In a city where prestige meant everything, having something others could not was a huge bonus.
Adrian’s entry might harm his reputation, Stephan thought, but he was willing to take the risk. After all, what he planned went beyond intrigue, gossip, and silly status. He was trying to save his realm from ruin, prevent a civil war, ally himself with Athesia while keeping the Parusites happy, all the while gaining himself the title of “emperor.” That went beyond the trifle matter of flair.
“Tell me more,” Stephan goaded.
Adrian winked knowingly. “What I overheard is quite incredible. The rumor will spread faster than gleet among sailors.” He laughed at his own words while Stephan waited patiently. Adrian could take his time getting to the point, like a nervous lover flirting with a chaste girl, but he would eventually get there, with both hands.
Stephan nodded as the servant put his own drink and nibbles in front of him. He reached for a pitted black olive and placed it between his teeth.
“Lady Rheanna has escaped from Pain Daye,” Adrian blurted, too loudly.
Stephan bit into the olive, and almost swallowed involuntarily. Escaped? This was an absolute catastrophe of news. Not because he did not care for the welfare and good health of James’s widow. But because it complicated everything and shattered his own plans and ambitions like thin glass.
“Keep your voice down, friend,” Stephan advised, smiling woodenly. “Where did you get this information? A reliable source?”
Adrian leaned back, but that only meant juggling his fat a little. “Most reliable.”
“Does anyone know this yet?” There would be no way of keeping this secret. But if he had a week head start before the rest of the High Council discovered the story, he could perhaps leverage some of the disaster in his favor.
“Well someone must know. Otherwise, how would they have told me?”
Stephan did not prod. It would be pointless. As far he was concerned, Adrian could use magic to get his knowledge. What mattered was what he should do right now.
“When did it happen?”
Adrian shrugged. “A while back.” He emptied the cup he had slobbered earlier. “No one knows where she is.”
If Stephan were the banker, he would not be showing his face before getting some strong, powerful allies either. Rheanna had kept her distance from the council for a while, only coming back briefly to confirm her employees and partners wouldn’t betray her tust and to make sure the numbers in the books at the year’s end looked right. She had spent some time with her father, toured the city, met some delegates, then gone back to her foreign husband. Not the friendliest gesture to her countrymen and her associates. Then again, she must have bet too much of her luck on the council’s willingness to appease the late emperor, as well as his military strength.
She must be wondering how the High Council would react to her downfall, and to her newly gained freedom. She must be wondering if they had already forgotten her, or maybe sold her out, stricken her out of the ledgers as an unfortunate collateral loss. She could not be certain her brief captivity had not been supported by Eybalen’s finest. After all, Guild Master Sebastian had been the one to hold her hostage.
Or had he?
After all, she did escape. Somehow.
“Do you know the details?”
Adrian was waving at one of the beautiful waitresses. “Well. Kind of. She was being taken to Athesia when her convoy was attacked. They killed the soldiers and got her away. She had some strong support there, and they knew she was coming.”
If a friend gambler asked Stephan where to place his money, he would heap it in favor of Sebastian. He was almost certain the man was involved in some way. He had switched his allegiance rather quickly, albeit after almost being killed by those fools Otis and Melville. But had he remained loyal to Amalia after James’s death? Worse yet, was he playing both sides?
That was what the best gamblers did: spread their coins about, increased their chances of victory.
Or…maybe Sebastian had acted out of necessity. He might have been forced to remain loyal, following Amalia’s brutal take-over in the wake of her brother’s demise. She was rumored to be killing anyone who opposed her, hanging soldiers without regard for her losses, even though she desperately needed every sword and spear against the Parusites.
If not Sebastian, then who? One of his colleagues in the city?
That only made him even more troubled.
He drank wine. Not the best thing for clarity of mind, but the possibilities threatened to obliterate his senses. This was the wrong thing, happening at the wrong time. Just when he was carefully planning to make himself the handsome scapegoat of his nation.
