Dark Court: the final hour
Book 3 Dark Court Series
By Camille Oster
Copyright ©2018 Camille Oster
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Camille Oster – Author
www.camilleoster.com
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Chapter 1
ARRIVING AT THE CITADEL, Roisen didn't know what to expect. Anything could have happened in his absence while he’d delivered Ashra to his estate. The place could have torn itself apart, but on the surface, the citadel hid well the troubles inside. There was no way of knowing what he would find. When he’d left, panic had started spreading and order was breaking down.
The courtyard was deserted and there was still no sign that anything was untoward. It took a moment for one of his stable boys to arrive to take his horse. He wasn't expected.
"All is well here, I suppose?" Roisen said, eager enough for news that he would ask the stable boy.
"Seems so," the boy said. Well, it would be quiet from his position. Whatever dramatics were going on inside was not reaching the sedate life in the stables.
"Have people been fleeing?"
"They were, but less now."
That was encouraging Roisen supposed and he took himself into the building to climb the stairs until he reached his apartments, which were cold and still. Everything looked undisturbed. There were no signs of interference.
"My Lord," said his retainer. "You return."
"Yes," Roisen said absently and took to his study. A number of missives and letters were stacked on his desk, and he opened all, seeing questions and requests for direction from his allies and broader groups. Everyone wanted to converse, it seemed. The question was what Wierstoke had been up to in his absence.
It had only been a few days, but Wierstoke might have acted, relentlessly whispering in people's ears. It was the worst possible time to be away, but he had to get Ashra out of the citadel. Even if she didn't acknowledge it, she was a target and a natural means to subdue him. Hold her hostage and his choices would be very limited—and everyone knew it.
For a moment, his thoughts drifted back to the few days they’d had together. They felt like stolen days—they were stolen days. Now he had to establish a world where they would be safe.
If a diplomatic solution was still possible, he wasn't sure. If things devolved, there would be war, but he wasn't quite ready to accept a peaceful transition just yet. It all now depended on the lords and ladies of court, on which sides they picked. Their choices were important, and if they chose wrongly, it would mean war, and everyone would be dragged into it.
Another important reason for pulling Ashra away from the citadel was to get her out of Wierstoke's reach, because their alliance still gave him some sway over her. Loyalty was part of who she was, and the alliance with Wierstoke counted. It was such a nuisance now, but Roisen had to admit that he had been the cause of it in the first place. If he had known how everything would have gone, he would have played things differently, but who would have foreseen Raufasger's murder? The man had seemed too impervious to any assassination attempts. No one was impervious, and now Roisen had to guard himself against it.
If anyone knew the gossip of the court, it would be Fiedra. She was a good place to start. Grabbing a sheet of parchment, he wrote her a letter inviting her to dine with him. It was short notice, but he suspected Fiedra was too curious to pass up the opportunity, even if she had plans elsewhere.
*
As expected, Fiedra accepted the invitation and his dining room was lit up with candles. She floated in with her voluminous gown, smiling affectionately as she saw him. "You return," she said, looking around the room as if she was studying it for indication of something new. Fiedra was always gathering information. "We were worried that you left us to it."
"Of course not. I just had to see to some things."
"Ah, she must be close to term now," she said, watching him intently as she sat down, looking for emotion or some inner turmoil. What sign was it she wanted to see, he wondered. On the surface, Fiedra was loyal, at least when explicitly told to be, but underneath, her own benefit was what she truly cared about. He had her support in his bid for the crown, but perhaps not in his relationship with Ashra.
It didn't matter. Fiedra would have to bear it. "Yes," he finally replied.
"You are to be a father."
In all that had happened, the quiet fact was still hard to contemplate. After so many years, he was to have his heir. But he was also to have a son, and fundamentally, he didn't know what that meant. The guidance of his own father might not be much use. It had made him strong, but he wasn't sure to what degree he would repeat that. He also knew that Ashra would forbid her child to suffer such treatment. Ashra would make the boy soft, to protect his childhood and his naivety. But the boy needed to be hard. "Yes, I am."
"Hopefully there will be wedding bells in your future."
Roisen didn't answer. There was too much to sort before it was a prudent step. Then there would be a wedding—a spectacular one. But even he knew it was not something he could push on Ashra. She needed convincing, but there was too much at peril just at the moment. Once everything was settled, he could fully turn his attention to her. "The needs of the present are too pressing for such things. What has Wierstoke been up to in my absence?"
"Well, he is trying to charm everyone. He's taken your absence as a sign of defeat, or at least he is trying to convince everyone so, and has been speaking about his own coronation."
"Then my return will be a spanner in the works."
"A tad. We will have to see how much loyalty he has garnered. Personally, he has never been liked and the grandiose nature of his plans work against him. He is quite struggling to contain himself."
"No news of whoever murdered Fronsac?"
"No, nothing. Aia is expectedly beside herself. Doesn't leave her apartments."
