“Ben,” someone said weakly. They moved slow toward Ben; their steps spaced unevenly in a shuffled limp. “Don’t move. Sun and Moon, what have you done to yourself?”
“Gus,” Ben managed. By the Gjoll speaking hurt, like he’d swallowed fire. “Get out. I…I have to stop him.”
Gus lowered himself to Ben’s side and delicately placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Stop. Just look at him.”
Ben’s eye turned to Gus’s gaze. Tatanka’s glowing blue eyes had lost their glow as well, the bright blue now but a pale shadow. Blood spilled from his chest where Ben had made the strike. It oozed slowly without a beating heart to pump it through his body.
Tatanka, the Enochian, was dead.
30
Rose
Parvidom, Ænæria
After the fighting had ended, Rose and the Alliance soldiers regrouped in the town hall. It was still a bloody mess when she arrived. Several dead Rhion were dragged out of the hall alongside two of her comrades. The hall itself was blemished with burns, torn by bullet holes, and splattered in blood. It would take some time to remove the stains.
Kristos had immediately focused on Rose’s wound after getting her and the others from the tower following the fight’s conclusion. Trinity had to assure Kristos that Rose would be fine. Neither she nor Shadow mentioned Rose’s behavior after the injury. Rose knew a lecture would be coming from one of them soon enough—they just didn’t want to do it in front of an audience.
“How many did we lose?” Rose asked Kristos. She traced her fingers across the rubble and dust piling over a table that had probably looked quite elegant before the assault.
“Ten major injuries and eight deaths,” he responded coldly. “The injured should make a full recovery based on initial reports, but they won’t be in fighting condition for some time.”
Eight of my own people sent to their deaths. Yet it could be so much worse. And it will. It’s only a matter of time. “What are the names of the dead?”
“Shoto, Richard, Lara, Eadric, Ridley, Usha, Alvis, and Ellyn.” He said the names without skipping a beat. “We will honor their sacrifices tonight and on the anniversary of this battle for all the years to come. They were among the first blood spilled for our cause.”
A number of the Penteric fighters in the hall pounded their fists against their chests and cheered with a hurrah in response.
“And how many Rhion were killed?”
“We’re still counting,” Kristos replied. “At least sixteen by the last report. Eight surrendered and are being held in the cellar as we speak.”
Rose wiped the sweat trickling from her brow. They’d won by a landslide—a miracle if she dared to believe in such things. She would if it hadn’t been for all those who had to die for it. Yet it still seemed too much. The fight was harder than it should’ve been. There are traitors in our midst. Gjoll, I could be surrounded by them. “I suppose it’s time I address the good people of this town. They’re likely anxious to know why they’ve just been attacked.”
“We’ll gather them at once, Your Majesty,” one of the soldiers volunteered. He and two other soldiers bowed before her and left the hall.
The townspeople surrounded the steps of the town hall. They chattered and huddled close together. Their eyes were frozen over in fear and desperation. There must’ve been at least two hundred, old and young alike. It was still strange to Rose, seeing young children in a small town like this. Many of them had lost siblings to the Ænærian Army’s draft. All firstborn sons were sent to the cause by the age of five. Additional children could be ‘offered’ for a generous price. Men and women produced children like livestock. The result was an army mostly full of teenagers, unwanted children, and adults who had no other means for which to provide themselves or their families. Bitter men who thought themselves disposable to the cause. The children before Rose had grown up under the same precedent, knowing their army would take anyone who wasn’t wanted. She would have to set up a new example.
“People of Parvidom,” she started, speaking loudly from the height of the hall’s steps. “I am the only daughter of King Xander the Chosen, and the rightful heir of Ænæria. I am Queen Rose Limmetrad. I have come to this town to liberate you from the tyrannical reign of the pretender who calls himself King Randolph. I’ve come to Ænæria to take my rightful place in Ignistad and to free the people of Ænæria. No more shall your tongues be guarded. No more shall you look over your shoulders in the night for fear of being watched. For so long as you are under my protection, your speech and beliefs are your own.
“Rhion will no longer be permitted in this town. Only men and women who pledge themselves to your protection. My army is made entirely of such dedicated souls. None of them fight by force. They fight for what is right, true, and just. Those who do not believe in justice are free to do so… but not in my kingdom. They can take up residence elsewhere.”
She paused a moment, letting the autumn wind howl past them. Her back and neck straightened and wrenched the final words from deep in her chest. “What say you, people of Parvidom? Will you stand with me to fight for justice? I would have you as my people; would you have me as your queen?”
There wasn’t even a wave of murmuring to follow Rose’s speech. In almost a unified gesture, the people of Parvidom knelt and bowed their heads with their hands raised to the sky.
“Praise be to Queen Rose, the blood of the Chosen, the Sun incarnate!”
“Hail to the queen!”
“The true heir of Ænæria!”
Against her better judgment, Rose let herself descend the stairs to the people. She walked among them, let them meet her, hold her hand, embrace her. These were her people now. She would know them as she knew those in the Alliance. She would protect them and love them. All this she would do to undo all the damage caused by her father.
