The Spoils of Allsveil: Dark Heart Heroes #2

by S. N. McKibben

  “Yeah, Paul, get it right. Tyilasuir.”

  My hate bloomed to a full loathing of everything Darrin. He’d been able to say my name flawlessly the first time. That only fueled my desire for vengeance.

  Paul bowed to Darrin and gave an ungracious smile. “As you say, my prince.”

  That wiped Darrin’s smile clean off with an extra dose of soap-root. Paul, my newly endeared enemy, turned back to us. “Lady Aighta Tylasir, may I present Prince Darrin Goththor, heir to the White Hawk, son of Aiden Goththor.”

  Mother pulled me close and gripped my arm so tight my fingers tingled. If she hadn’t let go so quickly I might have lost my arm from lack of blood. “This is Princess Alexia Tyilasuir. King Fieron Tyilasuir’s only daughter.”

  Paul’s eyes flicked to Mother and he gave her a slight nod.

  Darrin rose from the chair. He looked pained. Good. “Well, now that we know each other, your new lord and master awaits.”

  Nanna stepped over to me, taking my other arm in a death grip. “Hopefully, the father is not as abrasive as the son.” Nanna’s tenacious rasp cut through our whispers. Mother glared at Nanna, but Nanna never shied away from a contest of will.

  A line of soldiers escorted us out of Nanna’s rooms and into the hallway. Where before the halls were empty, now soldiers hulked about. They took no care as to what broke. The glass sculptures, the priceless art, the best of our people all became loot.

  “What are they doing?” I said.

  “Plundering.” Nanna scowled at one man shoving a glass chalice in a sack. He went for another item and I cringed at the sound of shattering glass muffled by burlap. That was one of the artisan glassblower’s finest gifts to Mother. I knew she loved it.

  “Fool,” Nanna said under her breath.

  Men roamed everywhere. No room was without soldiers grabbing anything and everything they could. My heart burned all the more.

  We were escorted to the dining hall, where we had our meals most nights. It was the largest room in the castle because father wanted to…had wanted to…dine with servants and nobles alike, right alongside each other. Every man was a jewel, he said. Fascinated by the “colors” each person reflected, Father had wanted to know them all. He had wanted to soak in their knowledge, their creativeness. But even with my father’s geniality, I did not wonder why he could not get along with the sullen, stern, forbidding chunk of a man that now sat in my father’s chair. If I were on the battlefield with my king, this one would be dead. Cold gray eyes assessed Mother. I expected him to ask, “How much for the sow?”

  I’d never met King Goththor, but this man was a king, no doubt—his air overconfident, comfortable with everyone looking to him. But he also looked devoid of any love. His eyes were hard. Much like the glaze of death I saw in soldiers’ eyes after battle. Straussler, our man-at-arms, warned me of men like this one. I didn’t believe one could be soulless. The king of Dreshall proved me wrong. His eyes skated away from Mother and I felt the stone in my belly lift.

  Paul nodded. “Lady Aighta Tillyasuir of Allsveil, may I present to you—”

  “Aiden Goththor,” my mother finished. “We’ve met.”

  Darrin strode up to his father, pushed a chair out with his foot, and fell into the seat. A tiny spark of life lit up in the king’s eyes when Darrin joined him.

  “Your king is dead, and your people still fight,” King Goththor said. “Call in your men-at-arms.”

  “I’ve given you my ring and my word, what more do you need?” Mother clasped her hands.

  “Which Paul showed your commander,” King Goththor’s cold gaze remained on my mother. “He thought you were dead and fought all the more.” He’d said it more as a threat than fact. As if Mother had given them the ring to set a trap in motion.

  Darrin leaned over and whispered in his father’s ear. King Goththor grunted and said, “We’ll find him.”

  Straussler, head of the Black Knights, was still alive. He had to be. A Black Knight would not surrender. They would avenge. All eyes stared at Mother, who said nothing. The span of silence grew. King Goththor flicked a finger and a guard pulled Emvery through.

  Leaning toward Mother, King Goththor said, “If you want your maid to live, tell them to stand down.”

  I grabbed Mother’s hand. Emvery trembled, fear in her eyes, but she didn’t speak a word.

