Baron of Blood (Dawning Era Saga)

by C. N. Faust

  “Exactly!” Nicholas leaned forward, excited to have someone share his theory. “And I would take great pains to do so, I assure you!”

  The carriage rolled to a stop. The groomsman dismounted from his place beside the driver and opened the door, bowing deeply.

  “Azrael’s eyes, but I’m famished,” Ivan said. “I don’t know about you, but I just rode seven hours to see you.”

  “I’m flattered,” Nicholas said, smiling and laughing. Ivan smiled back and stepped out of the carriage. Nicholas hesitated before getting out, noticing that Arodi was sitting in the corner of the carriage, his cheeks so pale they were downright green.

  “Are you all right, my love?” he asked gently, softly, so that no one else could hear. Arodi didn’t respond. Nicholas reached forward and touched him on the shoulder, and Arodi jerked, looking up – startled.

  “Nicholas!” he caught himself, and then swallowed hard, straightening in his seat. “Yes, I’m fine, really.” He struggled with a smile. “I’m all right.”

  Nicholas regarded him somewhat doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Arodi nodded. Nicholas snatched his wrist and brought Arodi’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of his fingers.

  Arodi muttered and then leaned forward, catching a chaste kiss on the lips. Nicholas held him for a long minute, deepening the kiss with his tongue, before finally pulling away.

  “I don’t like all of this talk of war,” Arodi whispered.

  “I know,” Nicholas said, touching his servant’s cheek. “But if we want our freedom, we have to fight for it. We’re not going to get it any other way.” With those words, he stepped out of the carriage. Arodi was slow to follow.

  Chapter Three

  “I don’t like him,” Arceia said bitterly. It was the middle of the night, and sleep had eluded her for too many hours to the point where she had just given up on it altogether. She lounged on her bed, wrapped up in furs and satins, and shivered despite the modest fire.

  “Nicholas?” Elise asked, not looking up from her work. It was an educated guess on anybody’s part. She sat by the fireplace, keeping it in attendance. The poker was propped up against her chair, and she grabbed the end of it every now and then, leaning over to give the burning logs a good stir. She was working endlessly on her embroidery. She had switched out the satin; it had gone from black to rose pink. The chrysanthemums were still gold.

  “Yes, but no,” Arceia said with a sigh. “Ivan Clieous, I can’t stand that man!”

  “Nicholas seems to think well of him,” Elise said absently, searching for her tiny silver knife to snip the thread. Arceia snorted and didn’t deign to reply.

  Arceia sighed threw shapely white legs over the side of her bed, shivering as her delicate feet touched the stone floor. Elise was being useless, in her opinion. She wished someone would commiserate with her on her hatred of Ivan Clieous. Was she the only one who saw what a wretched character he really was-?

  The quiet was interrupted by the cracking of brush and twigs, followed by a sharp curse. Arceia’s heart leapt into her throat, though she was more startled than scared.

  “Milady,” Elise said, pulling her needle through the satin. “I think someone is outside your window.”

  “Or trying to be,” Arceia placed a hand on the sill, using her other hand to clutch her blanket. She leaned over the edge and glanced down, trying to make out the misshapen little bundle that was just a blot on the snow several feet below. A smile touched Arceia’s lips. “It is he,” she said.

  Elise nodded, and began to gather her embroidery, brushing smudges of soot off her skirt as she stood.

  “Will you be needing anything else, my lady?” she asked, pausing to give the fire one good last stir.

  “No,” Arceia composed herself, pulling away from the window and trying to assume an impenetrable mask. “No, thank you, Elise, but I shall not need anything else.”

  Elise curtsied sweetly and swept out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  Arceia dropped the blanket from around her shoulders. She began searching wildly for her dress, and finally settled on a black velvet robe lined with soft red satin. Arceia lunged for her dressing table, grabbing up the silver comb and yanking it through her hair. She checked her appearance in the tiny handheld mirror. Presentable – tousled enough to look surprised but not unruly. Perfect.

  By the time she was finished, Remphan had already reached the windowsill and was cursing under his breath as he climbed over. “Damn thorns,” he muttered under his breath. “Azrael’s eyes, my knees! I’m getting too old for this kind of romancing.” With that, he swung both legs over the sill and went toppling gracelessly into the room.