"She should return to her estate. It serves her nothing to stay here."
"Yes, I agree."
"I take it we can count on her support."
"I believe so. It would perhaps be beneficial for her to hear your condolences. As expected, Wierstoke has called around to do so, but Aia is keeping her thoughts very close to her chest. Someone murdered her husband, and she is a little wary."
"I will call on her," Roisen confirmed. Wierstoke was behind this in some way, or someone loyal to him and it was about scaring Lukas Brieton away from possible defection. It was a risky maneuver, that either worked or did the exact opposite and pushed Brieton away. Roisen would have to speak to Brieton as well, but it had to be subtle so the man didn't suffer the wrath of Wierstoke—or perhaps it was better to rally the man's wrath, pushing Brieton away for good. The tactics would need some consideration.
The question was how gladly Wierstoke would murder his way to the throne.
They had to defeat the man, or they would have another age of tyranny ahead of them. If Wierstoke was murderously inclined, then he would make sure his rival did not survive to cause problems. Hence it was conceivable that assassins would try to get into Roisen’s apartments, or accost him within the citadel.
"Will there be a war?" Fiedra asked, elegantly cutting into the tender beef they had been served.
"I suspect so. It is a matter of who will join our side. Choices now will have an impact for a ve
ry long time."
"I think we need a good survey of sentiment," Fiedra said, distracted by her own thoughts.
"Yes, I am sure your ladies can help with that."
"I'm sure they can. If there is a war, we shall need men," she mused.
"We shall also need the guard on our side. Whoever chooses the guard stays in the citadel. It is perhaps the most crucial point." The guard will have to choose a side, but they would do so unwillingly at first. Saying that, they suffer most by a tyrannical ruler. Roisen would just have to convey that he was a better option. That shouldn't be too difficult.
Supper finished and Fiedra took her time in leaving. They would meet again the next day. This was a campaign and he needed to be meticulous, using every resource at his disposal. Land meant people, and people meant soldiers. Whatever army he needed to build, it had to be bigger.
A courier arrived with a missive, by the look of him, he’d ridden hard. The man could barely breathe and Roisen felt a chill creeping up his spine. He knew this was from his estate even before he opened it.
She has fled the estate. I have sent men to retrieve her, but they have not returned with her.
Regards,
Miss Wishart
Roisen closed his eyes and bitter disappointment well up inside him. She had fled, had rejected the protection he offered her. Why did she always have to fight him on everything? She was safe at Lorcan Manor. Why did she refuse to see that? Nothing about this was ideal. They both knew that, but times were dire and compromises had to be made.
That was the problem with her; she refused to compromise on anything. There was also rejection in her actions and it hurt. She vied between utter rejection and the sweetest surrender. It drove him insane. She both wanted him and not at the same time, refusing to acknowledge her own inconsistencies. What was he going to do with her?
Things here were too pressing for him to leave again. Their entire future was at stake, and he needed to create a place for them.
With her unbending ideals, she didn't see that they were both finished if he didn't win this quest for the throne. This had to be done.
With the imminent birth, she would have returned home. For now, he would post guards along the edges of her property to ensure no one attacked her. It would stretch his resources, but she refused to make things easy for him.
Gathering the other lords and their soldiers was imperative, and he would focus on her neighboring properties, the ones who would be most likely to take her and her land.
Crunching the missive in his hand, he threw it in the fire. She wasn't going to cooperate in this, but as long as she stayed at the Greve estate, he would do his best to keep her safe. Her lack of support would, however, make things more difficult. It would also give Wierstoke a claim that she was still a part of his alliance.
Chapter 2
IT WAS COMFORTING TO BE home for the birth. It had gone as well as could be expected and Ashra’s daughter was born. Charis was the name Ashra choose for her, and she was the most beautiful baby she had ever seen.
Ashra sighed as the tiny girl slept in her cot. Long lashes and a tiny rose bud mouth. Ashra’s eyes simply couldn’t get enough. It truly was love at first sight. Everything she had gone through, had fought for was worth it.
The baby being a girl made a difference. Lorcan had been so adamant it would be a boy, but it wasn't. There were things he simply couldn't force to be the way he wanted them to be.
A male heir was preferred. Daughters were more troublesome and had more problems defending their estates. If she were the only child Lorcan had, she would be his heir, but there was nothing to say he would not father another child. He was young and eventually he would marry. But it wouldn't be to her.
Stepping away from the cot, she looked out the window across her land. Things had gone so very sideways. In truth, Ashra didn't really know where she stood at the moment with regards to the outside world. What she knew was her children and they were everything.
Outside the window, things seemed peaceful. It was a wet and gray day, although not bitterly cold. The calm scenery before her didn't reflect the chaos in the world beyond her estate. Court was fracturing and relentlessly sliding toward war. The calming influences were being quelled or were fleeing. She was one of those calming influences, but right now, she needed to focus on her baby.
