen Breeda occupied the coach ahead of them along with Prince Eldin. The royal family of Warmark was overjoyed by the marriage. Now that ceremony had finally taken place, they all seemed quite pleased. Before they departed, Breeda had even prodded Danika about when she would give them another heir to the throne. Petru wondered if they would all be so elated when they knew the truth.
As soon as they stopped, and the right time presented itself, he would tell Mayson just what was going on. He wanted to wait until they were a good distance from the palace; there was no since taking any chances. If Serban found out, the bastard would make Zaria suffer for the betrayal. He would just have to swallow his pride and tell Mayson how he had been controlled and coerced for years by the inhuman nobleman. He just hoped the King of Warmark would believe him, and understand there had been no choice but to obey the fiend.
Petru had allowed his wife to be maimed, his son to be blinded, and poor little Pepca was who knew where. He had told his new ally nothing but lies. What would Mayson think? He had smiled and shook the man’s hand while he hid the dark truth. It would be a wonder if his new kinsmen didn’t strike him down for being such a coward.
The best he could hope for was that the powerful monarch would assemble his armies and destroy Serban at whatever the cost was to Trimenia. Yes, he would present it that way. He would offer Mayson some of his lands in the south if he would rid Trimenia of that hell spawn. It appeared that Dimitri was attempting to do resist the vampire in some way. If the baron was right, even blind, his son had managed to succeed in compelling some of Trimenia’s soldiers to join him in whatever the prince had planned. That may aid his cause too. Maybe Mayson would see that not all of his family was as craven as he.
At least now Danika would be safe from the baron’s evil. There was no reason for her to ever return to Trimenia. Petru watched his eldest daughter, so joyful and content. He would wait a day or two before he ruined it. There was nothing Mayson could do while they traveled anyway.
He reached over and patted his Danika on the leg. “Are you happy, kitten?”
Danika smiled like the day he had given her that first pony. “Oh yes, Father. I wish Mother could have made the trip, but I’m so glad you could come. It will be wonderful to have you with me in Thessa.”
“You have a fine woman there, Henry. You should see to it that she is always this happy.”
The Prince of Warmark put his arm around his beautiful bride and smoothed his perfect hair with his other hand. “I intend to do just that, Your Majesty. There is no one I would rather see smile than my new wife.”
Petru sighed. At least after he confessed to Mayson, the whole affair would be over. Hopefully, he could keep his shame from touching Danika. She would be a princess of Warmark now, and her future was secure. His fate however would lie in the hands of King Mayson and his army.
The second night of the journey, they stopped at the Fat Rabbit inn. King Mayson loved the inn’s food and stopped each time he visited Trimenia. He had insisted on breaking their trip there so Danika and Petru could sample the large tavern’s cuisine.
The horses had been unhitched from the royal carriages so they could be fed and watered. Mayson had his guard set up large pavilions for his retainers not fortunate enough to get a bed inside. The inn was big and well-bu
ilt, but only had enough rooms to accommodate the immediate bridal party.
The royal guardsmen set a perimeter around the inn and the handful of brightly colored pavilions to give Mayson’s nobles piece of mind. Even Petru doubted there would be need for such a large number of sentries. The last report he had eavesdropped on had the rebels in the southern forest. Still, it would keep the rich merchants and influential noblemen from complaining about their safety. Nearly fifty had made the trip to Trimenia, and Mayson wanted to try and keep them happy since they had traveled so far to see the prince take his vows.
The innkeeper, a man by the name of Albu, had set them a magnificent feast. The King of Warmark had been right, the inn’s food was delicious. Danika had demanded that everyone celebrate wholeheartedly. Wine and ale flowed heavily, and Mayson even allowed his guardsmen a round. Albu produced a viol player, and his two youngest sons joined in with pair of lutes. Lively music quickly filled the fine tavern as King Mayson’s entourage feasted and made merry into the evening.
Danika and Henry danced the night away. Petru even had a dance with Queen Breeda while her husband clapped like a drunken peasant.
Petru sat on a bench, sweat trickling down his neck from so much drink. He had planned to speak with Mayson after dinner, but he wouldn’t dare interrupt such a wonderful evening with talk of Trimenia’s woes.
Everyone enjoyed themselves late into the night. Half-drunk, Petru finally made his way to his room after most of the revelers had returned to their pavilions to try and sleep off the drink they had consumed. Mayson and his queen shared a room, Henry and Danika another, and he had been saddled with Eldin. The young man had retired before Petru and was already sleeping soundly. Quietly, the king took off his boots and eased under the blankets. The goose-feathered mattress was not uncomfortable and didn’t appear to be buggy. He thought of Zaria as he laid there, his eyes growing heavy. Tomorrow, he would speak to Mayson and the two of them would figure out what to do about Serban.
The Star Of Saree (GODS OF THE FOREVER SEA Book 3) Page 36
