Reign of the Eagle, page 38
“I trust you will return soon, though, won’t you?” asked Muriel.
Lady Jorunn faltered, looking at Evika and then at the floor. “I...I certainly hope that the Freagast permits me to visit again, your majesty.”
So that meant she was abandoning him. No doubt this was somehow Caedmon Aldred’s doing. Fine, then. Let her go. Every hillichmagnar at Diernemynster could fall into the Void, for all he cared.
Much later, when the whole line of nobles had greeted him, he finally got to go to his own party. But everywhere he went, the festivities stopped, and people turned and bowed. Almost no one treated him normally, which he supposed was the point of a coronation. But it did make him feel oddly out of place in his own home.
Lukas was the same as always, though that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He was in the Silver Parlor with three young lady’s maids, drinking heavily and sticking his hands up their dresses without any concern for who might be looking.
“I can spare one of these girls as a coronation present,” he told Broderick. “I’ll even let you choose.”
Honestly, sometimes the man was more trouble than he was worth. Broderick had named him the new captain general, but clearly he regarded the corruption of young ladies as his primary responsibility.
Flora, too, was still her usual self with Broderick. And in fact more so than ever. She insisted on pulling him into one of the third-floor bathrooms, where she gave him her own “coronation present.” The woman was as lovely as she had ever been, though thirty years had passed since she had lost her maidenhood to him. And her skills had only improved.
But once he finished, and she wiped off her chin with an evil little smile, she sat on his lap and asked him if he’d decided on his Gentlemen of the Bedchamber yet. Obviously she was hoping Pedr would be one of them. The unspoken request spoiled the moment for him. He had always thought of Flora as a genuine friend, but now he could see that she was using him, the same as everyone else was, in order to advance her family’s interests.
It was getting difficult to think of anyone he really trusted anymore. The book had been right about him becoming king. Would it be right about his closest friends betraying him, too? When would it happen? How long did he have? Whom should he suspect? Whom could he trust?
Much later, when dancing had started in the council chamber and the throne room, Broderick found Sir William Aitken standing alone in the shadows, watching the happy couples spinning and twirling. Nothing about William had changed. He was always on guard—always ready. Yes, he’d failed in his attempt to kill Edwin, but that couldn’t really be helped. No one was perfect. And William had saved his life. A man like that deserved some sort of reward for his loyalty.
Broderick went and put a hand on William’s shoulder. “Come with me,” he said. The poor fellow jumped at the sound of his voice. Probably hadn’t had enough sleep lately.
They went out into Queen Maud’s Garden, past the buffet tables and lanterns, into a quiet, dark corner. “How is your family, William?”
The gaunt knight’s face went even paler than normal. Perhaps he already had a notion of what Broderick was going to say. “They’re...fine, your majesty. Thank you for asking about them.”
“How do you think your wife would enjoy being a baroness?”
“A baroness, sir?” William looked less than thrilled. “Sir, I couldn’t dream of such an honor.”
“Perhaps not, but you’re getting it, anyway. I’ve already ennobled Rath, if you can believe it. A retirement present, in his case, thank Earstien. But as for you, I need you at my court.”
“Sir, I’m not worthy.”
Broderick laughed and patted him on the back. “Nonsense, William. I think you might be the only one here tonight who is.”
The End
Volume 2: Siege of Kings
Chapter 1
354 M.E.
“I hope Broderick comes to Leornian—that way I can tell him to go fuck himself.”
Rohesia almost allowed herself to sigh, but managed to force a weak smile instead. It wasn’t that she disagreed with Margaret Llamu. After all, Rohesia’s final act before fleeing Wealdan Castle was to try to have the man poisoned.
She didn’t even necessarily object to Margaret’s colorful language. She would never have expressed herself in such words, but they were not inappropriate to the situation. No, Rohesia only wished Margaret and her sister-in-law, Elena Dryhten, Duchess of Leornian, would spend as much energy on the task at hand as they did complaining about Broderick Gramiren, the bastard (literal and figurative) who had usurped her son’s throne.
