by V. S. Holmes
“I don’t take issue with the order, but now?” He shoved himself away from the table with a snarl. His eyes burnt, but it was not anger she saw there. It was fear. “Milady is home, finally, and you send me away?”
Eras’s brows rose. She’s back? The soldier in her sang at the approaching battle, but she had seen enough of this war to face it with dread in her stomach. “She’s home? First I’ve heard of it.”
“I can feel that she’s here again. She arrived sometime a few nights ago. I was drunk at the time, I didn’t realize it until the morning.”
“Drunk? Again?” She waved away the excuse perched on his lips. “Never mind.” She glanced at Raven. “Do you really think it’s wise if you see her in this state? You’re ready to dangle me from the window and all I did was inform the queen of a diplomatic solution to your attempt at murder. What will you do when she’s not exactly the woman you remember? When she hasn’t changed in the way you expect?”
“What the fuck would you know of that?”
She stepped around to the other side of her desk and folded her arms. He was unpredictable and she would rather face him on her feet then seated. Besides, if Raven draws arms, I’ll never hear the end of it. “It is my job to know the state of affairs in my city, especially in times of war and when there are key players within our walls. You were seen leaving a bar with a young woman. You left her residence a little while later, angry. Well, angrier than usual. I suppose any man would be angry after so quick a dalliance, but regardless, I was under the impression that you had feelings for Dhoah’ Lyne’alea.”
Arman’s breath rumbled in his chest and his eyes darkened. “I never said that.”
“You never had to, Arman. This trip to the north might help cool your head. I don’t know what Dhoah’ Lyne’alea needs for this war, but I’m betting silver it’s not a love-drunk school-boy.” She had won the argument, if there had ever been one. All that is left is for him to storm out angrily. I’ll get a letter in the next week apologizing.
He stalked towards the door. “Perhaps the next time you mentor someone, general, draw up a contract.” He slammed his way out.
Eras shook her head in the wake of the outburst and poured herself another drink. “This war is making madmen of us all.”
“You don’t actually think he’d blame her for not being what he wants, do you? That would just be cruel.”
She pressed her brow against the cool stone of her window frame. “That never stopped you from blaming me.” The sunset was bloody and bruised. The spring storms had passed, but the skies were darker than ever.
Φ
The 37th Day of Lineme, 1252
The City of Mirik
Bren’s grey eyes narrowed on the calm harbor. “I’ll need two Kit to accompany me. And when I return I’d like whomever stays to organize themselves. We’ll appoint other commissioners then.”
“Not after the war?” Like Bren, Arik’s arms were crossed.
The new commissioner glanced over and grinned. Flanking the main dock with identical stances, they could have been statues. It was not a bad image, two Miriken protecting what was left of their people. “No. If I die, we need organization. I’ve not come so far on so many sleepless nights to have it fall to shite. Who should I take with me? I’d like one to be you, but I think you would better serve here.”
Arik nodded. “Agreed. When proper battle begins I’ll come, with the rest of the soldiers.” At Bren’s surprised glance, he grinned. “You expect the queen to let you prance into battle with three men and a pale freak from the north? I think not. Anyway, take Kemmer A’hane and Aldac Missan. Aldac’s a swordsman and knows our common ways. Kemmer’s sister to the man governing Talic. She’s young, but bright.”
Bren nodded. “I’ll send them letters this afternoon.” He rolled his shoulders, watching as sailors prepared the ship before them for the sea. “I’ve left instructions for Helonin. He’s to work with you as he readies to pull out. Will you see us off this afternoon?”
“Indeed.”
“I’ll send word from Athrolan about the war. How many you think will come?”
“For you? As many as can be spared. We’ll have a few score. Outfitting them will be difficult.”
“I’ll take care of that. Make them ready before the end of the month.”
Arik bowed himself away. “As ye tell, milord.” The wry quirk of his mouth lent humor to the formal words.
Bren laughed as he returned to the barracks, the sound fitting for the clear day.