“I do not like this,” he confessed.
Adrian chuckled, wine coming out of his nostrils. “I thought you liked gambling. How about a wager?”
Stephan wondered if his friend might not be less drunk than he let show. Or maybe he had grown used to thinking with his brain steeped in expensive wines. “What did you have in mind?”
“Your guess when Lady Rheanna shows herself, and who with as her supporters.”
The waitress was back again, all pearly teeth and honest eyes. “Would you honor us for dinner, my lords?”
Stephan was normally always polite to beautiful women. But he waved her away, maybe too brusquely. If she felt offended, she never showed it, just glided seductively away.
“A thousand gold pieces?”
Adrian nodded, wet lips pursed, with red bubbles of wine in the corners. “Sebastian.”
Stephan gritted his teeth. He would have to name someone else now. “Not him. Someone else.”
Then, just like during the council meeting in the harbor, another name popped into his mind.
Another worthy candidate.
The safest bet is no bet. If you must choose a side, choose yourself. He remembered the words of the notorious card player Tielo, a man who, according to legend, had never once bluffed in a game. But that was just risky, too risky. Shit. He was not thinking straight. He was reacting, improvising, responding to his fears. That was the wrong way to plan his future.
She already has an ally, he realized. Someone who would risk everything to get her free. Someone who valued her freedom more than peace and unity in Caytor. There was a dangerous, unknown party already involved, and they might not like Stephan’s idea.
Adrian was expecting more, but Stephan kept his mouth shut, mind swimming. “What happens now?”
“You will try to keep this story quiet for a while, as a personal favor to me.” Stephan tapped the invitation card. “I will try to figure something out.”
“What will Empress Amalia do?” Adrian asked. He was trying yet another wine sample.
Stephan steepled his fingers, touching his forehead, rolling the invisible dice of options in front of his eyes, hardly seeing his fat colleague. He was wondering how the empress would react. You could never really know what desperate people might do. After all, half her troops were Caytoreans. If Sebastian abandoned her, and Rheanna declared against her, that would mean open war. That alone might push her into seeking peace with the Parusites or turning to Eracia for help. That would mean Athesia would never become Caytorean land again. And if she survived this turmoil, she would make sure Caytor paid heavily. Ruined trade, lost wealth.
Which meant Lady Rheanna had to be found and controlled. Steered in the right direction. Made to understand the situation and accept the right choices. It seemed there was no escaping the inevitable. Stephan would be forced to get involved.
One empress or another, what’s the difference? At least he knew Rheanna and what she could do. Amalia was an unpredictable, unruly child who had ruined her father’s peace. She threatened everything.
He was leaping into the distant future, caressing options so vague they were thinner than mist. If he could somehow convince Rheanna to stand by Amalia, despite their differences, he would forge a powerful alliance. He would be able to influence the
Parusites and, better yet, his own council.
Opportunities are problems in disguise, he remembered. A Blackwood quote. Or was it Askel?
“I must ask you for a favor, Adrian,” he said. “You must find Rheanna. You must.”
Adrian reached over and snagged an olive from Stephan’s platter. “I can try my best.”
Stephan wondered if he should offer an extra incentive. Yes, why not. It always paid off to be nice to your friends. “I guess I could find some handsome investments in your businesses after we conclude this affair.”
Adrian munched loudly. “Indeed. I was fancying taking over the fish markets.”
“How does that work with your other commerce? Fish and paint?”
The fat man shrugged. “It’s always something I fancied.”
Stephan noted the future debt. “That can be arranged.” Then, he remembered something else. Sebastian had been writing to him, gladly sharing information. Now, though, he doubted everything he had read in the man’s letters, his interpretation of political situations, his intentions, everything. “I will also need to know who owns Sebastian’s loyalty.”
Adrian waved for a waitress again, pointing at all the empty glasses in front of him. “How about some food? I’m hungry. I want lampreys.”