  “My lord?” Arceia asked crisply, feigning indignance and surprise. “Is there some possibly honorable reason for inviting yourself into a lady’s chambers at this hour? And having entered in such an unethical way!”

  “Nay, your ladyship,” Remphan said, standing and struggling to catch his breath. “I can assure you my intentions are entirely ignoble.”

  Arceia smiled. “I thought you weren’t due to arrive for some time?”

  “Tomorrow, actually,” Remphan confirmed, adjusting the strip of silk over his missing eye. “But I wanted to see you first.”

  Arceia’s smile widened as he held out his arms for an embrace, and she folded into them, sighing happily.

  “Remphan,” she muttered into his chest. “I’ve so much to tell you.”

  “Ha – I should say!” Remphan laughed. “What is all of this I hear about a bairn, hm? You – a pregnant woman! Tell me, did Nicholas finally deliver?”

  “You already know?”

  “I suspect it’s common knowledge as far as Madrigal, by now.” Remphan said.

  “It’s not Nicholas,” Arceia said, her blush deepening.

  The color seemed to drain from Remphan’s face. “Then-?”

  “Yours,” Arceia whispered, and corrected, “ours.”

  Remphan slipped off his hat and ran his fingers through thick brown hair. “Us – a baby-“ he laughed. “Me – a father – again – I’ll be damned.”

  “Muriel wouldn’t be very happy if she found out,” Arceia observed.

  “Good thing that she won’t,” Remphan said, and stroked her chin. “But I doubt she would care if she did.”

  “Nicholas knows,” Muriel said.

  “Does he know it’s mine?” Remphan cocked his head to one side.

  “No…”

  “Better that he doesn’t, then,” Remphan slipped his hands through the gap in Arceia’s wardrobe, fondling her breasts, running his thumbs over the soft nipples. “He would string me up from the rafters by my toes, more than likely.” He leaned in to kiss her. “But enough about Nicholas.”

  Chapter Four

  The morning sun peeked through the slits in the heavy drapes that shrouded Arceia’s window and kept out most of the draft. Remphan rubbed his eyes, not wanting to crawl out of Arceia’s warm bed and face the brutally cold dawn.

  Remphan pulled the fur blankets up over his head, burrowing into the little pocket of warmth he had created for himself. Arceia had moved, but that was fine with him. He barely noticed.

  It wasn’t seconds later that the blanket was whipped away from his head and the drapes were pulled away from the window. A b last of merciless cold assaulted him ruthlessly, accompanied by a waterfall of ice cold water than landed on his head.

  “Get up!” Arceia urged him, waving the porcelain vase in her hands at him. “You have to get out before someone finds you!”

  “Damn it, woman!” Remphan roared, leaping out of bed and grabbing the blanket, hauling it around his shoulders.

  “Not so long!” Arceia chided.

  “Let the whole damn castle hear!” he exclaimed loudly, rushing over the fireplace and kneeling down on the fur rug, shivering. “Are you trying to kill me, what?”

  “You sleep like a log,” Arceia said defensively. “And you need
to get out of here quickly! What if Nicholas sees?”

  “Nicholas hasn’t graced your bedroom in a good half a decade, I doubt he’s going to start now just because I’m here,” Remphan rubbed his arms underneath the fur blanket, and shook droplets of water from his hair. “Bring me my eye patch, will you?”

  Arceia nodded towards Elise, who set down her wooden bucket and wiped her fingers on her skirt. The maidservant located the black silk and, unfolding it gingerly, offered to tie it around Remphan’s head.

  “No,” He waved her away. “I’ll do it.” He grabbed the silk and wrapped it around his eyeless lid. It was nothing more than a patch of skin stretched over a dark cavern. He tied it tightly around his head and shivered again, though the fire was warming him slightly.

  “When are you expected?” Arceia asked, kneeling next to him. She offered him a goblet of warm wine, which he accepted gratefully.

  “Noon, I think,” he said as he sipped from the goblet. “Gods be praised, I love this stuff.”