  “Father,” Darrin leaned forward. “Hasn’t there been enough for one day?”

  The words didn’t remove that cold, dead mask on King Goththor’s face. Instead he ignored his son and gave the signal, a raised thumb, to slit Emvery’s throat. The soldier holding Emvery flicked a knife from his palm and brought the sharp edge to Emvery’s neck.

  “Wait!” I stepped forward. Emvery’s eyes popped out.

  “Alexia,” Mother whispered. I ignored her. The gray, lifeless eyes of a king who no longer cared for much other than himself stared at me.

  “Blow the horn four times,” I said.

  “And you are?”

  Paul cleared his throat. “Sire, may I present Princess Alexia Tyilsure.”

  Darrin snorted. “Keep trying, Paul.”

  King Goththor did not look amused with his son or his commander. “And what will happen if the horn is blown four times?”

  “The people will know that we’ve yielded and they will retreat.”

  The golden eye of the hawk on King Goththor’s breastplate flashed. He glanced at Paul. The man-at-arms bowed and walked behind the row of chairs at the long table to the end of the room. A large horn spanned the wide window. Its pipe tapered from the mouthpiece and was long as a man was tall. My spine went rigid. For an enemy, Paul seemed a decent man. It would be painful to watch him convulse and die when his lips touched metal.

  An arm twirled me around, a sharp blade pressed upon my neck. Mother yelled but I couldn’t see her. “What aren’t you telling me?” King Goththor whispered in my ear. “Tell me now, or you and the maid die.”

  “Poison, the mouthpiece is poisoned.” But only to those not immune to the drug. Father had bested an enemy by the same tactic.

  “Paul, stop.” The king’s baritone boomed down the dining room. I staggered as the pressure around my neck relaxed abruptly. King Goththor sprawled back into my father’s throne and glared death at me. His eyes glinted dire threat if I defied him again. The soldiers around me echoed his expression, disdain painted across their features. I held my neck. Red, sticky fluid coated my fingers.

  “Clever.” King Goththor smirked wickedly. His eyes found my mother. “You have another mouthpiece? Or is that even the method?”

  Mother nodded. “Four blasts will halt the fighting.”

  “You do it.” King Goththor stared at me. “If things go well, I’ll let your mother live.”

  I could hear the lie. But it was my mother’s life. I looked to her. With a pause, and her reserve back in place, she nodded once. I paraded down the hall with my head lifted, past Paul and to the horn. The closer I came to the window, the more I could hear the shouts of men, the ringing of steel; our forces were still fighting. All for naught. I could only hope the invader on my father’s throne would keep to his word.

  “Stop,” King Goththor said. “You don’t dally to your death, do you, child?”

  I whirled around. “What does it matter to you?” Before anyone could stop me, I blew four times. Outside, the fighting slowed. The clatter of swords dropped on stone rang in the air. Goththor’s people called out, my people shouted in surrender. The stench of death that had surrounded us for months still lingered, but the battle was over. I turned around, walked back to my mother, and stood next to her.

  “You’re still alive.” Darrin smiled. He had the kind of smile a girl could swoon over, but he would not win me.

  “The Tyilasuir family is immune.” My prim voice did me proud.

  “Or maybe it’s not poisoned,” Darrin said.

  “Want to try it for yourself?”

  Darrin waved a hand. “Oh no, you did
a fine job. A surprise to see such a talented horn-blower.”

  Soldiers around me laughed. Confused, I frowned and looked to Mother. She gave me a stern look that told me to say nothing. Still…I expected to die anyway. “I could teach you, although you might do better if you used your other end.”

  Paul snorted but regained himself. Some of the soldiers snickered. Darrin flushed and frowned. Mother grabbed my arm. “That’s enough.”

  It was slow in coming, but King Goththor started to cackle. “Fiery like my Bridgette, that one.”

  The soldiers went silent. Paul gave me a very sad look—a look you’d give a favorite goose before the hatchet went down on its neck. Chills ran down my spine. I’d forgotten about the stories of King Goththor. For every laugh of his, another dies. Was he truly that mad?