Stephan did not relish any snaky things. He wanted an honest, simple meal. “I will probably order roast lamb and goose liver medallions.” No, he must not be derailed now. “Make sure you find out about Sebastian’s intentions.”
“If he keeps his head after all this.” True, Amalia might decide he should join the long list of councillors and guild members who had thought they could manipulate Adam’s offspring and found themselves short of a head. “Darling,” Adrian cooed at the woman.
She listened to their choices, pouted prettily, and retreated. Both of them stared after her, unable to help themselves. Strange, Stephan thought, that even in the most complex life situations, a man’s brain would always spare a moment to appreciate a nice body. He had almost expected to find such fine poetry in Blackwood’s books, but the man was silent on the affair of rumps and eyes and danger.
As they waited for their dinner, the waitress came with a dozen tiny delicacies to whet their appetite. She was helped by a flock of other women just as charming and seductive as she. The house had earned its reputation well. It amazed him every time.
Adrian was busy drinking new wines, so Stephan spent another moment pondering the boiling situation in Caytor. He realized he should probably hire a few mercenaries, just to be on the safe side. He had never really retained any killers, but it looked as if he ought to now.
That was part of his dilemma. Should he wait in Eybalen? Rheanna might come back to the city. After all, she had all her assets here. She had her connections, her customers, maybe some friends. Then, if she returned, she could find herself surrounded by a thousand smiling enemies. Pain Daye was definitely lost to her, unless…unless Sebastian was her secret ally. That might also make sense. Late Emperor James had made himself the famous young ruler there and won the hearts of half the Caytorean society. Perhaps they loved his widow equally well.
He wished he knew what she really planned. She had come so close to getting Athesia back through the simple matter of marriage. No bloodshed, no treachery, just that womanly persistence that wore at rocks better than a hammer. Just like himself, it had all slipped from her fingers in one bitter moment of misfortune. He could imagine her cursing her bad luck, just like he had cursed the unfortunate fall of Roalas and the death of Commander Gerald.
They both could have been heroes. They both could have wed Athesia back into its rightful clutch. And they both had been betrayed by ill timing. Perhaps if they worked together…
Adaption was a businessman’s sharpest tool. As an investor, he had to be ready to discard rotten deals and embrace new ones without losing stride. In one breath, with cold, calculated professionalism. That was what all this was. He had considered trying to win Amalia’s heart. But now, he had an even better candidate. In fact, he wouldn’t be ruling out any option. Rheanna, Amalia, they were both pretty, rich, and powerful.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re planning?” Adrian asked.
Stephan wondered if his face had betrayed too much. “Not yet, friend. Suffice to say, I have some ambitious designs ahead of me.”
“Worth another bet?”
Stephan smiled. Why not? “Definitely.” The food arrived, steamy, spicy, and arranged with grace on expensive porcelain platters. He stole a glance at a pale cleavage before the woman straightened up. “Another thousand.” For a moment, he remembered his games with Duke Vincent.
“And what is it that you’re going to do?”
Stephan wondered how to phrase it. He wanted it to sound grand. Bookworthy. Then again, he did not want to reveal too much. There was always a risk speaking your mind freely around drunk people, even someone like Adrian.
“Get Athesia back,” he stated.
His friend did not seem impressed. “So why bet only a thousand?”
Stephan forked a succulent piece of lamb. “Any more than that would just be showing off.”
CHAPTER 12
Riding in a carriage was even worse than parading through Roalas on horseback. As a boy, Sergei would often hurt too much from his father’s beatings to endure sitting inside a coach for hours, bouncing up and down. Then, as a young prince, no longer worried about King Vlad whipping his backside bloody, he had been forced to grow beyond the measure of his years and prove his worth, and that meant saddling up with Vasiliy’s retainers and joining them on the raids into the Red Desert. For the better part of his life, he had lived on horseback, ruling at saddle height above his subjects.
