Chapter Three – Scarlett
Chapter Three
Scarlett
I barely noticed the wounded and dying men as I strode past. After years of shadowing the emperor on his military campaigns, corpses and bloodstains had ceased to bother me.
It was a pity I couldn’t say the same for Lillian.
She hurried to keep up with my longer stride, her white skirts – entirely impractical for a battlefield – caked in blood and dirt.
‘How do you stand it?’ she asked, her voice faint. ‘It’s horrible.’
‘It’s war,’ I said, without looking at her. ‘It’s not meant to be pleasant.’
I hadn’t listened to Zandri when she recommended I stay behind, safe inside the palace walls. My father had been a lot of things, but never a coward. Who would respect a future empress who didn’t fight her own battles?
So instead, I had made the arduous journey to the Western Lands.
Had endured three days of blistering heat to reach Zigilia, only to spend another two months camped outside Damar, repelling skirmishes and waiting for the insurgents to run out of what seemed to be an endless supply of food and water.
I clenched my jaw as I stared at the fortified walls of Damar, hating them more than I had ever hated anything.
Under different circumstances, I might have found my surroundings beautiful: the green oasis where my army had set up camp, the rocky mountains silhouetted behind Damar’s high walls, and the reddish sand dunes of the Sanguine Desert.
But the sand dunes weren’t the only thing encircling the city.
It was also surrounded by a moat of corpses. A tangible sign of my continuing failure to take Damar.
‘It’s him, isn’t it? Severin.’ A frown puckered Lillian’s dainty brows. ‘You think he might have fled here. That’s why you walk amongst the bodies; you’re checking to make sure he’s not one of them.’
I hadn’t expected Lillian to make the connection, and it irritated me. But I tried to suppress the emotion, knowing that Lillian would feel that, too – which seemed exceedingly unfair, since I couldn’t magically perceive her emotions.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said sharply. ‘Severin left the Ravalian Court. If he came here, to muster forces against me and my family, then he’s committed treason and will need to be punished for it. It might be better if he is dead.’
Wisely, Lillian remained silent – though I doubted she believed me.
She had been by my side when I’d scoured the Ravalian palace for Severin, sending out search parties every morning.
She had felt the same pain I had when I’d been informed, again and again, that it was useless. Severin had vanished.
Lillian stopped abruptly and crouched down, peering intently at the body of a Warrior. I waved a hand in front of my face, trying to dispel the crowd of flies buzzing around the corpses.
‘He’s alive,’ Lillian announced, her face pale but determined. ‘Look – see? His chest is moving.’
‘If he is alive, the healers will carry him back on a stretcher.’ I started walking, but Lillian’s voice called me back.
‘We can’t just leave him here.’
‘And what do you suggest we do?’ I asked with fraying patience. ‘ Drag him back to camp? That would defeat the purpose of trying to save his life, don’t you think?’
Lillian narrowed her eyes stubbornly. ‘At the very least, we should tell the healers where he is. Maybe I can wait here, and–’
‘I have a strategy meeting in an hour. I can’t be distracted, worrying about you and some random soldier.’
‘You can be cruel sometimes,’ Lillian said softly. Even in their softness, her words were cutting.
I strode away, not bothering to check that Lillian was following. Ever since I had brought her back to life, I always knew exactly where she was.
‘Those men fought and died for you ,’ Lillian muttered.
‘They fought and died for the empire,’ I corrected, and tried not to think about how many men I’d lost today.
Even a costly victory is better than a defeat , I reminded myself. But they weren’t my words.
They were my father’s.
The crimson pavilion was surrounded by four armed men – two outfitted in Warrior black, and two wearing the golden armour of normal soldiers. I had insisted upon it.
The custom was for royals to be guarded by the Order of Warriors – men and women with magical strength and speed – but I couldn’t trust them. Roran had been their royal patron, after all. Now, as our father’s heir, he was only a formal coronation away from becoming emperor.
It was a dangerous edge to balance on, overseeing a war in my half-brother’s name. I wore a crown and commanded immense resources, but I was constantly looking over my shoulder – and so were the Masks Zandri had sent with me for protection. Yet Roran seemed content to leave me alive for now.
If Zandri’s spies were correct, and they usually were, he was wholly focused on his military campaign in Kalure. No doubt his arrogance demanded that he assert full control over the country before returning, victorious, to officially claim the Ravalian throne.
Which couldn’t happen. If Roran ever returned to Ravalia, it would have to be in a coffin. Because if he returned and was crowned–
One battle at a time , I told myself. Focus on the enemies inside your borders. Then the ones in the North.
General Harte and his officers had already begun the meeting inside, seated around a circular wooden table with a map spread out in front of them.
Disrespectful, but I wasn’t surprised. The general was a bullish, unpleasant man who had no love for me – or any woman in a position of power.
Only Aric and Avril – whose presence I had personally requested – were truly on my side.
Chairs scraped back at my arrival. Led by the grim-faced General Harte, the officers bowed their heads, with murmurs of, ‘Princess.’
‘I invited you here,’ I said, taking a seat at the head of the table, ‘to advise on our next move.’
‘We simply wait them out,’ General Harte said, his voice a low rumble.
‘We’ve been here for two months without progress, General. The army is restless, and I’m losing patience.’
‘It’s important that we all hold our nerve, Your Highness.
’ This was said with an edge of condescension, but his statement was ambiguous enough that I couldn’t challenge him on it.
‘The Zigilians rely on water and food sources outside their city walls. Now that we’ve seized those, they don’t have the resources to withstand a siege indefinitely. ’
‘Neither do we ,’ I said impatiently. ‘Yes, we have access to the oasis, to their livestock and their date palm farms. But feeding an army is no small task, and the Zigilians know that. We’ve been waiting them out for months now, and we’re no closer to stopping this rebellion.’