But Elena, current mistress of the Bocburg, and Margaret, the Countess of Garthdin (sent here by her husband for her safety), showed very little interest in being good hostesses today. They both certainly could be when they had a mind to. Rohesia had been well entertained by both ladies over the years, in fact. But today they seemed content to allow the servants to figure things out for themselves while they abused Broderick instead.
If they did not have a reception to plan for the remaining officers of the army and accommodations to help coordinate for thousands of soldiers, Rohesia might have been tempted to throw out a few expletives of her own. But the army was mere hours away at most, and much remained unfinished.
The problem was that even after two years at the Bocburg, Rohesia still felt uncomfortable making suggestions as to household management to Elena. Elena was the duchess and this was her home. Rohesia might be a queen, but she was still a guest. She suspected an admiral must feel similarly awkward deferring to a captain aboard a ship when he saw a storm coming and longed to take control of the vessel.
“I once heard about a man who was strung up by his own innards,” Elena said calmly, as though discussing the latest skirt styles. “I think it might have been in Tartu? Or perhaps Alokko. At any rate, smashing idea for Broderick.”
Rohesia examined the great hall. The banners of the nobles still pledged to her son draped the walls under the ancient hammerbeam roof. Food and beverage tables were studiously being filled. A fire roared in the vast fireplace, in spite of the mild and sunny spring day. Chairs and benches and tables had been set out a bit haphazardly on the smooth stone floor, but she supposed the arrangement suited well enough. Perhaps Elena was right to leave her servants to their tasks. That wasn’t how Rohesia had run Wealdan Castle, but simply because Elena had different theories did not make her wrong.
Before she could convince herself otherwise—which would have been the work of a minute—she scanned the room to see who had already arrived. The members of Edwin’s privy council who were not with the army had arrived after their meeting earlier in the day. It had been a hugely unproductive meeting, in which only two decisions had been made. The first had been to formally congratulate her brother Lawrence, who was Edwin’s captain general, on saving most of the army with this “tactical withdrawal.” The second was to say they would delay all other decisions until the rest of the privy council arrived.
Rohesia, naturally, had gone along with it all. (As Edwin’s regent, she, of course, was a privy councilor herself.) But in her heart, she knew that this retreat was a disaster for her son, and the person most to blame was her own brother. Lawrence, it was becoming increasingly clear to her, was not a terribly talented general. Certainly not in the same league with Broderick, much as it pained her to admit. But she would keep this to herself and focus on helping Edwin politically.
At this precise moment, her dear boy was talking with two members of the privy council: Dr. Sir Roland Stark of Leornian University and Kenrick Colwinn, the Baron of Eacaster and Lord Privy Seal. Edwin looked as if he were comporting himself well, but the fact was, he was a 10-year-old boy. Rohesia should be helping him with the council. Elwyn ought to be helping as well, but that girl was another problem entirely.
Rohesia genuinely wondered if any stepmother had ever been plagued with such a difficult stepchild. Elwyn was not a bad person, her intelligence seemed above average, and she loved her family in her own unique fashion. And yet her actions could almost uniformly be described as disastrous.
It had been bad enough back in Formacaster, before the fall. Rohesia still shuddered when she remembered how the girl had surrendered to the charms of a beautiful Immani spy, Lily Serrana. Elwyn had traded a few moments’ pleasure for a broken heart, and her thoughtlessness had put them all in terrible danger.
Now, here in Leornian, Elwyn had started another affair with a woman—Melanie Searle. The daughter of a Trahernshire knight, young Miss Searle was pleasant enough. However, neither was half so discreet as they believed.
Rohesia spotted Miles Richards, one of the finer servants here at the Bocburg, and waved him over. He was young with a serious air, and extremely competent. She liked him a great deal, and she knew that he could be trusted on this delicate mission.