The town hall had been cleared of most of its clutter. The bodies had been taken and given the rights of death according to their own beliefs. The Rhion were burned and their ashes buried, their graves marked by their swords in the ground. The eight fallen Penteric Alliance soldiers were preserved as best as possible with salt and covered in dehydrated pelts to be sent back to their respective homes. Locks were removed from the town hall’s safes and coffers, their contents collected and recorded. It had more gold than Rose had ever seen. Surely enough to aid in funding the war.
A handful of Miners Guild members lived in Parvidom and had provided rich intel before the battle. They’d helped coordinate the day and time of the attack, knowing which Rhion would be posted on shifts and least likely to offer resistance. The guild members in the raiding party met with their contacts to transmit a message to Freztad and the other parties about the victory. While the message was being sent, Rose made herself comfortable in the town hall. She and the others would stay there over the next few days as they implemented changes into the town and awaited news from the other battles.
“How does it feel to declare yourself queen to the people of Ænæria?” Trinity asked as she cleaned Rose’s shoulder wound.
“Strange. I didn’t expect them to be so accepting.”
“The people of Ænæria have been through trying times. One new leader after another. It’s refreshing to have someone young with more than conquest and power on their mind.”
Rose bit her lip trying not to curse at the sudden jolt of pain as Trinity doused her shoulder with a liquid that stung worse than wood hornets.
“What’s that say about their loyalty,” Rose said when the burning subsided. “They’ll just accept whoever says they’re in charge?”
“As long as you do things for the people, they’ll continue to support you. Otherwise, they’ll just tag along with whoever claims the throne next.” Trinity pressed a damp cloth against the wound, soaking up the blood and grime. “Let that air out for a few hours.”
The urge to rub her shoulder was practically irresistible. “What can I do to keep them on my side?”
“Forb
idding Rhion, freedom of religion—it’s all a good start. What will you do about slavery?”
“Outlaw it of course!”
“Have you thought about how? It may have been Fenwin’s idea for slaves to be concentrated in Ignistad, but believe me when I say many of the other provinces have had some form or another for generations. It won’t be so easy to subvert that. It’ll need to be replaced with something sustainable.”
There had been barely any time for her to think about the implementation of policies. She’d only learned about becoming a queen two moons ago and had hardly worn the crown for one. All that time had been spent on battle plans and sleepless nights.
“I don’t really know,” she admitted. Then an idea sprang into her mind. “What if I formed a committee for laws to be written and had you in charge of the emancipation?”
Trinity’s eyes enlarged like two dark halos. “In charge of what?”
“Freeing the slaves,” Rose explained.
Trinity swallowed and pursed her lips. “That’s complicated. I used to think slaves lived only in Ignistad, but since joining you, I’ve talked with guild members and ex-Rhion. Apparently, that isn’t true. Children are born into it in every province, raised until they’re old enough to be put to work for the nobility in the capital.”
Rose shined a toothy grin.
“What?”
“You’re proving my point—that you should be on the committee.”
The healer scratched under her headwrap. She looked puzzled. “Is that really such a good idea? I can’t even read. I’ve no leadership experience.”
Rose’s jaw dropped. “And here I thought you were fearless. But could it be that your one weakness is public speaking?”
Trinity gasped. “My, my, you’ve found me out!”
Rose chuckled. “You’d do great! People have a lot of respect for you, you know?”
Trinity looked unconvinced.
“It’s true. As for reading, well, it wouldn’t be necessary for the job. If it really means so much to you though I could help teach you.”
Trinity’s eyes glowed at the comment. “Are you serious?”
“Sure am. I had a great teacher back at home. Someone as smart as you will pick it up in no time at all.”
Trinity lowered her gaze, hiding a growing smile. “It’s a nice idea. Thanks. Makes up for you being kind of a bitch earlier.”
Rose’s eyes widened, surprised by the jab. Then the two girls shared a laugh.
“I meant to apologize for that. I shouldn’t have acted that way.”
“You shouldn’t have been in combat. Not after what happened to you.”
“It was moons ago; it’s not an excuse. I’m just weak.”
Trinity placed a hand on Rose’s good shoulder. “It’s has nothing to do with how strong or weak you are. I’ve seen it happen to dozens of people.”
“The poppy tears that you’ve used…” Rose started.
“No, we’re not going there. I told you, it numbs you up. It’s bad news.”
“Then what do I do? How does everyone else you’ve seen deal with it?”
Trinity looked away as if she didn’t want to give Rose an honest answer.
“Tell me. Please.”
She sighed before answering. “Most of them didn’t. A lot of them drank. Some smoked the poppy tears and remained sober enough to function. Many flocked to religion. It helped me a lot, especially while cutting back.”
Trinity’s comment about religion intrigued Rose. She hadn’t been brought up being told any single belief system was correct. She would’ve liked to give it a try, except she wouldn’t know where to start. She couldn’t accept the Ænærian belief in the Sun because of the way it represented her father. Perhaps Vänalleato’s Ascendants or Talamdor’s elements. No, I can’t just pick and choose which I think suits me best. I want something I know and believe to be real. The only higher power Rose was convinced existed were the Enochians, and they were far from benevolent.
