35. Thirty-Five
thirty-five
It should have been a spectacle for the entire court to witness, but Erqis was in no mood to deal with crowds today. Adjoining the throne hall was the war room, half as long as the hall itself, and windowless to prevent assassination.
Why the throne hall was decked in delicate stained glass windows if assassination was a concern, Erqis didn't even presume to try to understand. "You'll wear holes in the carpet," Qavor drawled, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall beside the open door. The Farn often had a stillness to him, a sturdy oak tree that only rustled in a breeze.
Erqis, on the other hand, was a babbling brook. Never still, and rarely silent.
"It's my carpet. I can do what I want to it."
"It's a waste of carpet, is what it is."
"Could you, please ," Neira ground out, two fingers pressed into the hollows between brow and nose on either side. "Stop repeating the word carpet." She sat at the head of the table, slumped in a way Erqis had never seen her. The previous day still bore heavy on her; Erqis knew she had barely slept.
"With pleasure, my love. Qav, what's another word for…?"
"Rug?"
“Throw.”
“Floor tapestry?”
“Oh, that’s a good one.”
Neira threw them both a withering glare. "I don't need to be here, you know."
"You absolutely do." Erqis sauntered over. Each step was closely monitored by her dark, narrowed eyes, up until he slipped a hand under her chin to tilt her face. "This is the result of your hard work." He brushed kisses against her mouth until her lips relaxed.
"Fine."
"Thank you, darling. This is a victory for you, after all. Savour it."
Just having her in the same room as him was soothing, bristly as she was. Perhaps she'd turn those bristles onto someone else today, and the three of them could have a laugh about it at dinner.
But more than bristly, Neira looked tired, a pallor to her skin that offset the darkness of the thin skin under her eyes. Her dark purple dress had long sleeves and a narrow, stiff collar that didn't meet at the throat, the narrow gap running all the way down her sternum. Every few inches a thin, delicately wrought silver buckle spanned the gap to keep the fabric from parting any more or any less. A more delicate crown than the one from the day of their wedding and her subsequent coronation had been wound into her dark hair, silver with dark amethysts.
She was slouching, but the moment steps began to echo through the hall she sat up straight, her spine replaced in an instant with steel, and the weariness banished from her face in a blink.
Gods, his wife was formidable.
One by one, the heads of Malvea’s noble houses filtered into the room under his jovial smile and took their places in the chairs around the table.
"Welcome," he told them, spreading his arms before returning one hand to the back of Neira's neck. Her dark, cool gaze slowly swept the room, meeting each pair of eyes. Some held his gaze longer, more bravely, than others. "And thank you for heeding my invitation to this illustrious meeting."
"Your invitation stated not the cause for it, your Majesty," said an older woman seated across from Neira, at the far end of the table. Her voice was firm with displeasure.
"Indeed it did not, Lady Carr. I wanted your honest opinions on what I am going to pose to you in a moment, not the well-crafted reply you would have orchestrated for your fellows."
Lady Carr smiled thinly. "Perhaps we gave you too little credit, your Majesty."
His fingers tightened against Neira's nape, just slightly. If it wouldn't have derailed this meeting, he would have loved to wrap his hands around that wrinkled neck. "And that would be entirely my fault, my Lady. I haven't given you much to praise me for – except my successful campaigns into most of Malvea's realms, of course. But I understand that success on the battlefield does not immediately translate into admiration from subjects who seem to feel they gain nothing from my victories."
"If I may, your Majesty. You haven't shared with us why you extend your reach so aggressively." To Lady Carr's right sat a man in his late thirties, leaning back in his seat with the same kind of leisurely arrogance Erqis enjoyed displaying. "Perhaps you'd like to enlighten us?"
"I would not."
"His Majesty has the means," Neira said coolly. "The riches to fund his campaigns, the armies to win them, all without compromising the safety or affluence of the kingdom he expands. In fact, if you were to look into it, you'll find that the trade contracts with Sersina and Helorn signed after their conquest have improved the flow and exchange of the regions' goods with Mir's money." When the lord merely blinked at her, slack-jawed, she gave him a thin smile. "You would know that if you had taken up your grandfather's duties along with his title and wealth, Lord Restir. Wealth, we have come to know, that is currently being squandered by your hands while your title's province in western Sersina starves. Starved , I should say."
"What?"
She glanced towards the young man who had quietly come in after the nobles and now stood next to Qavor. She gestured to the empty chair at her right – which should have been hers, if she hadn’t currently been sitting in the king's.
Erqis was happy to stand if it meant Neira’s power play could unfold the way she had planned it.
"Please, sit,” Neira continued. “Lords and ladies, this young man is head of the officiars tasked with keeping an eye on the kingdom's finances. A position he earned, I should add, not by inheritance but rather through hard work and a genuine love for this realm."
A flush crawled up Restir's neck, his jaw so tight Erqis could practically hear his molars grinding together from the other end of the room.
"Officiar Kartenn, please explain to Lord Restir what has been happening in his own territory while he has been so terribly busy." A warmth had softened Neira's voice; genuine appreciation for someone who took his work for the realms seriously.
The young man cleared his throat and pushed his spectacles up his nose, opening the tome to a pre-marked page. His voice was surprisingly deep and firm, granting him a gravitas belying his slight frame.
"An ealdorman has been appointed to the province of Frevira to run it in your name, Lord Restir. Eighty percent of your income as lord of your house will be diverted into his care to use for the province as he sees fit. We expect an increase in product and agricultural diversity, as well as a decrease in general population poverty by the end of next spring at the very latest. Most of the cattle farms as well as the shipyards have been grant-aided to ensure their survival through the winter."