Tabain burst into the room then quietly walked over to the cot. He didn't quite understand who this creature was yet, but he was curious.
"Shh," Ashra said with her finger to her lips. "She's sleeping."
Crawling up on the bed, Tabain pretended to be asleep. How innocent they were. They were all innocent when they were small. How did everything go so very wrong as people grew older?
Sitting down, Ashra stroked the hair off his brow as he pretended, fully expecting her to believe he was asleep. She smiled at the pretense. How could war be descending? Did they not remember how awful it had been when Raufasger had ridden through the land? Of course not; they had been too distracted by dividing up the spoils. To the victor goes the spoils, and who cared about the heartache to others when there were spoils to be had.
Right now, though, she could not bear thinking any more about the unreasonableness of people. Her world needed to be small, and she pushed out any thought of the outside world.
"Oh, how I wish I had someone to go on a walk with," she said wistfully and his eyes flew open.
"Me," he said adamantly.
"Oh, look. You're awake. Well, we can go for a walk then."
Feeling in dire need to stretch her legs, she pulled on a coat over her loose shift and slid her feet into her boots. Her body was too sore and wary to dress properly, but no one would care if she walked around her garden looking less than pristine.
"Watch her while we are gone," Ashra asked Marie as she reached the landing of the house. "Tabain needs to stretch his legs for a bit. We shouldn’t be gone long."
Tabain's hand in hers, she walked through the house and out the front door into the fresh, cool air outside. Rain threatened and it would rain for days, but for right now, they could spend a little time in the garden.
"You're a big brother now," she said to Tabain as he walked alongside her. "That's a big responsibility. You'll be a wonderful big brother; I know it. And you will always have each other. That’s important."
Being alone was perhaps the worst way to live. For her it was necessary. For Lorcan… partly it was a means to an end, but there was a part of him that sought intimacy. The problem was that he would only accept it on his terms.
Leaving him still twisted her heart, but she had to do it. He would know by now. Was he angry? Was he hurt? Or was he simply annoyed? Perhaps what she feared the most was being beholden to a man, in love with a man, who used the love to suit his own agenda. He would be a man who would use love as a means to control someone—to control her.
His lack of compromise hurt deeply, but what also hurt was how everyone else at court had behaved. They had been too self-centered to do what needed to be done. Because of it, they were heralding a new age of pain and suffering, both through inviting war, but also by setting themselves up as another despot—ready to rule with an iron fist.
Everything she'd worked so hard for to make things better had been trampled on in these men’s ambitions. They were stupid and short-sighted—greedy, in fact.
Now she told herself that she didn't care. She would barricade herself here and they could tear themselves apart outside. They would tear the world apart, too.
Her resources were too extensive for any of them to risk attacking her. Doing so would mean dividing their resources and exposing themselves to their enemy. A divided army never won. It compromised their strength and invited defeat. So she was safe, perched as she tended to be between risk and deterrence. Maybe she would be the only one standing when they were done.
That was hopeful thinking more than practical. One of them would win, and there would be trouble for her either way. Not troubl
e she couldn't deal with, but it would herald years of tumultuous dealings with the new court.
So many people would suffer in the process. People were starving and neither Lorcan or Wierstoke had the focus to deal with it.
Diligently, she sent grain to both Dunstone and Colmire. Hopefully, it helped with the worst of the hunger. If Lorcan did as well, as he had promised, she wasn't sure. In a way, she didn't want to know—wanted to stick her head in the sand and focus only on her estate and the peaceful environment there.
She had tried everything in her power to make things better, but she'd failed. It wasn't her fault people were suffering. What else could she do when she had done her best and it hadn't achieved anything? Now all she could do was focus on her and hers, but as much as she wanted to, it was cowardly to ignore the suffering around her.
The people at court were not going to solve this. They were the problem, not the solution, but there wasn't a solution anywhere else either. The obvious thing to do would be to endorse one of the candidates and end this war as quickly as possible. Lorcan would be the natural choice. As difficult as he was, and for the fact that his personal ambition ran roughshod over her desires, he was motivated to keep Charis safe. Tabain had always been the issue.
The alternative was to wait until Lorcan and Wierstoke exhausted themselves. There was danger in that strategy, because secretly, they both feared her wanting to take the role as ruler. All her own ambition for this land did promote the option. If she were ruler, she could have things as she wanted. People would eat and they would share in the fruits of their labor. She could make it so, and it would suit her to have the strongest opposers weak after duking it out between themselves until they were both utterly depleted.
Taking the throne did make sense for her, and both Lorcan and Wierstoke knew it. She would still be a despot, but a kind one. Well, kind to some. The privileged Naufrens would not have the luxuries and preferential treatment they had now. That would cause problems and it would end up being her against the court, unless she compromised and kept their privileges in place—which she wasn't sure she could stomach. In the end, she would have to turn into a true despot to keep the order she wanted.
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