Chapter 112
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWELVE
I had given up on sleep several hours after midnight, resigning myself to pacing the room and relentlessly reviewing every detail of what should have been a nearly flawless plan.
But when my entire clan was at stake—when my wife was at stake— nearly wasn’t good enough.
So it took more effort than usual to will my features into a haughty, careless mask as I made my way down the hallways to the throne room. Kirill and Yuriy were at my back, as I was chronically incapable of trusting Iiro.
Arès clearly felt the same way, since he was waiting outside the door for us rather than going in. Danil Uitto, the Duke of Crane, joined us moments later.
He bore a solemn expression as he approached. With the losses he had suffered, Crane had more reason than even Bear to hate Iiro and his rule.
“Danil,” I greeted, with Arès following suit.
He nodded in return, fixing his features into neutrality before we entered the throne room.
The first thing I did was carefully assess the surroundings. Guards lined the room, the allotted ten each clan was allowed to bring, plus the hundreds from Elk and the Palace.
I would have been frustrated by his clear favoritism in allowing his brother to bring an actual regiment if it wasn’t working in our favor.
Iiro perched on his gaudy throne, predictably wearing his oversized crown, ridiculously ornate robes, and that obnoxious, arrogant expression he favored.
Even knowing how this day would end for him, I could still hardly stand to look at his face.
He had a smattering of Elk guards around him, but more than half were his own, which was unfortunate. At least Korhonan had apparently been successful in convincing him Inessa would be better off holding tea this morning, since she was nowhere to be seen.
“My good dukes,” Iiro began, gesturing to the room. “Thank you all for attending our first annual tithing.”
Arès and Danil shifted uncomfortably on their feet, and they weren’t the only ones. The dukes from Bison and even Viper looked just as uneasy about being here. Bear’s taxes might have been the worst, but no one was coming out of this unscathed.
My gaze shifted from them to the window, looking for the telltale sign that Rowan was close, but still, nothing. When I caught Kirill’s gaze, he subtly shook his head to confirm he saw nothing from his vantage point either.
I didn’t look at Korhonan, not wanting to give his brother any cause for suspicion.
Without preamble, Iiro got straight to the point, his gaze locking on me and the dukes at my side.
“Sir Stenvall,” he said in an overly pleasant tone. “Why don’t we begin with you.”
He gestured for me to stand before him, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I nodded, casually sliding my hands into my pockets as I stepped forward.
We had known that he would likely single me out first, to make an example of me. To encourage the others to bow to his whims once he forced me to do the same.
Before Iiro could utter a single word, a dense mist settled over the palace, obscuring the morning sun that had lit up the room only moments ago.
Like the distant beat of a war drum, or the dark skies that beckon a storm, the cloud served as a beacon of her arrival. Relief washed over me in response.
She was here. Alive and here, and soon we could put an end to this charade.
A few of the dukes exchanged startled glances at the abrupt wave of fog uncharacteristically high in the air, but there was no real alarm.
At least, not until a burst of light flashed through the air, followed by a sharp, explosive crack directly over our heads. When the air around us no longer shook with the force of the thunder, Iiro barked a few orders for the guards stationed near him to make sure that no major damage had been done.
He and the other dukes shot cautious glances out the window.
“You were saying,” I prodded, wanting his attention on me and not the courtyard, just in case.
He slowly turned back to me. “Yes. I assume you’re ready to accept the taxes on imported goods, for the betterment of our great kingdom.”
I pretended to consider it while I took several steps closer to him. His guards had been well trained, though. They stepped in as well.
“Tell me,” I said conversationally. “Will you be collecting nearly half of all dowries going forward, or is that treatment limited to Bear?”
Iiro’s eyes narrowed. “When those dowries are moved in from another kingdom, I will.”
Whether he was off his guard because of my wife’s weather, or had grown too comfortable on his throne, he had given the wrong answer. The dukes shifted uncomfortably, many of them likely considering the benefits of their own alliances in Lochlann. Even his allies murmured in disagreement.
