The Night Nothing Happened, page 1
The Night Nothing Happened: And Other Stories of Myrcia
J.S. Mawdsley
Published by J.S. Mawdsley, 2022.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE NIGHT NOTHING HAPPENED: AND OTHER STORIES OF MYRCIA
First edition. August 20, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 J.S. Mawdsley.
ISBN: 979-8201601027
Written by J.S. Mawdsley.
Also by J.S. Mawdsley
Of Duty and Silver
The Queen's Tower
For Her Own Good
Royal Obligation
Reunion Vale
The Last Bright Angel
Of Duty and Silver: The Complete Series
Reign of the Eagle
Black Eagle Rising
Siege of Kings
Unspeakably Wooed
When You Are King
Old Habits Die Hard
A Troubled Peace
Reign of the Eagle: Complete Series
The Moiriad
A Sorceress Born
A Sorceress Made
Years of Exile
Called to Account
Standalone
A Fatal Humor
One False Step: And Other Stories of Myrcia
Above His Station: And Other Stories of Myrcia
Every Count Votes
A Fine Distinction: And Other Stories of Myrcia
The Changing of the Guard: And Other Stories of Myrcia
The Metal of Victory
The Web in the Palace: And Other Stories of Myrcia
Gilding the Lily: And Other Stories of Myrcia
The Night Nothing Happened: And Other Stories of Myrcia
A Glass of Sand and Stars
The Romance of the Viscount: And Other Stories of Myrcia
The Consolation Prize: And Other Stories of Myrcia
Red Sand Girl
The Art of the Future: And Other Stories of Myrcia
Girls' Night Out: And Other Stories of Myrcia
Watch for more at J.S. Mawdsley’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By J.S. Mawdsley
Introduction
The Day of Rath
Even When She Tries
Fashion of the Day
Beyond the Vale
The Night Nothing Happened
Little Victories
Unspeakably Wooed (Preview)
Leornian and Environs 354 M.E.
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Also By J.S. Mawdsley
About the Author
Introduction
Welcome to our second collection of short stories for our Reign of the Eagle series. As you probably know if you’ve been reading our books for a while, most of these stories were originally sent out to our email list and posted to our website as “teasers” for the second book in the series, Siege of Kings (which is on sale now, wherever ebooks are sold). The stories were designed to introduce readers to each of the major POV characters in the novel, so each story presents a character at a crucial moment in his or her life—a moment that turned them into the person we see later in the story.
Siege of Kings was a late addition to the series. Originally, the first book in the series was written in April of 2017. The third book, Unspeakably Wooed, was written in May of that same year. Back then, we had only vague notions of ever trying to publish anything, and the books were for our amusement, alone. We both knew the general timeline of the war that is taking place in the series, and it didn’t matter if the novels skipped over major battles or important treaties. All that mattered was writing stories that we personally found interesting, following characters we happened to like.
As you might imagine, that changed when we started publishing. Now we had to worry about whether our readers could follow the “history” of our imaginary war. We couldn’t just skip five or six years and say, “Oh, there was this huge siege, and one side lost and was driven into foreign exile, and so-and-so was supposed to get married, but her prospective husband died in the battle.” Readers might be put out to discover they hadn’t “seen” those events. They might feel as if they had missed an episode of their favorite TV series.
So, that’s why we wrote Siege of Kings five years after we wrote the book before it and the book after it. We think it fits nicely into the chronology. Plus, we actually learned a lot about our characters by writing it. And a lot of what we learned, we distilled into these stories, which we hope you enjoy.
As always, we have some bonus material for this collection. “The Day of Rath” is a new story about Muriel Gramiren doing a good deed for a friend. Or at least as good a deed as Muriel is capable of doing. The friend in question is Volker Rath, whom you might remember from several previous books. He’s been Muriel’s husband’s loyal ADC and henchman for many years, and he shows back up again in Siege of Kings to play a small but vital role.
We also have a map of “Leornian and Environs.” It’s the map we made to help plot out the movement of armies and spies in the countryside around the city, but we didn’t actually put it in Siege of Kings. So, here it is, and we hope you enjoy it. Now, when you read about someone leading an attack on Redlingham through the Bishop’s Forest, you’ll know exactly where that is.
If you enjoy the stories, be sure to check out Siege of Kings and the first book in the series, Black Eagle Rising, assuming you haven’t already. And keep an eye out for the release of Unspeakably Wooed, the next book in the series, due in the fall of 2022.
J.S. Mawdsley, August 2022
The Day of Rath
336 M.E.
The last time Broderick had dropped a problem this large in Muriel’s lap, their son had been born nine months later. But this was not simply one minor difficulty, but two. Twins, as it were. And just as Muriel had been happy to hand off her squalling little boy to someone else, she knew she had to find help with these new problems.
On a frigid January morning, she sat wrapped in furs and blankets on the inner balcony of her Wealdan Castle apartment. Overhead, the snow began to cover the wide glass dome, throwing the trees and fountains of the great Palm Court into shadow. She poured herself another glass of mulled wine and continued pondering what to do.