Φ
The 40th Day of Lineme, 1252
The Ilmar Ocean
Bren pressed his brow against the warm wood of the ship’s rail. “Fates, not even the journey is easy!” His face was pale, his lips tinged grey.
“Just think, every time you need to come to Athrolan as a diplomat, you’ll be at sea.” Alea grinned over at him. The same wind that whipped her loose hair kicked the waves higher.
He groaned. With each lurch, her brother leaned over the rail with a hideous wretch. His stomach was long since empty. “Serves me proper, I suppose. Showing up in court and taking over the city they rightly conquered. ‘Thanks for doing all the hard work, I’ll take it from here!’“
Alea snorted. “Perhaps, though I doubt the hard work is over. Will you return to Mirik before the war?”
“If this is how I have to travel, I’ll never go back.” His next words were interrupted as Kemmer approached.
“Milord Commissioner, the captain agreed to stay moored for a bit before disembarking. I thought you might like to tidy yourself before entering the city.” Her dark eyes flitted from his boots to Alea’s and back.
Bren sighed. “You’re godsent, Kemmer, thank you. It wouldn’t do for our new allies to see me felled by a few days on the ocean.” The woman jumped at the informal address and bowed awkwardly. She was closer to Alea’s age than his and Bren had tried to break the formal front during the voyage, but Kemmer seemed as stubborn as he. “How long ‘til we dock? Did you find that trunk of mine?”
The woman’s silence made Bren glance up, despite his roiling gut. The white cliffs of Athrolan rose before them, half an hour’s sail away. The noon sun turned the city into a beacon and made burnished gold of the summer-baked grass. Kemmer stared, open-mouthed, at the sight. Bren grinned. “Bit larger than Mirik, eh?”
She nodded stiffly. “Yessir. And your trunk is by your bunk, below. Aldac is dressing as we speak.” Her eyes were still wide when she finally turned to look at him, meeting his gaze for the first time. “Thank you, sir, for picking me.” She bowed and hurried down to the bunks to prepare for their arrival.
The sound of bells drifted from across the waves. Bren’s brows rose. “I guess they’ve seen the ship’s flag. They must know you’re with us.”
Alea nodded once and went to stand by the bow. She still wore plain clothes, but it did not matter. The chill of the sea flowed from her skin and Bren found even he was wary of meeting her eyes. He paused by her on his way down to the bunks. “You asked if I’d go back to Mirik. How much time are you giving us before battle?”
“I’ll know when I determine how far Athrolan is from battle. I don’t want to fight a war on my own.”
Bren noticed she did not say she could not have done so, if necessary. A shudder went through him that had nothing to do with the pitching waves.
Chapter TEN
The 41st Day of Lineme, 1252
The City of Ceir Athrolan
DESPITE TZATIA’S ATTEMPT to see him before his official audience, Bren stayed holed up in his room with Aldac, Kemmer, and An’thor, carefully writing the details of his hastily planned government reform. There were issues that only time and hundreds of discussions would solve, but it was a start. He sighed as he finally he shoved the papers into an envelope and sealed it.
“This is only the beginning, I suppose. She’ll have a dozen questions that I’ll never be able to answer.”
He glanced at An’thor. “When the
page came to ask our titles, what did you say?”
“About myself or you?”
Bren shrugged. “Either one might make her scream.”
“I politely told him to stick with ‘Lieutenant Brentemir Barrackborn and companions.’“
“Toar, you make me sound like a sell-sex.”
Kemer tried to disguise her snort as a cough, but dissolved into laughter after a moment. “Mirik’s king, a sell-sex?”
He glared at her with mock anger. “I’m not her king.”
“You are for now, sir.” The hours working together had done wonders for her formal words, though Aldac still seemed to only communicate with single words.
Bren grimaced. “Regardless, we’ve just over one hundred seventy-six thousand Miriken Crown, which is about a hundred forty-five thousand Athrolani. It’s dismal to run a country on such. I will order my own armor and both of yours. I’m asking for reports on Mirik’s armory and requesting half the able-bodied men and women to sail over within the week. They’re to train with the Athrolani soldiers until the battle. I’ll save money by hiring a seamstress and smithy in Talic to make uniforms and repair what armor we have.” He sighed. “I simply do not know how I’m going to do this.”