  “You’re freezing,” she kissed his dripping cheek. “You’ll catch your death a cold.”

  “It will be your fault, for dumping half a gallon of ice water on my head!” he snorted.

  “Elise did that,” Arceia smirked.

  “It was probably your idea,” Remphan shivered for emphasis. “Aye, aye, I see how it goes. The cock is used for all he’s worth and then the hen throws him out into the yard!”

  “It serves you right, to get a taste of your own medicine,” Arceia said. “I’ve no pity for you.”

  “It was damn well worth a try, wasn’t it?” Remphan stared glumly at the window. “You mean I have to go back out there?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she said, stroking his hair. “At least you’ll have the snow to cushion your fall.”

  “And the brambles,” Remphan said with memory of the night before. “I swear that’s all we can grow in this damned country. Black brambles!”

  “That’s only if you fall,” Arceia cooed.

  “When,” Remphan sighed. “I fell last night, too, and it’s a hell of a lot harder going down than it is up. You need to invest in some ivy. That would give me something to cling to.”

  “It couldn’t be ivy,” Arceia said innocently. “Only black brambles.”

  “Damn,” Remphan cursed. “I’d take my chance on the icy stone first!”

  “As soon as you’ve eaten,” Arceia kissed him on the cheek, lingeringly. “I had Elise sneak some breakfast up from the kitchen.”

  “I won’t die on an empty stomach, Azrael favors me so.” Remphan murmured as he shifted position, so that he was sitting cross-legged. “All right, my treasure, I’ll go.”

  “Breakfast first,” Arceia nodded to Elise, who produced a bowl of hot oatmeal, some bread, and some spiced apples. Remphan accepted the offerings gratefully and immediately tore off a hunk of the bread, scooping up his oatmeal with it and shoving the concoction into his mouth hungrily.

  “Aren’t you missing your own breakfast?” he asked, tearing off another piece.

  “I’m late,” Arceia shrugged delicate ivory shoulders. “Nicholas won’t care.”

  “He’s too busy chatting up Ivan, I suppose,” Remphan scooped up another mouthful of oatmeal. Using his fingers, he plucked one of the apple slices from a bowl and popped it into his mouth. “Those two always struck me as having a fancy for one another. But of course, I’m no judge.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Arceia said dryly.

  There was a pause as Remphan polished off his breakfast. Once he had finished he rose and allowed the blanket to fall from his shoulders as he sought out the rest of his clothes.

  “I’ll see you soon, my love,” he told her, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing her deeply.

  “Be careful,” she told him, when they parted. “Don’t break anything.”

  “That would be suspicious, wouldn’t it? Ah well,” Remphan chuckled, and placed on foot on the windowsill. “Wish me the gods’ favor!”

  * * *

  Ivan could have whined, begged, pleaded with, or blackmailed Nicholas. But in the end, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He would still have to go to Morning Prayer. It wouldn’t be proper if Nicholas were to attend without his guest. And it wouldn’t be proper for Ivan to refuse to go, either. And if there was anything the people of Drakkian Province needed now more than ever, it was the sight of the two men that they were supposed to be supporting.

  “But just because I have to go,” he muttered to his reflection in the mirror. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  His servant pretended not to hear him, and buckled the enormous belt around his waist anyway. Ivan sighed and sucked in his stomach to meet the demands of fashion.

  Arodi’s hands shook as he slid the wide leather belt around his master’s waist. He then knelt in front of Nicholas, his hands working to try and fix the stubborn ruby clasp. No matter what he did, it was almost as if his fingers wouldn’t obey his demands. Finally, frustrated, he released his hold on the belt, letting it fall to the floor. He fell back on his heels and buried his face in his arms. His eyes were hot. They stung whenever he closed them, and he was cold. He couldn’t concentrate on anything he did, and his head throbbed painfully. He just wanted to curl up in bed and never leave.

  “Love,” Nicholas said gently, kneeling in front of Arodi and touching his chin. “Are you all right?”

  Arodi cringed at how cold Nicholas’ fingers felt against his skin. “I’m fine,” he whispered. “Fine-“ every muscle screamed at him as he tried to move and help Nicholas finish dressing.