  Still chortling, King Goththor said, “Take them back to their rooms. Make sure they’re comfortable.”

  At his command, we were escorted out of the room.

  2 - Goththor

  After a gods-be-damned morning it was a gods-be-damned night. In a place called Allsveil, there sure wasn’t any food around. Darrin, heaven bless him, sat at my right and blathered on about his mother enough to make me want to ask him if he harbored unnatural desires for her. But today was his day. He’d saved me from death at the hands of another king. How many fathers could say that about their sons? In his honor, I held my tongue.

  Not soon enough, the doors opened and carts rolled in. The smell of savory duck wafted in with the platters. There didn’t look to be enough for me, Darrin, Paul, and my twenty guards.

  “Where’s the mare and foal?” I demanded. Etiquette and manners had their place and after the months of travel and war, it was time to reestablish both. Aighta Tyilasuir was nothing like my Bridgette. Not now, and not when we were young. But I wondered what could have been if I’d never met Bridgette. I’d never regret Brie but...

  The doors opened again and the erstwhile contender to Bridgette entered calm as a lazy wind on the plains. Aighta came forward carrying herself as a lady of her house should. Any layman would dismiss her quiet spirit as docile subservience. But I am not a layman. A king does not rule for long if he doesn’t understand the way of men and of ladies. Aighta came because the only power she had now was negotiation. Behind her trailed her daughter. Like her mother, she adorned black hair and dark eyes with olive skin. A lovely filly, but with as much fire and condescension as my wife. In my earlier years, I’d have found her challenging. The older I got, the more I enjoyed quiet strength.

  “Ever the noble mare I remember.” Pointing to the chair of honor on my left, I said, “Sit.”

  Aighta sat and her daughter followed. That filly would have the same manner as her mother eventually, but she was still a spirited one. Lady Tyilasuir sat with the grace of a queen. Nothing unruffled. Everything in its place.

  “So nice to have us for our last meal.” The filly spoke.

  Yes, quite the spirit. “You feel as if you have nothing to lose, my pubescent mite, but you’re wrong,” I said. Quaint. The little filly was going to argue, but her mother turned and I was sure her daughter received the Aighta stare. Even I was shamed by Aighta’s scolding in times past.

  “You’re here by my will and we have terms to discuss,” I said.

  Aighta turned to me. Such a cruelty to see soft eyes weighted with the responsibility of a kingdom. The outside world knew only of her grace…but I knew all of Aighta. A crafty one with words, she’d use everything she had to protect her own. A trait to admire and a weakness to exploit.

  “Under the terms of surrender, I am your prisoner. What do you propose?” Her eyes touched the glacier that once had been my heart.

  “Lady Aighta—”

  She cut my words off with a raised hand and closed eyes. The familiarity of calling her by her first name came so easy, I’d forgotten we were no longer friends. I would not be fooled again by her acquiescence. She held the fire of revenge steady. But I knew her motivation was keeping her heir safe.

  “I no longer know you, King Goththor.” Aighta’s words seared me when I’d thought Bridgette had frozen my core.

  Because I was unable to convince my queen of Dreshall that I was not a ruthless bastard, and was not leading wars to stay away from her, she’d become frigid. I’d followed my love into the ice water of querulousness. I stabbed the meat before me, my food receiving the brunt of my frustration, and shoved a chunk of duck in my mouth before I could utter, “No, but you’re going to know me better than before.”

  “Father,” Darrin cast a worried eye over me. “You need to wait till the food is tested. They have poison.”

  I waved a hand and grunted at my men waiting. “Eat. Eat.” I occupied my dead enemy’s home, sat at his table. I wasn’t going to wait the extra time to see if the tasters died. It’d been ten minutes already. The gods-be-damned food was getting cold. Aighta ate only what was necessary not to seem rude.

  “Your horn signal stopped the fighting but didn’t bring the builders back.” Despite Aighta’s comment about not knowing me, she would understand my intent.

  “I have no command over them to come back,” Aighta said.

  I chewed and swallowed. “Your people have shown great loyalty to you and your family. If you asked they would come.”

  “In Allsveil, the monarchy doesn’t rule over its people. I have no power to bring them back.”