The first problem, and by far most important, was turning Lady Joyce Brysthwick Thacker into a suitable consort for a king. Joyce was pretty and witty and outgoing, which hid a streak of casual cruelty a mile wide. Muriel didn’t care about the cruelty. The woman would need that. No, what bothered Muriel was Joyce’s flightiness and lack of concern about the dictates of social propriety. Not that Muriel cared about those things any more than Joyce did. But Muriel was respectably married now, and Joyce wasn’t. At least not yet.
As it happened, the dictates of social propriety lay at the heart of her other problem. Lieutenant Volker Rath, Broderick’s longtime lackey and aide-de-camp, was going to need a wife now, too.
Broderick had given her this tedious duty the morning after he returned in triumph with news of Joyce. Muriel and her husband had woken up in the same bed, something that only happened on special occasions now. And finding Joyce was a very special occasion.
That morning, though, as Broderick pulled his clothes back on, he had turned and said, “By the by, if you could find a girl for Volker Rath, I would appreciate it. People are beginning to talk again. He was in Motecaster, and he went to a party hosted by your friend, Teddy Musgrove. One of those parties, if you know what I mean.”
“I thought you didn’t mind if people talked about Rath.”
“I care when his behavior reflects on his judgment, because his judgment reflects on me.”
Muriel’s first thought was to kill two birds with one stone. Why not enlist Joyce’s help in finding a mate for Lieutenant Rath?
She tossed aside the blankets and dressed quickly, choosing a close-fitted riding habit in wool and golden brocaded silk, plus a long, fur-lined blue cloak. Then she rode down through the city to the Crown and Shield Inn, past the east gate, where Joyce was staying until she could find more suitable accommodations.
Joyce said she would “simply love to be of any help at all.” And she promised to devote all her powers of intellect to doing so.
The trouble was that, even though Joyce could make clever double-entendres and flirt outrageously with the best of them, the fires of her intellect were, at best, a flickering rushlight. Worse, she could not apply even these limited means consistently to a problem. When Muriel went to visit her the next day, she found Joyce sleeping off a tremendous hangover. When Muriel returned Friday, she learned Joyce had gone out riding with two officers of the city garrison.
On Sunday, as they left the great, half-finished Terrwyn Cathedral after services, Muriel attempted to remind Joyce of her duty. “Have you thought of any girls at all, my dear?”
“I’m thinking of Phillipa Kirkenwell.”
“Very pretty, yes, and 21-years-old. But unfortunately married. She was sitting with her husband, Baron Kirkenwell. Surely you noticed.”
“Yes, but I meant her hat. Didn’t it look amazing with all those flourishes and silk flowers? I think I’ll stop in at my milliner’s right now and see if I can’t get something similar made. Want to come with me?”
“No, thank you,” said
She couldn’t, as it turned out. On Monday, Joyce went off sleigh riding with Lady Kirkenwell, together in their new hats, and Muriel began to suspect she would be getting little or no help from Joyce at all. Indeed, she started to think that getting Joyce together with Prince Edgar might be much more of a chore than she had anticipated.
By sheer chance, she saw Joyce again, two days later, at an afternoon luncheon hosted by Teddy Musgrove, of all people. Unlike some of Teddy’s parties, women were invited to this one, so Muriel had accepted his invitation eagerly.
The minute she entered the front hall, she spotted Joyce laying in the front parlor with a mixed group of men and women, all lying on cushions and carpets while sharing a Sahasran hookah. The air was full of pungent blue smoke, and Joyce had a rather dreamy expression on her face.
“Care to join them?” said Teddy, gliding up to Muriel. “Or shall I fetch the whiskey, so we can get hammered in a more traditional way?” He had adorned himself with an old Kenedalic-style embroidered wedding dress, complete with lace veil. “I’m going make this a regular occasion this winter,” he said. “I’m thinking of calling it, ‘Wedding Wednesdays.’ What do you think?”
“I think I’ll take that whiskey, thank you.”
He poured the drinks, and he and Muriel took the bottle over to a low couch at the far end of the room from the hookah. Muriel told him about how unreliable Joyce had been.
“I do wonder exactly what your husband sees in her,” mused Teddy.
Much as Muriel loved Teddy, she had not entrusted him with the secret of Joyce’s destiny, or with the knowledge of the tragic past that made her uniquely qualified to be Queen of Myrcia someday. But Teddy did know that Broderick had paid for Joyce to come to Formacaster and had entrusted Muriel with guaranteeing her entrance into the highest circles of society.
“Are you asking if he’s fucking her?” Muriel raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, obviously.”
Muriel shrugged. “Oh, I assume he’s taking her for a test ride, as one does with a horse. Just to make sure she doesn’t have any embarrassing predilections or some quirk of the plumbing that might prove awkward on her wedding night.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” said Teddy, tugging at his bridal veil thoughtfully. “She was married before, wasn’t she? She’s a widow—a rather merry one, it seems. But she never had any children, which makes you wonder if—”
“Speaking of awkward wedding nights,” Muriel said quickly, “I don’t suppose you could help me find a wife for Volker Rath, could you?”