He would have loved going to Keron riding with a thousand men at his flanks. However, old Theo was not vigorous enough for the task. So he sat inside a large, lavish royal carriage, enjoying the view of the world through a small curtained rectangle, the inside gently reeking of decay and bad teeth. Strange how every old person had that, no matter how rich or noble.
Leaving Roalas to meet this Gavril was a delicate task, with a powerful message. Some might mistake it for a weakness, but it was the exact opposite. Sergei could have used pride for a weapon, but he did not recall any one ruler getting any wiser that way. Then again, bringing the holy man and his followers into the city felt a little too much like the nomad overtaking of Somar. He did not want to be remembered as the second king to lose his head by inviting his enemies over within the span of one year. Leopold would have an exclusive privilege to the claim.
The only thing that really bothered him was the carriage.
Yesterday, he had departed from Roalas, arrived in Keron with the first evening stars, and lodged there, fully aware of the presence of an army of thirty thousand men just a short distance away. The city officials had gone out of their way to accommodate him, frightened and delighted in equal measures. Now, he was making the last leg of the journey to meet the holy man.
He was wondering what he might do if things went wrong. What if the holy man decided to usurp the ruler, right there, right then? His soldiers were well trained to protect him, but there was only so much they could do against a whole army of followers. Even though the secret and shame of that sad incident had died with Vlad the Fifth, Sergei could not guarantee the patriarchs had truly forgiven the royal bloodline.
He wasn’t their favorite champion. They might simply have conspired to get rid of him.
There were close to a thousand souls in his retinue, though, mostly fully armed heavy cavalry, with crossbows and lances. His three squires were all there, bearing standards. The royal guard rode around the carriage, both Borya and Vitya among them. For the sake of national peace, he had even allowed a hundred Athesian soldiers to join the procession, riding at the back. This was their chance to prove their loyalty.
At that moment, Sergei wished he were back home, with his wife and children. He missed them. Sometimes, he stru
ggled to recall the faces of his sons, and he wondered how much they had grown in the past two summers. He wanted to consult with Vasiliy, to hear his wisdom and his sound, practical advice. Well, he could just keep on riding, to Copper Astar, Bridgen, Corama, and then enter Sigurd. That would mean abandoning this war and, worse, leaving Sasha in charge. He was almost certain she would turn the victory into butchery. She would probably stop only after burying the last of the Athesians at the far northern border, and maybe a few unlucky Caytoreans, too, if they made the wrong choice of being around.
That would mean Vlad having died in vain. That would mean so many bad, sad things. So he had to endure his pain and longing and focus on completing this sorry campaign. It was true what the ballads said. The longer the battle went on, the more desperate people grew. In turns, they just chose worse options still, perpetuating everybody’s misery.
His impulse called for giving up. So he knew he had to fight on, hard, making difficult choices.
“You look pensive, Your Highness,” Theo remarked. His face said it all; he had seen all there was to rulers and their qualms and doubts and intrigues, and he was not impressed.
“Pensive?” Sergei snorted. “I am exhausted.”
“Well, perhaps today you will find peace,” the old man added.
Or more bloodshed, Sergei thought. He considered saying something witty, but Genrik followed in the second coach, so there would be no one to scribble his wisdom. He closed his lips tight, leaned back, and let the road bumps jab against his shoulder blades.
It wasn’t long before the procession halted. Matvey dismounted, came back, and held the carriage door open for him. Sergei stepped out, stretching. His eyes took a moment adjusting to the sunlight, and then he gazed to the left and saw the massive, sprawling city that worshipped the holy man Gavril.
Not that long ago, he had led a daring charge deep into Athesia, with men pursuing the enemy day and night so they would not have any time to regroup or warn their comrades about the invasion. He remembered the Athesian defeat in Keron, quick and brutal. Villages had burned, people had lain in the fields, killed by an endless, boiling wave of troops. His men would not even stop to pillage; they just kept moving north.
The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) Page 12