  “I can do it,” Nicholas said, gently lowering Arodi’s arm.

  “I can help!” Arodi insisted weakly. “Just let me-“

  “You need to rest,” Nicholas stood. “Can you stand on your own?”

  Arodi tried, and shook his head pitifully.

  Nicholas leaned down and scooped Arodi up. Arodi slid his arms around Nicholas’ neck and buried his face in his master’s shoulder. Nicholas carried him over to the bed and pulled back the covers, setting him down in a little hollow of warmth and pulling the covers up to Arodi’s chin.

  “There,” he said, leaning over and brushing his lips over the servant’s forehead. “You rest.”

  “Who is going to help you finish dressing?” Arodi muttered, curling up into a miserable ball.

  “I have other servants;” Nicholas said, and then added lightly, “this must be your way of getting out of Morning Prayer, isn’t it? Ivan will be jealous.”

  “Yeah,” Arodi muttered. “That’s exactly it.” He didn’t voice any of his fears about Ivan. He had seen the way to the two barons looked at each other. With him sick, would Nicholas gravitate to Ivan’s bed?

  “I will see you as soon as I get home, but you sleep,” Nicholas continued, touching up his appearance in a small mirror.

  “Yes, sir. Nicholas?” Arodi extended his hand. Nicholas took it, bringing it up to his lips and kissing Arodi’s knuckles.

  “What is it, love?” the baron asked.

  “Do you love me?” Arodi whispered.

  “Like my life,” Nicholas said, abashed. “Why-?”

  “No, do you love me?” Arodi worried his lip. “Is there any other-“

  “No one else,” Nicholas kissed him again, warm and lingering. “As long as you live, Arodi, there will never be anyone else.”

  Arodi smiled, and closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

  * * *

  “I hope I never have to do that again,” Ivan said, peeling his gloves off as fast as he could walk through the door of the Ercole castle. “Good form or not, I was about to shove a cloak pin through that priest’s eyes.”

  “That wouldn’t have been very good form,” Nicholas said, sending a servant off for some hot brandy. He and Ivan retired into the sitting room.

  “I don’t care,” Ivan sat down in front of the fireplace, sinking into the velvet chair with a sigh. “Your wife was shooting me dir
ty looks, too. You’d think I had committed a murder.”

  “That’s Arceia, for you,” Nicholas mused.

  The servant arrived with the brandywine. Nicholas took the tray and waved the servant away, a bit irritably.

  “I just hope she couldn’t read my mind,” Ivan said, his eyes following Nicholas. For obvious reasons, he thought, but kept it to himself. Nicholas walked over to the mantelpiece and rested his elbow on the edge. He rubbed his face – tired. Ivan politely pretended not to notice as he helped himself to some brandywine.

  “I’ve never tasted its equal,” he said, looking into his goblet.

  “It’s fantastic, isn’t it?” Nicholas looked up. “You won’t find a better brew in all of Dragoloth.”

  “If you don’t’ say so yourself,” Ivan smirked, finding a chair and sitting down.

  “Indeed,” Nicholas massaged his eyeballs and sat down in the chair opposite. “Gods know I’m tired. What did we come in here to discuss?”

  “Our first move,” Ivan said, placing the rim of his goblet to his lips. “We need to make one, you know. Or Sitharus is going to think we’re all talk.”

  “Right,” Nicholas poured himself some brandywine. “Madrigal.”

  “It doesn’t necessarily have to be-“

  “It does,” Nicholas interrupted, more sharply than he meant to. “If our troops take Madrigal, then we are only a few days from the capital. Not only that, but it won’t be well-fortified. He’ll be expecting us to attack Sialac because it’s closer to our borders.”

  “Sitharus won’t just assume we are stupid,” Ivan said dryly.

  “He’ll assume we’ll do something he would do,” Nicholas countered.

  “That, he will,” Ivan conceded. “Now all you have to do is get Ezbon in on our side, so his troops can support us.”

  “Ezbon,” Nicholas snorted, as if the name left a bad taste on his mouth. “We’re lucky to get him out of his castle. On a battlefield? Hardly likely.”