Kemer leaned forward, pushing a loose lock of her hair away. “Begging your pardon. What if you paid the people in titles and land and housing instead of money?” Her voice was quiet, but certain.
Bren frowned and glanced at Aric. “I think the Kit might listen to that.” He made a few notes. “Good thought, Kemmer.”
An’thor’s eyes were fixed out the window. “Will you tax them?”
“That’ll be discussed I’m sure. I’ll need to build her coffers some how, but our people are already impoverished.” Bren gathered his papers, only to dig through them again as a thought struck him. “Kemer, could you send these across to Mirik please? I’ll meet with you tomorrow to go over more.”
Kemer tidied the pile carefully. “Sir, I was also told to remind you that the war address is in a month.”
He frowned. He had forgotten completely about the address. “I have little idea what to expect.”
“I’d imagine it’s much like the ceremony of alliance, but with more war. It’s a gathering of allies. You’re to stand beside Her Majesty and your sister.”
Bren sighed. “I’m not looking forward to being compared to Daymir.” Above, the bells marked midafternoon. He groaned. “The audience with the queen is in half an hour. Go finish tidying yourselves, I’ll meet you here when it’s time.” He glanced at An’thor when they had left. “Why does this feel worse than battle?”
“Because battle only kills you. This will embarrass you, disgrace your name, and ruin your future.” His deadpan broke into a wicked smile. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Bren rested his head in his hands. It was far too late to change his mind. Would I, if it wasn’t? He heaved a sigh and shoved himself out of his chair. He stepped into the bath, scrubbing himself quickly for the second time that day. If I’m going to embarrass myself, it damned well won’t be because I stink of sea-sick.
He jerked the wardrobe open with a frown. It held the fine clothes he had worn during his last visit. He was peering into it, still naked, when a light knock sounded on his door. He gathered a towel about his waist before opening it.
Alea was already dressed in the clothes she had worn for their first audience. Something was different, but Bren could not place his finger on it. She glanced at his appearance as she stepped inside. “Having trouble?”
He shut the door behind her and brought his own outfit into the privy. “No, we just had to write an outline of our new government for the queen.” He fumbled with the ties of his breeches. “Are you as nervous as I am?”
She shrugged. “Not as nervous as I should be, perhaps. Is Reka in town?”
Bren’s face sobered. “I asked after her when we first arrived. Her patrol was among two that never returned last month.”
“Fates, Bren, I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
He heard her walk over to the window. “Bren, the entire city turned out to watch us ride up from the docks.”
“Fame does not sit well with you?”
“I don’t care about fame. The entire city was here, and yet no sign of Arman. Do you think he’ll be at the address?”
Bren drew a slow breath in silently as he finished combing his hair with his fingers. It was hopeless. “Alea, are you even sure he’s in the city?”
“He’s here. His room is next to mine. Right now he’s somewhere on the roof of the palace. He’s pacing and angry.”
Bren stepped out. “I don’t know what to tell you, sistermine.”
She looked over, smiling at his finery. Her eyes threatened to overflow and flood the expression from her features. “Tell me you still love me. Tell me that even though I’m a monster, even though I’m waging war against the gods you worship, you’ll still love me.”
He wrapped her in his arms, but his words were interrupted by the quarter-hour bells. He pulled away to look at her. Her tears still had not fallen. Her words chilled him and he was even more uncertain than before. He took her hand and stepped into the hall. “Come on, we have a queen to impress.” The others waited for him outside the door. Aldac and Kemmer had managed to find vermilion tunics and An’thor had not changed from his usual black leather and fur.
Bren led them to the throne room in silence, his broad fingers still wrapped around Alea’s. When the squire stepped in to announce them, he glanced over. “I’ll love you until the end of the world, sistermine.”