‘War takes time, Your Highness,’ General Harte said, in the same indulgent tone he had used when I was a child. ‘With all due respect, I’ve served the emperor well on many battle campaigns. It may be best to leave strategy to me.’
‘Every day,’ I said, fighting to keep my voice calm, ‘more Warriors die outside Damar’s walls–’
‘–and the losses are always heavier on our enemy’s side. You yourself refer to them as minor skirmishes.’
I referred to them as skirmishes rather than battles because that was what my father had always done.
A skirmish was a minor act of rebellion, a tantrum that could be put down by our superior forces.
But with continuing losses, and no sign of action, it wouldn’t matter what I called them.
I would lose the support of my army, and if that happened, I would never rule the Ravalian Empire – even if I was the last of my siblings still standing.
Conspiring with Zandri to kill my father, framing Mira and Cassius for his death, losing Severin in the process . . . it would all have been for nothing.
And that was unacceptable.
‘Emperor Kalias’s assassination has emboldened the insurgents,’ I continued, ‘and they’re not the only ones.
Dozens of other countries are watching this war with interest, deciding whether to follow suit and rebel.
We need to make an example of Zigilia.’ I turned my attention to the rest of the officers.
They might be loyal to the general, but surely they could see the flaws in his plan.
‘This can’t be a slow war, fought with endurance and rations.
It must be a fast and decisive victory. Otherwise, we’ll face rebellion on multiple fronts. ’
Avril leant forward, bracing her forearms against the table. Her dark, braided hair was pulled back, accentuating her deep brown eyes and sharp cheekbones.
‘Not all Zigilians are against us,’ she pointed out. ‘Many were content to live peacefully under Ravalian rule. Perhaps they can be convinced to turn against the insurgents.’
‘A convenient suggestion,’ General Harte said coldly, ‘considering your Zigilian heritage.’
‘That heritage,’ Avril retorted, ‘is what makes my opinions valuable. Unlike you, General Harte, I know the Zigilian culture. I’m sure you can agree it’s better to understand your opponent in war.’
‘It’s also important to know your enemies.’ General Harte’s face was hard. ‘And I don’t trust operatives from the Order of Masks. Let alone Zigilian ones.’
‘How dare you.’ The muscles in Avril’s bare arms flexed, and I suspected she was imagining wrapping her hands around General Harte’s throat. I sympathised with the impulse. ‘I took the same oath of loyalty as you did. I can no more betray the Ravalian Empire than–’
‘No one is doubting your loyalty,’ I cut in.
‘Zandri herself recommended you as the next governor of Zigilia, and I hold your strategic insights in high esteem. Particularly as there are no other useful suggestions.’ This last part was said for General Harte’s benefit, whose face hardened even further.
A few of the other officers visibly bristled.
Across the table, Aric frowned at me. Don’t push him , that frown said.
‘Leave us.’ At my order, the officers rose and filed out.
When General Harte moved to follow, I shook my head.
‘I would prefer that you stay. Aella?’ My attendant rushed over, her head bowed.
‘Please organise some refreshment for General Harte.’ More quietly, I said, ‘And tell Avril to send a Mask operative to his tent. I want to know his latest correspondence with Roran.’
Aella nodded and retreated, her copper plait bouncing.
As the interior of the pavilion darkened, servants lit fire braziers, casting General Harte’s face into harsh relief.
From the perspiration beading on his forehead, I knew that the fire had made the already warm space uncomfortably hot.
Several servants had fainted from heatstroke today alone – but my skin remained unnaturally pale and cool, just as it had since I had drowned and come back to life.
To General Harte, however, my pristine appearance only served as proof that I was better suited to a pampered life amongst the ladies of the Ravalian Court. I wondered whether his perspective would change if he knew I had murdered my father.
Aella set cool pitchers of water in front of us. The General gulped his down, unconcerned with appearances.
I watched him, conscious of Aric’s earlier warning. But I was tired of playing politics, and I suspected we both appreciated candour.
‘You’re being deliberately difficult,’ I accused him while Aella refilled the pitcher. ‘I know you don’t like me, General Harte, but a win in Zigilia is a win for the entire Ravalian Empire.’
‘Personal feelings have no place in battle, Your Highness. While I understand you’re unhappy with the war, it’s–’
‘It’s an embarrassment , that’s what it is!’
‘May I speak frankly?’
I drummed my steel nail guards against the table, imagining the lethal points slicing through General Harte’s skin. ‘Of course.’
‘I worked with your father on many campaigns. I am respected amongst the men, and my track record is not in question here. Whereas you . . .’ He paused, then continued more diplomatically, ‘This is your first time in a leadership capacity. The army tolerates your presence, but they follow me.’
This wasn’t an exaggeration. Without General Harte’s support – such as it was – I risked losing the already tenuous support of the Warriors, who attributed this disastrous campaign to my leadership and lack of experience.
‘Forgive me, General,’ I said with a simpering smile – the kind that suited the court lady he believed me to be. ‘I didn’t mean to question your authority. I am simply anxious for this war to end.’
‘As are we all, Princess,’ General Harte said, magnanimous now that he had won. Without waiting to be dismissed, he stood. ‘Why don’t you retire to your tent and allow your servants to tend to you? Leave the bloody business of war to me.’
General Harte turned his back on me like it was nothing. I watched him walk away, tracking his movements with narrowed eyes.
He had made a mistake, believing he could push me so far without consequences.
A mistake that may well prove fatal.