  For Aighta, this was a matter of pride. She would not betray her people—nor would her people betray her. That said, I could use such loyalty. Plenty of people betrayed their own for survival, but I’d yet to meet any mother who could betray one person above all others—their child. I sneered at the filly sitting in front of her untouched plate, blatant in her defiance.

  “Lady Alexia Tyilasuir, are you afraid your meal is poisoned?” I stabbed at the carcass of a bird in front of me. Without a word, the filly picked up her fork and pushed her food around. Food going to waste was as bad as a life going to waste. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.” I reached over Aighta for her daughter’s plate.

  Aighta smacked my arm. A woman’s idea of a physical reprimand was not strong enough to halt my reach and I secured the food to my side of the table.

  “Rude brute!” Aighta said. “Brie has taught you nothing of manners.”

  Time-old habits condensed the years between us. I was seventeen again, vying for the attention of two women. Memory made me smile. “I’m hungry,” I said. “And she’s not going to eat it.”

  My smile disappeared as soon as it appeared. Our shared past would not mend our current arguments. The mood soured as the moment cantered by and my heart longed for removal of its burdens. One of those burdens was the pair next to me. How would I politically position myself so that Aighta and her daughter could live? My men and my people saw me as a ruthless bastard. The time had come to change that. Fear prevented wars, but tyranny caused rebellion. The balance of peace required a king to walk between severity and mercy in perfect amounts.

  For the rest of the dinner I ate and thought. The people of Allsveil would not trust me, but if an alliance were struck the people might listen. I wanted to go home with the victory of new wealth and resources for Dreshall. This entire war had begun because Allsveil created a dam, restricting Dreshall’s only water source. We tore the dam down, they rebuilt it, until finally they built the dam inside their walls and no amount of negotiation satisfied either party. But gaining this city had cost its own fortitude. The walls and buildings needed repairs. Allsveil was prosperous and it needed to remain that way. So many goods and advancements originated here that it was clear the people had an advantage. Allsveil’s failure to repel me lay in the people’s neglect of the arts of war and their overreliance on their nearly impenetrable city wall. Yet they forged the strongest metal I’d seen. They mined the largest jewels in the land. Their ingenuity in new applications of old ideas far surpassed any other city.

  Allsveil possessed something, but I co
uldn’t put my finger on what exactly. Only the blind would overlook the people and their drive for profitability. I wanted an alliance, not war. I could not pass up the opportunity to make that alliance permanent. Washing down the remnants of duck in my throat with lager, I intended to find out what that “something” was and turned to Aighta. “Your people are steadfast, down to the lowest peasant.”

  “We have no peasants here.” The filly spoke. “Everyone has a detail even if they don’t choose one.”

  My eyes met the daughter’s and I held the gaze. “These are my terms. I want a guaranteed alliance between Allsveil and Dreshall.” I glanced back at Aighta. “I want access to your goods—your trade, water, lumber, cloth, new advancements. Your engineers will teach mine how to build a gods-be-damned wall like the one that held my forces at bay for over three months. Your people will repair the city. You will give free access to anyone from Dreshall.”

  Silence. I waited. My patience was met with more silence. I leaned back in my chair.

  “What guarantee do you propose?” Aighta held her stomach.

  Those deep-set eyes looked past me and on to Darrin. My son was a fine specimen of a man.

  Strong. Proven in battle. Intelligent. Perhaps not as ambitious as I’d like, but I never felt he was aching for my crown. I could think of no more amiable a companion to weather the storm from a filly such as Aighta’s daughter. “A pact between my son and your daughter,” I said.

  Darrin choked on his lager. Aighta closed her eyes as if the blow could be thwarted by the refusal of reality. The filly sat bolt upright. “In no way will I bond with that…”

  “Hush!” Aighta stood and faced her daughter. The filly’s young face, but mature expression, twisted in malice and pain. Her calculating eyes warned me this might not be the best course to take. I glanced over at my son and wondered if he anticipated my actions. He caught my eye and with a solemn determined nod, he’d said he agreed with me but wasn’t happy about it.

  “I will make the pact with your son.” Aighta turned to me.