“Miles, if you would, please go and find her royal highness Princess Elwyn. I am not certain where she might be found, or with whom, but I trust you will find her, ignore any indiscretions you might...witness, and inform her that her presence is required here immediately.”
Miles bowed. “Of course, your majesty. I will be as swift as possible.”
Now she only had to wait for Elwyn and the retreating troops. However, she did not particularly wish to spend that time listening to Elena and Margaret spew hatred about Broderick. Her own feelings were already closer to the surface than she would like, and remaining with these two would only threaten to crack her carefully maintained exterior.
“Pardon me, but I must attend to the king,” Rohesia said. “I will see you both later.”
More guests were beginning to trickle into the room. Most were notable citizens of the city or refugees like herself. But she also spotted a soldier or two in worn uniforms whispering to members of the privy council. She hurried along to join her son and one such soldier reporting to him and the other councilors.
“The retreat has been remarkably well managed,” the soldier was saying. “The captain general and the privy councilors with the army should arrive in an hour at most.”
“Splendid,” replied Dr. Stark. “Much sooner than we expected.”
“Yes sir,” the soldier nodded. “The army is moving more quickly now.”
Rohesia did not wish to bring up uncomfortable facts until she could speak to Lawrence and learn the truth, so she said nothing. However, she had grim suspicions. In the past two years, life had given her a practical lesson in the art of warfare. An exhausted and beaten army typically only increased speed because they were being aggressively chased. If her son’s army would be in Leornian soon, the army of the usurper was probably close behind.
“It will be good to see Uncle Lawrence,” Edwin answered with a smile that quickly turned to an awkward blush. “I mean, the captain general.”
Edwin often made the mistake of referring to family members informally in front of others. Rohesia had been working to break him of this habit for the past two years, but he was young and still slipped at times when most excited. She had no doubt he would improve, though. Unlike his half-sister.
Over the shoulder of the Baron of Eacaster, Rohesia saw Elwyn enter the great hall. She was adjusting the laces of her bodice and making as much of a hash out of it as she did everything. Rohesia made her excuses to her son and his councilors and hurried over to Elwyn.
“Come with me.” Rohesia steered Elwyn with a hand on her back while using her own body to shield the girl from view.
At the far end of the great hall sat the two thrones of the old King and Queen of Leornian. Behind the thrones, a door led to a private room for the royal family. She slipped Elwyn inside and closed the door behind them perhaps a bit more firmly than she had intended.
“Sorry I was late,” Elwyn began, still fiddling with her dress. “I was, well, I lost track of time.”
“Come here.” Rohesia spoke more harshly than she had intended, but Elwyn often had that effect on her. She pushed Elwyn’s hands away and took over the process of dressing her stepdaughter as though she were a child, instead of a 23-year-old woman. “You were being indiscreet, once again, with Miss Searle.” Rohesia worked loose the simple knot Elwyn had tied in her laces and started doing them up properly in an attractive bow. “This behavior needs to stop.”
“Yes, I should sit around and be miserable like the rest of you,” Elwyn muttered.
“You should be helping your brother in his quest to reclaim his throne.” Rohesia yanked the final bit of the lacing, perhaps more forcefully than necessary. “The army will be here shortly, and we are preparing a feast to celebrate the fact that they are not all dead, while simultaneously trying to convince our dwindling number of allies to remain on our side.”
“How dare you suggest I don’t want to help Edwin! What exactly do you want me to do that you and Duchess Elena aren’t doing already?”
“Talk to people, Elwyn.”
“I do talk to people,” she said. “I talk to people all the time.”
“You only talk to your same tiny group of friends. You never try to meet new people. Your brother is only a boy, yet he is out there, mingling with the court and making friends.”
“I’m not like you and Edwin. I don’t mingle well.”
“That is because you do not bother to try. You could be in the great hall right now, talking with the most important nobles in the kingdom. But where are you? In here with me, while I make you presentable after your Thessalian tryst. Be a grown up, for Earstien’s sake!”