"You can't do that!"
Ira stared at him over the rim of his spectacles. "By the grace of her Majesty, it is already done."
Erqis fought the grin tugging at his lips with everything he had. Neira had done in a few days what he hadn’t managed by himself in years. Effortlessly, too. Understanding passed over the faces of the first nobles, followed by anxiety.
"You'll find that since the Crown supplies a large part of your income specifically to be used for the benefit of your provinces, the Crown can just as easily take it away – for the benefit of your provinces." Neira glanced up at Erqis, her lashes sweeping low for a moment when Erqis rubbed his thumb against her nape. "Correct?"
"Yes, my love. It was stated very clearly in the titling contracts, all of which have been duly witnessed and signed, and I have no plans to amend them." He allowed his smile to bloom, delighting in the stunned faces lining the table.
"I am very sorry that I have been neglecting this specific part of my duties as your king. There is more to ruling than just campaigning. Fortunately, her Majesty has an eye for such things, so these things will not be overlooked again."
Until their deal was done, a small voice in his mind reminded him, and Neira left to lead the life she wanted.
He glanced down at her dark head for a moment, the contrast of her black hair swept up into twists and braids and the graceful fragility of her neck, the roughness of his weapon-trained fingers against her fine skin just below her hairline. His thumb fitting into the hollow behind her ear.
But that was a worry for another day. He couldn't be distracted now.
"As I am sure that you only desire the best for the lands and people who rely on you, much like the king and I do, no doubt you understand that in order to ensure equity, your estates will be audited within a fortnight." When several aristocrats began to protest, Neira raised her hand. "Your concerns will be heard in an orderly manner. Ealdormen or women will be appointed for those who have been lax in their efforts, but we are not here to punish you. In fact, the king and I have decided to assign a regiar for every realm under our rule, and we would take our pick from your ranks for the honour."
"What if we refuse?" Lady Carr was the only one not flustered, who had not spoken out of turn. "What if we decide to continue as we have?" She stabbed a ringed finger against the table's wood. "Many of us have been in the service of this kingdom for longer than you have been alive. What makes you think we would bend to you now? What do you believe you can do, if we and our successors refuse?"
She'd make such a nice, crisp corpse.
"I understand, Lady Carr. My father's regiars also had an aversion to change. Why change something that has worked for generations, yes?" Neira smiled when the older woman just stared at her imperiously, but several of the other lords had begun murmuring among themselves. "You'll find me very persuasive, however. Let us speak frankly."
She leaned forward, steepling her charcoal-tipped fingers. Erqis had seen her scrub her hands, and knew those black smudges were a part of her now. "We know of your plotting and scheming. While I don't care for the little games you play amongst yourselves, a waste of valuable time as they are, every plan reaching above your station within this court is treason. You know well that we need to build no pyres here, and so your execution will be swift, without ceremony or trial."
Erqis grinned, smoke trickling from his lips.
A flicker of doubt, of wariness, had etched itself onto Lady Carr's face. "Our heirs would rise up against you, your Majesty."
"No, Lady Carr, they will not. You'll find that my magic makes people very loyal." Neira's smile was serene. "Of course, I will have to strangle your children myself to turn them, but surely that won't be more than an afternoon's work."
The room was deathly quiet. None of them had forgotten the screams of Woodhaven's messenger – not the ones from Erqis’ flames. No. Rather the ones from when Neira had forced life back into that blackened, cracked corpse, the screams of a man enduring a pain that not even death could release him from.
Neira held the older woman's eyes for a long moment before looking around the table again. "I'm sure it won't come to that. All of you are smart, loyal, dedicated people, left directionless while your king has been pre-occupied. Once we redirect your intelligence and passion into something more meaningful, you won't need to amuse yourselves with games that are surely beneath you."
Erqis’ chest swelled with pride. This clever, confident woman was his wife . Of course he'd had to force her into this marriage; but Neira was very much able to rule the world without him if she wanted to, if she just reached out to seize it.
"Now, there are twenty of you and only eight realms, so some of you will remain on provincial level while the most competent among you will rise to handle the demands of their assigned realm and oversee you as a whole," Erqis told them. "These positions aren't linked to your titles or family lines – you can and will be replaced if you don't perform to our satisfaction."
This had also been Neira's idea. Pride and long-standing feuds among the noble houses would keep the competition alive, and since it was a dedication-based model, their productivity would hopefully increase to keep their position – or to strive for a promotion.
It was something Erqis would never have thought of. But Neira, despite having grown up with seemingly only the dead for company, understood people, understood the game they had to play.
That, too, was something that kept Erqis up at night: if the Dread King had all that magic at his disposal as well as this deep knowledge of politics and human nature, enough to teach his daughter to be so competent on this battlefield of wits despite never having stepped foot on it before – why hadn't he taken all the realms for himself?
How had he succumbed to Qavor's arrow so easily, and his bone army to Erqis' flames?
Neira rose. As though already her puppets, the lords and ladies followed suit. "We will spend some time with each of you once the audits are complete, to decide who will step up. Now-"
A commotion in the corridor interrupted her, the large doors thrown open. "Your Majesties!"
Qavor blocked the door with his body, immediately alert. A soldier stood at the door and behind her a small group of her comrades were carrying , something between them in a sheet.
Something that was losing a lot of blood.