Teddy laughed. “Seriously? Lieutenant Rath seems very happy as a bachelor, as far as I can tell. Very, very happy. In fact, did I tell you about my party at Motecaster? Rath stopped by, and—”
“Yes, that’s exactly the problem,” said Muriel sharply. “You are terrible at keeping secrets, dear, and now people are bothering my husband with rumors about his what his aide-de-camp does in the saddle, if you know what I mean.”
“What difference does that make?” Teddy frowned. “Broderick has never cared about that before. If there’s one thing that has always endeared your husband to me, it’s the fact that he cares less about whether a fellow is ‘Thessalian’ than any other Myrcian I’ve ever met.” He squeezed Muriel’s hand. “Other than you, of course.”
Muriel took a long, slow breath. She couldn’t tell Teddy that Broderick’s expectations, his hopes and dreams, were about to become reality. She couldn’t tell him that Joyce’s marriage to Edgar would ensure that someday soon, the privy council would have to recognize Broderick as heir to the throne. And then everything would change. There could be no hint of scandal around his name. To use a jousting metaphor, Broderick had been born already down two lances to zero because he was a bastard. One more scandal, and he might lose everything.
Not that they couldn’t enjoy little affairs here and there. Plenty of people did that, and if anything, the fact she and Broderick had lovers, but took great pains to ensure they had no bastards, raised their reputation at court, rather than lowering it. There could be no hint of anything strange or foreign, however. That would hurt Broderick’s chances to become king. And it didn’t matter in the slightest that he and Muriel didn’t care what anybody did in the bedroom. Their personal sense of sexual morality wasn’t relevant at all.
“Rath is barely anyone yet,” said Muriel. “But he will become more and more important as the years go by. He will have more and more lands and power. He will need to have someone to help him manage it all, just as I help Broderick.”
Teddy shook his head. “Lovely sentiment, but I know nothing at all about marriage, other than how to avoid it.”
“Ah, but it was your party that got Rath in trouble. So now it’s your responsibility to help me fix this.”
“Very well then. Let me see what I can come up with. More whiskey?”
Muriel declined the offer and went back up to the castle. Before she or Teddy or anyone else spent any more time on this problem, there was one person she absolutely needed to consult.
She found Lieutenant Rath at his tall, spindly desk of dark wood in the Guards’ Barracks, outside Broderick’s office. Broderick was at a meeting of the Privy Council, but Rath was still hard at work, poring over several large financial ledgers and muttering under his breath.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, using her best and friendliest smile.
“Serious irregularities, my lady,” he said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t tell you about it.”
“Oh, come now. Broderick tells me everything, so you might as well do it and cut out the middleman, as it were.”
Rath drummed his fingers on the page. “You’re friends with the Countess of Garthdin, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course.” The countess, Margaret Llamu, was the daughter of the Duke of Leornian, and her husband had taken over as constable of the great fortress of Keaton Fastenn after Broderick had been named captain general. Margaret served as the king’s hostess, since the queen was dead, and organized all the official court feasts and celebrations. Muriel didn’t see her precisely as a friend, but she was a terribly useful person to know, at least for the time being. “Margaret is like a sister to me.”
“Perhaps you should tell her husband to be a little less free with public funds.”
“Really? What’s happened?”
“Here are the funds allocated by the council for the maintenance of the fortress.” Rath showed her the books. “And here is what the Earl of Garthdin actually spent. You’ll notice there is a discrepancy. And I hear tell the earl’s house in Leornian is being remodeled at great expense.”
Muriel looked at the two ledgers. “Four Sovereigns. That’s it?”
“Four Sovereigns of the kingdom’s money, my lady.”
“Rath, everyone does this.”
“Not your husband, my lady. He was always quite scrupulous.”
“Not everyone can be Broderick,” she said, smiling. “He prefers to compensate himself in other ways. But as for you, lieutenant, you should think about yourself a little more. Do what other people do. No one will criticize you for it. No one will even notice. I daresay if anyone does, they will think better of you for it. No one likes a prig.”
He looked dumbfounded, then said slowly, “You think I should embezzle money...in order to fit in with everyone else at court?”
“Precisely.” She sidled closer and put an arm around his shoulders. “And you might want to think of other ways in which you could ‘fit in’ a little better. You’re going to be a great man someday, Rath. You’ll want to leave a legacy behind.”
“These are my legacy,” he said, pointing at the ledgers and maps and scrolls covering his desk.
“I mean a family.”
“A...a family?” His deeply-tanned face reddened. “My lady, you know I am not...traditional in that way. I have heard of places in the Empire where men live openly together, but here in Myrcia—”
“You misunderstand me. I mean you need a wife. You are hardly the first man in the Trahernian lands to find himself in this predicament. I think of my Uncle Valdemar, the King of Annenstruk, for example. My mother has told me all the stories about the trials and tribulations the family went through, trying to hush up the scandals and find him an acceptable bride. Don’t be like him, my dear lieutenant. Find a nice, understanding type of girl who will help you maintain the façade. You need only rouse yourself once or twice to get her with child, and then you can carry on doing whatever you like in private.”
