22. Epilogue
Epilogue
“ S o”, King Orwyn, the Lord of All Craerenth, the Master of Five Provinces and the Beloved of the Triad, asked his younger brother, “you’ve done better than I’ve expected”.
He did not sound pleased. That was understandable, Athelstan supposed; understandable if one got into Orwyn’s skin and thought his thoughts. The fact that the invasion was repelled was good, of course; but the victory also demanded some complications that Orwyn could not be comfortable with.
One complication was his brother’s dangerous independence of action.
The other...
“But? You can say it. I am quite prepared for the but”.
“But I gave you no permission to contract Roxane into any sort of marriage, much less one with a merchant’s spawn!”
“In other words, the son of the sorts of men who paid for your glorious victory?”
Orwyn flushed crimson. It was quite a sight to behold.
“That is beside the point,” the young king said tersely. “You had no authority to take such a step.”
“If I had not acted, our ships would have been half in number. I would have never defeated the yarl’s forces with the local sea-levies alone”.
“You could have sent an urgent missive here, requested an audience...”
“By that time, Mearnt would have already been laid waste to.”
“Still, you overstepped. There is no law against it, perhaps, but I will correct this oversight.” Suddenly, Orwyn”s expression changed - his smile was as sunlight now. “I dare say, your victory still was ingenious.”
“I would not have accomplished it without my lady wife.”
“You are modest. I suppose you’ve always been. Resurrecting an ancient weapon is not something one accomplishes every day.”
Athelstan watched that smile with suspicion.
“It would be a great boon to me,” Orwyn said.
“I imagine it would be.” He made no move.
“I shall send my men to Greyharbor to retrieve the supplies you have left and the man who created them, whoever he is.”
For a second, Athelstan felt rather stunned. Did his brother really not guess?
But did Orwyn even know about their chaplain’s old studies, it occurred to him? Had he ever asked?
Why would he, on the other hand? Old retainers had a role to play on the stage that was his life, just like the hero had his. Buried dreams were not included in the allowed lines.
“I suppose you would like to.”
“You speak strangely.”
“Hardly. I am telling you very frankly that no such thing will happen. I will not allow it.”
“You will not allow it?” The smile disappeared. “We are no longer boys playing at conquerors around Greyharbor, Athelstan. I am your sovereign lord.”
“No, we are indeed not,” the younger man said quietly, with bitter softness. “I have followed your lead, then. I ached for your approval. I think I’m quite cured of that.”
“It matters not. Unless you want me to send an army to take what is mine…”
“Now you can spare a force under the crown to send to Mearnt, my sovereign lord?” Athelstan smiled humorlessly. “I was under the impression you did not think our doings worthy of it. Regardless, if you try, I will resist.”
“With what?” Orwyn scoffed. “I am no fool. If my reports of the battle are true, the forces under your command received a good battering.”
“The Undying Fire is a mighty weapon.” A promise to turn the fiercest concoction of the ancient alchemists against his brother, all contained in a few words. There has never been a quieter explosion.
“You can’t have many of it left, and transmuting a new batch will take time.”
“I have another weapon, too.”
“What weapon?” Orwyn laughed his brief, congenial laugh, clearly thinking his brother was bluffing. “Have you resurrected a manticore or two, too?”
“I don’t need to. The moment your soldiers take a step towards Mearnt, a letter will be sent to every great lord and lady of the realm. A letter explaining that their hero is a man guilty of consanguinity and breaking the laws of the Triad.”
His older brother’s face grew red:
“She was no relation of mine.”
“She was our father’s second wife. Your stepmother.”
“One barely older than I was!”
“It matters not. It is forbidden.”
A memory hovered on the edge of his mind: a silver-green spring afternoon, a window open to let in the wind from the sea, an open door into his brother’s bedchamber; a woman, dressed in naught but a bedsheet standing in the center of the room.
“You have kept the knowledge of it close to your chest for years. Why, if it’s such a sore wound to you, you hypocrite? Or were you planning to use it against me one day even then?”
Athelstan shook his head in disgust:
“I kept your secret because I loved you, you lust-sodden fool. Because you were the only brother I had. Because I’ve always done my duty.”
“Duty? You are a bad liar. If you’re such a Triad-fearing man, it would have been your duty to expose me, too, wouldn’t it?”
“It was. When one duty clashed with another, I chose the one that would hurt you least. I would make this choice no longer.”
For a moment, they stared at each other, like fighters in the midst of a duel.
“Words don’t bring down kings”, Orwyn said at last. “Arms do.”
“There are powers in the world beyond the sharpness of blades. Even if you deny your crime to high heavens, and I know you would, how many would believe you?”
“Many would. You are not exactly a glorious figure, Athelstan.”
“Perhaps. But it would only take one powerful lord with a surfeit of ambition to lend it his ear and induce others to follow him. Or do you forget how you yourself have come to the throne?”
Athelstan knew that he was staking his life on the throw of a dice. There was something tugging at him, telling him it would be easier to surrender, to follow his duties as a younger brother and a vassal and give Orwyn what he wanted.
But he had spent a lifetime doing just that. Besides, easier and right were quarrelsome bedfellows in the best of times.
“You have two days to leave the capital”, Orwyn said at last. “Ride back to Greyharbor. You will never leave it, never come to court again. I will strike you out of the line of succession, and your sons, when your wife finally does her duty and bears you those. From this hour on, I have no brother.”
“As you say,” Athelstan replied. The taste in his mouth was bitter as ashes, but his head felt light. “My sovereign lord.”
Would you like to return to the world of Craerenth?
Lady Corinne Silverglade has no brothers - but she has a vivacious spirit and love for poetry-writing. Ragnald Amberly, the Chancellor of the Treasury, has no noble blood - but he has ambitions and a grudging respect for those who follow them. He needs a highborn wife; she needs a husband who won't lock her away in a solar.
Agreeing upon a marriage of convenience, they take their place at King Orwyn's glittering court…