But I didn’t really care what he said, just that we conversed long enough for me to be the closest one to his throne, and that he remained distracted until Rowan got here.
“I see.” I let a facetious note enter my tone. “And the taxes on food, what do you plan on doing with the surplus?”
Iiro huffed out an irritable breath. “I hardly see how that is relevant for you to know.”
“I would like to know as well,” Arès spoke up. “Surely you believe the clans have a right to be told where their tithes are being used?”
Ignoring their back and forth since it would hardly matter in a few minutes, I took the opportunity to survey the room again. Everyone was in position—the Elk soldiers were split between the door and the front of the room to protect their king. Interspersed among them were the deep purple uniforms of Iiro’s soldiers.
Bear, Crane, and Lynx soldiers were separated enough between the other clans that it would make it easy for them to not be surrounded. Wolf would respond, and likely Viper, but I had my doubts that Mikhail’s men would make a move when he had no guarantees how this would go.
There was no reason for anything to go wrong. Except…
Except that anything could go wrong in a battle. My wife was more than capable, but it only took one good opening for someone else to best you. She had pointed that out herself, more than once.
A small web of panic crept through my veins as I considered her position. But I quickly stamped it out. She was surrounded by an army who wouldn’t let anyone get close to her. Besides, panic would accomplish nothing, and I needed to keep my head.
Vaguely, I registered Iiro directing a snide comment toward me just as the doors to the room burst open and the very woman in question strode into the room.
And she was…stunning. Covered nearly head to toe in her black armor, a wicked saber in each hand, and her eyes burning with resolve.
It wasn’t just her that everyone was looking at. The army of Besklanovvy at her back had their rapt attention. And right on cue, the Elk soldiers stepped back to allow them in.
Iiro’s eyes widened with betrayal, but I didn’t give him time to process what was happening before I advanced on his nearest guard. Arès and Danil had drawn their weapons as well, and I had a moment to be grateful for the deeply traditional nature of Socairan laws.
The king couldn’t disarm his dukes. All he could do was bolster himself with guards, but unfortunately for Iiro, nearly half of his were already against him.
All around me was the clashing of steel and the grunts of pain. Lynx and Crane and Bear soldiers split between holding back the neutral clans and fighting off others.
I brought down my sabers, cleanly severing a head from its purple-clad uniform. Then swept them to the side to slice across the chest of a Wolf soldier, all the while keeping my focus on the Obsidian Throne and the aalio still sitting upon it.
As quickly as they could, the Besklanovvy were filing into the room, adding to our soldiers, and I reveled in Iiro’s fury the more our numbers swelled.
Another clean strike, another head on the floor until I was face to face with the man I had hated for most of my life.
Movement caught my eye to my right, and my stomach twisted in dread. Kirill was on his knees, blood pooling between his fingers, gushing from the dagger embedded in his eye socket.
The world narrowed to a pinprick, time slowing with the heavy thud of my heartbeat. We had already lost Igor and Dmitriy and Pavel. And now Kirill, the closest thing to a friend I had known outside of my cousins.
For the barest fraction of a moment, I was tempted to go to his side, even though there was nothing I could do.
I wasn’t a healer.
I was a soldier. An executioner.
And if I didn’t end this now, here, who knew how many other lives Iiro would destroy?
Then I blinked, and Yuriy was there, meeting my eyes steadily. His war-hardened gaze was so unlike the boy who had faltered over being caught playing cards with my lemmikki, and his skill with a sword was unparalleled.
If there was any hope for Kirill, Yuriy would keep him safe. And if there wasn’t…Yuriy would be at his side. He wouldn’t die alone, like Pavel had.
It was all the reminder I needed of why I was here.
So I advanced on the coward hiding behind his throne, knowing it would be that much harder to keep my promise to his brother if my friend died.
Iiro drew his weapon, scrambling back from his throne as he realized it was down to him and me.
Some part of me had always known it would come down to the two of us, from the moment he betrayed me to Ava all those years ago.
It really was a shame I couldn’t kill him for that, but I was ready to end this all the same.