Chapter 43 #2
“I did not know,” the man said quietly. “I never thought Calentrius—” He sighed.
“Well, what has been has been. Now, I help the Broken Stag disrupt—steal trade supplies, wreak havoc, rescue prisoners, and spread the truth about the corruption within this city. Their cause is the same as mine—to end the burnings, the terror, and the dictatorship. The more people turned against my father and Octavia, the more people steered towards supporting Penny and me, the better. But the factions must also be converted against Octavia. Once she stands isolated, Penny and I step forward as the only viable continuity of the realm. A claim the factions could endure because they would have been persuaded that their interests align with mine, that the bloodline remains, and the realm does not collapse into ten private wars.”
“Don’t mistake me,” Nyx piped up. “I ain’t fighting to polish a prince’s crown. But if putting him and his sister on the throne ends the pyres without tearing the city apart, I’ll stomach it.”
Alaric nudged her side. “In any case, it is easier said than done. I struggle to inspire trust amongst the nobles, and Penny comes across to them as a fool.” His eyes bore into Richard’s.
Tentative, questioning. “If Penny were wed. If a new, more formidable ally could enter our court and help us manoeuvre this web—”
Richard laughed. The coldness in it made Alaric flinch. “No.”
Nyx scowled. “Hey, you might as well hear him out. You think we have it easy here? Do you know how many friends I’ve lost—”
“I do not care,” Richard said. “I will not send my sister here. Not to this city.” His lip curled. “Not to your father’s house and not to the vultures circling it.”
“You would keep your sister from her love?” Alaric asked through gritted teeth. “Have you no heart? I have watched Penny weep with each day she is separated—do not tell me your sister does not do the same.”
“I love her, Brother, more than I have ever loved anything in my life—”
Richard’s hands balled into fists, pain prickling from where his nails bit deep into his palms. “It matters not. She will remain with me. Safe.”
“You speak as though I ask for her pretty company to brighten my supper. I speak of state and survival. Of the sister I love and the kingdom I mean to keep from becoming a pyre. I would have you consider—”
“I have considered.” Richard snarled, shrugging off Kaelen’s hand on his shoulder. “Estara could crumble to ash, and I would not lift a finger. I owe this kingdom nothing. I owe you nothing.”
“Better is it?” Alaric rose to his feet, slamming a fist on the table. “To damn Estara from afar than to admit that your sister’s heart has long since crossed the border, whether you permitted it or not.”
Richard stood too, the bench scraping back. “I have only this afternoon witnessed what this place does to those beneath its crown.”
“And I have lived it!” A calculating gleam entered Alaric’s eyes. “Perhaps you do not care if my realm burns. Perhaps you do not care if Penny and I must carry this alone. But surely, Your Majesty, you care for this realm’s armies.”
Richard’s mouth shut.
“Surely,” Alaric continued, “you care that General Marsten commands ten thousand soldiers. Surely you care that the Iron Wardens have military prowess and equipment that yours cannot hope to match.” He lowered his voice. “I know what looms over Ardenia. I know that you are in need of swords.”
Richard’s blood went cold. “The harpy.”
“It came to our court,” Alaric said. “Brought news of King Galdran’s ambitions—to conquer both the Ardenian king and kingdom.
Well, my father cared little, told the harpy to send Galdran his best. But later, the creature sought my dear stepmother.
” He snorted. “And the servant I had placed to spy upon her—dead now on the pyre—told me it all. Octavia has secured an alliance through the harpy, Your Majesty. Estara will side with Gloamvarn when the veil does fall. And you cannot fight a war on both sides.”
Richard’s stomach plunged as though the floor of the chamber had dropped clean out beneath him. It took all he had to keep his face still, but below him, his legs quivered.
He’d never expected much from Estara. Not since his parents’ deaths.
But this was worse. If Estara brokered a deal with Gloamvarn, if Ardenia faced monsters on her western border and ten thousand Iron Wardens on her eastern border, how—in what world, could Ardenia hope to survive?
Not even with Frostheim’s help, not even with the Sylari could—
“Marius would not commit Estara to a war,” Richard said hoarsely. “He is a snake and a coward, but he values Ardenia’s trade, its grain and its silk. He values, if nothing else, the comfort of a neighbour he can predict. He would not discard it all for the sake of a realm of monsters.”
“My father.” Alaric lowered himself back onto the bench, appearing suddenly very tired.
“My father values nothing. Not Ardenia, not Estara, not the chair he sits upon, nor the children he has sired. He values the wine in his cup and the woman in his bed, and when those two are seen to, he obeys whatever his good wife tells him.” Alaric’s stare was bleak.
“My father is dead, Your Majesty, though his body walks yet. He died when Calentrius drew his final breath. The king you remember is gone. Octavia counts down his days, and when she tires of him, she will take command over Estara entirely.”
The dome of the chamber felt too low and stifling. Richard closed his eyes.
“Our sisters are in love,” Alaric said softly.
“Let them be wed, and allow Princess Elara to come here. Together with Penny, she could turn the Silvered Tongues inside a season. The Gilded Scales would follow soon, for there are some of Octavia’s family who resent her power.
The Wardens are harder, but they are not impossible.
If Penny and I can be put on the throne, I shall give you an army. ”
Richard swung off the bench. “No. Not for an army. Not for ten armies will I give my sister to this fucking hellscape.”
Kaelen’s head jerked up. Even Alaric gawked, and Varkos let out a low whistle from his post at the wall.
Richard didn’t care. His hands had begun to tremble, and he flattened them against his thighs. “I would sooner stand alone on the field and die than sign her over to your court. Do you hear me, Alaric?”
The prince said nothing, though the distaste on his face was clear.
Kaelen rose to place a hand on the small of Richard’s back. The touch was steadying. Richard felt the slow, deliberate breath the knight drew and matched it.
“Nyx.” Richard nodded at the rebel leader. “Kaelen and I are in your debt, and we shall not forget it. But the hour grows long, and we must return to our company.”
Nyx’s expression was neither disappointment nor weariness. It was something older—the look of one, Richard thought, who had scattered the ashes of friends and would scatter more before she was done, and had taught herself not to flinch when doing so.
She sighed, squeezed Alaric’s shoulder and pushed herself up.
“Aye. Time you were gone, the both of you.” She adjusted her hood. “The soldiers above are likely still beating the bushes for your archer there. We’ve a passage that comes up through Lowmarket. You go up after dark, and you’d be wise to get out of the city.”
Richard managed a nod. Kaelen’s hand pressed firmer against his back.
Nyx gestured at an arched mouth in the nearby wall. “This way, then.”
Richard had turned to follow when Alaric’s voice resounded again.
“Your Majesty.” The prince sipped from his cup. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry for my father’s crime. Queen Aralynn did me a great kindness seven years ago when she broke our betrothal and gifted me her prophecy. I will not forget it.” He smiled mirthlessly and lifted the cup. “Safe travels.”