The queen looked as calm as ever, but her bright eyes were wide with curiosity. “Dhoah’ Lyne’alea, we are honored to host you again, despite our shared dark future. I trust your journey from Le’yan was uneventful.”
All sadness had gone from Alea’s face and she smiled graciously. “Indeed. I am honored to be here again. Your city is as beautiful and welcoming as ever.” She stepped aside, allowing Bren to come forward.
Tzatia’s eyes flicked to him. “Greetings, Lieutenant. Care to explain your cryptic arrival? Last we corresponded you were in Mirik. Not even my own officers will shed light on Mirik’s situation.”
He approached, giving her the bow of an equal. The rebellious part of him grinned gleefully as her brows furrowed at the apparent lack of respect. “Forgive my lack of communication, your majesty. It has been a tumultuous few weeks. I have come to accept your offer.”
Her furrow brows rose. “What are you telling me?”
He clenched his hands around the envelope to hide their shaking. “On behalf of the Commissioners of the Miriken government, I, Lord Commissioner of the Military and acting king during this time of war, accept Athrolan’s offer of alliance.” He handed the envelope to a squire. “This document details the preliminary plans for Mirik’s future. I invite you to peruse it at your leisure.”
Tzatia’s gaze was unreadable as it flicked to the three figures behind him. “And these are what, your allies? Your fellow Commissioners?”
“These are Aldac Missan and Kemmer A’hane of Mirik. They are my chief officers while I finalize our path to war, your majesty.” He turned to An’thor. “And it is my honor to present Warrior An’thoriend Domariigo of the Northlands and Claimiirn. He is my ally in this war, as are his people.”
Her lips thinned. “You bring a known exile into my throne room?”
Bren barely hid his relief when An’thor knelt before her, taking up the impending argument. “Your majesty, my return may be unwelcome, but the reasoning is sound. I do not have to be your ally, but I am Lord Commissioner Brentemir’s.” He looked up and dropped the formal tone. “You think I would let Athrolan go to war alone? As much as you may hate me, I still love this land.”
Tzatia’s eyes lingered on An’thor for a moment and Bren caught sight of the pale man’s gaze. It held a tenderness that was alien to Bren, but he imagined it was that of a father. The queen’s face was
pale and her eyes fierce, but she drew a breath and rose. Her steps down from the dais were careful. “Well then. We look forward to our future together and the alliance of our joined forces. Lord Commissioner of Mirik, we welcome you, and your people and allies to Athrolan.”
Φ
Eras’s shifting weight caused her red mare to dance sideways. She assumed the war would require a journey to her former home, but that did not make the duty any easier. Her gaze stopped at Raven. He had come to see her off. “I’ve commanded the men to follow Hamacad until my return.”
Raven had always been the more expressive of the two and she knew he often wondered how much of his affection she returned. She wondered the same.
“I’d rather join you in battle than Hamacad.” His voice pitched so only she could hear. His hand covered hers so briefly that she could have imagined it, but for the warmth it left on her glove.
Eras nodded at him and nudged her mare away. “Ride out!” The men broke into a swift trot and streamed onto the road. As she passed through the gate the men were her living cloak, fanned behind.
Φ
The 44th Day of Lineme, 1252
Bren drained the nervous excitement from his body the only way he knew how. The training courts were empty in the evening, the silence punctuated only by his grunts and the shuffling of boots against sawdust. He wondered if Alea wanted to eat supper together, but he could not bring himself to go find her. Darkness wrapped her thoughts and her words since the siege. It was a darkness that even his heart, raised on bloodshed, dared not enter. Even facing it made the bottom drop from his stomach.
It was nearly midnight when he finally lowered his sword and reached for a rag to wipe his face. He froze as he caught sight of the man seated by the door. Bren could only stare.
Arman had changed much since their last visit, and Bren barely recognized him. The Rakos’s eyes, fixed on his, glowed yellow. His hair and beard had grown several inches and his skin shone in the torchlight like tarnished gold. “Hello, Lieutenant.”