And then there was the comment about drinking. It made Rose realize something. Her mother drank a fair amount. Bottles of wine were all over her room, though Rose never noticed her mother drunk. She’d just thought she enjoyed the wine and it helped her sleep. Being unable to walk, it was hard for her to remove all the bottles from the room, and she scarcely permitted Rose into her quarters. She wasn’t just melancholic the way Ben had been. Rose now understood that her own mother had gone through some kind of trauma and drank to keep the nightmares away.
There was an urgent and loud knock at the door. Rose called for them to enter. Bayek, a guild member, rushed into the room. “My Queen, I have news!” Sweat dripped from his brow, and his breaths were labored.
“Speak,” Rose commanded.
“I’ve just received word over the radio from the troops in Plutonua!” He handed Rose a piece of parchment which she promptly unrolled. A transcript from the forces in Plutonua.
Leaders of the Penteric Alliance,
I wish to update you on our progress.
We attacked Dark Helm the night before last. It took only until the break of dawn for the first gate to be torn down. A city such as this should have had more impressive defenses set. We later learned that those resources were concentrated to the wall surrounding Gatron’s fortress, greatly impeding our progress. They must have known of our coming. Once we reached the wall, we suffered many causalities. I estimate at least a hundred dead, more wounded. We are not equipped with the artillery to breakthrough.
We are now camped outside the fortress. There’s no telling how long this siege will last. Though Gatron and his men are cut off from food and supplies, I suspect there will be a mutiny before they run out. I request reinforcements to shorten the siege but will accept food and water to hold us over until our certain victory.
Onward to glory,
Gordon, First Knight to Thane Morgiana of Talamdor.
Rose read over the message three times just to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. This war, the foreboding dread hanging over her these past moons, might actually end in their victory. The battle in Parvidom was small, carefully orchestrated and manipulated such that success was all but assured. Taking an entire capital city—overthrowing a province—now that was true triumph. All they needed was time, and Plutonua would be theirs. No, it’ll be mine, Rose realized. The province would hers to rule.
Trinity looked at Rose expectantly. “What does it say?”
Rose read the report aloud for Trinity. She looked terrified when Rose mentioned the estimates of dead and wounded. But then something else entirely flickered in her eyes when Rose read the part about Gordon suspecting a mutiny to drive Gatron out.
“How shall I respond, Your Majesty?” the messenger asked.
Rose stroked her chin, unsure of the answer herself. “Have any of the other leaders responded?”
“Jarl Geon is already in Dark Helm,” Bayek answered. “The thane and sheika have yet to respond. I presume they wish to hear your response first.”
Rose thought on that. Reinforcements were out of the question. Their military was stretched thin as it was by invading Ænæria and protecting the five settlements. With construction underway on the main roads, food and supplies likely wouldn’t arrive until after the siege. She said as much aloud to Trinity and Bayek.
“I do have another idea,” she added. “I would need permission from the other leaders first, though.”
Trinity tapped her foot loudly against the hard, stone floor. Rose jolted slightly at the sudden sound. “What?”
“You’re the queen. This is your war—you don’t need to ask permission.”
Rose glanced at Bayek, expecting to see disapproval painted clear across his face. It was not. His brows were raised, eyes wide with expectation. He’d come to her with a question in search of an answer. Rose had thought of one, she just wasn’t sure it was her place to make the order. After all, she’d tried making a similar order not so long ago. But Trinity was
right. It was exactly her place.
“We have four airships. I say we start using them.” She placed her signature on the transcript with her response, authenticating the order.
Bayek clutched the letter to his chest and, with a low bow, he exited the chamber. Rose felt herself standing a little straighter, hands on her hips. It felt good not worrying about what the others thought about her decisions. Maybe Trinity was right, and she should show more confidence. Hesitation wouldn’t win her the war.
She was, after all, the queen.
31
Arynn
First Hearth, Vestinia; Ænæria
“Look, it’ll be safer if you’re here,” Arynn said, trying harder to convince herself than Sera. Tears brimmed her eyes, and th e mere thought of leaving Sera after so many years had been stolen from them sickened her. Sera sat on the bed, hunched forward and leaning on her wrists. Arynn was across the room, outside on the balcony overlooking the First Hearth. It was a quiet morning, and the sun had hardly peeked over the horizon, and the smell of freshly baked bread had yet to fill the streets. The streets moved with the boots and soft rattling chainmail of Rhion on the last legs of the night watch.
“I don’t want what’s safe,” Sera retorted. “I want to be with you. I worry about what attacking our home will do to you.”
Arynn turned to face Sera. “This is our home. Vänalleato abandoned us, Sera. Because we’re different than they want us to be.”
“Aren’t we different in Vestinia, too? You come home each day and tell me how much grief Memnon gives you during drills. I see the way Estel looks at the two of us—outsiders taking over her home.”
“You say we aren’t meant to be here; I say we aren’t meant in Vänalleato. Where do you suggest we go?”
“It doesn’t matter as long as we’re together. I don’t want to be alone without you again.”
The Heir of Ænæria Page 40