“Oh, so now you are going to lecture me on being ‘Thessalian’? You’re always talking about your good friends, the Emperor and Empress of the Immani, who the entire world knows will fuck anything that moves, separately or together.”
As much as Rohesia wanted to strangle Elwyn, she instead clasped her hands together in front of her. “Since you know they are my good friends, then clearly you know the sex of your partner is not what troubles me. We are in Myrcia, not the Empire. I can’t be the only one who has noticed what you are doing, and other people will take issue with your choice. Sometimes we must bow to the norms of society. Perhaps if you spent more time with the more eligible young men of the court—”
“So, if I were fucking a man, instead, you think no one would care?”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it. This is neither the time nor the place for careless liaisons. Your family needs you, Elwyn.”
“Maybe you would all be better off without me.”
“You know that is not even remotely true.”
Elwyn dropped her gaze to the floor. As she so often did after Rohesia was forced to chastise her about her behavior, Elwyn appeared genuinely contrite and rather miserable. If only the girl could remember this sensation before she made yet another of her poor life choices.
“Elwyn, you either need to learn to be good, or at the very least figure out how to appear so. You must learn to distinguish between those things you want to do, and those things you need to do. We need every person in Leornian on your brother’s side, and you can either help or hinder that process. Please make the right decision.”
Someone knocked on the door, and Rohesia bade the person enter while Elwyn turned away. It was Miles, sent by the duchess to fetch them. “My pardon, your majesty, but the first troops have been spotted from the city wall.”
“Very well,” Rohesia answered. “Let Duchess Elena know we will be out presently.”
Miles bowed and left, but even once he was gone, Elwyn would not meet Rohesia’s gaze.
“Be good for the crowd, Elwyn. Don’t embarrass yourself publicly. Try to make a little small talk. That is all I am asking.”
“Fine,” Elwyn whispered in return. “At least I can look good. That’s what’s important, apparently.”
Rohesia did not know that she cared for Elwyn’s tone, but as Elwyn hurriedly pushed by her and back out into the great hall, she did not have time to say anything.
“Oh Earstien,” she prayed softly to herself. “Please don’t let that poor girl be the ruin of us all.”
Chapter 2
At the turn in the river, when he first saw the Aldred Bridge, Sir Alfred Estnor almost felt happy. A few of the dusty, exhausted men of his regiments let out a low, ragged cheer that was more a sigh of relief than a genuine expression of joy. For the last ten miles, they had all expected to see Gramiren cavalry come thundering down on them from the woods and fields on their left.
His brigade formed the tail end of the Sigor army—the army of the true King of Myrcia. Behind him lay miles of worn, rutted roads, broken carts, dead horses, and loyal villages left to their fate. And somewhere beyond that, down the valley in the distance, was the blasted usurper himself and that vast, unstoppable army of his.
Escaping wasn’t the same as winning—not by a long shot. But Alfred was relieved they had escaped, all the same. Next time they would try to do better. They would have to, or the war would be over pretty quick.
At the turn for the bridge, Alfred halted and waved his men ahead. He had no particular reason to be the last man over the river, but someone had to be, and it might as well be him. He saw that some of his officers had started setting up camps in the fields to the west of the city walls, joining all the other troops who had arrived earlier in the afternoon. With luck, there might be hot baths and hot food, but he would settle for clean clothes and a chance to shave. At the very least, he wanted to wash his face and comb his hair before he went to the Bocburg.
The famous castle lay just across the river now, with its high gray towers reflected in the shimmering water. A dozen barges were docked there, with the wounded and the handful of supplies that the army had managed to take with them in their haste to escape Keelweard. Beyond the castle stretched the old capital itself, ancient and proud. The massive, ornate bulk of Finster Cathedral dwarfed everything in its neighborhood, southeast of where Alfred stood. Almost straight to the south, beyond the castle, the spires of the university rose like a forest of gray stone.
