Throne of Ruins

by Karim Soliman

  Payton was in her reception at the palace main door. "The royal palace is all yours, Your Grace." He bowed before he held her horse's bridle while she was dismounting. The way he uttered 'Your Grace' sounded different from any time she had heard it before from anyone. Today it did have a meaning. Today it was the unquestionable truth. Today Rona Charlwood was the Queen of Bermania. For real.

  Her heart fluttered as she stepped into the throne hall for the first time in a decade, contemplating the huge, golden chandelier hanging with its two hundred candles from the thirty-foot-high ceiling, the eight colossal columns with grey twisted shafts resting on red stone plinths. The woolen crimson carpet spread on the marble floor from the hall entrance to the jeweled throne; the throne on which her father used to sit on.

  Drawing a deep shuddering breath, she ascended the three stone steps of the dais on which the throne seat was raised. Payton could be observing this scene at the moment, but she neither looked back nor tried to hide her emotions. She sighed when her hand glided over the golden armrest of the throne seat. "It is over at last," she muttered, imagining herself in the coronation ceremony, the High Cleric putting the crown on her head, all men and women of noble houses paying homage to her, to the Queen of Bermania.

  How long would it take her suitors to show up? One month after her upcoming coronation? Perhaps not that long. A few of them might be too impatient to even wait for that day. She was the most wanted girl in Bermania now, but how many men wanted her for who she was, not for the throne she sat on? As an exaggeration, she would say a few. The question that she should ask herself: who did she want to sit by her side on this throne? We will probably need another seat beside this one.

  "You sure you don't want to return to your archers as their commander?" She turned to Payton, still leaning to the throne.

  "I'm at your service wherever you want me to be, Your Grace." Payton gave her a slight bow.

  "I never questioned your loyalty, Captain, but for once I'm asking you: where do you want to be?"

  Payton grinned. "No honor matches the honor of watching over the Queen of Bermania."

  Suddenly, she thought of playing with him. "Which do you think is more honorable? Watching over the Queen? Or the King?"

  "The King?" he echoed, his brow furrowed.

  "You didn't think I would stay unmarried forever, did you?"

  "Married or not, I would serve you, Your Grace," he promised.

  "Even if the King commands you to serve him instead of me?"

  "If it is you who chooses him, then disobeying him will be disobeying you, Your Grace."

  She could not conceal her laugh. His wit was as quick as his arrow.

  "And do you know whom I am going to choose, Captain?" She tilted her head, her hands clasped behind her back.

  The new Captain of the Royal Guard was weighing his words this time. "I am quite sure you are going to choose the one you see best for the good of the realm."

  "If it is so, then I should choose Lord Daval." She studied Payton's face. "With the ten thousand soldiers he commands, we will reign in peace."

  "Queen Rona will choose a king, not submit to one."

  "Then you know more than you show, Payton." She leaned forward toward him. "Don't tell me I overestimated your cunning."

  Payton gave her a lopsided grin without saying a word. He knows.

  "Without courteous answers this time," she wagged a warning finger, "tell me how you think my vassals will react."

  Payton took a breath before he said, "I don't question the loyalty of any of them, Your Grace, yet I must say that timing should be considered. Even after this great victory, they are not ready to receive your massive announcement, not until they release all the tension they have been harboring in their chests for months. The nine thousand soldiers who have decided the fate of this throne are still here, inside the walls of this city. Their blades have not cooled off yet."

  He referred to her vassals as they, yet she had no doubt he was hinting at her former general. "Gramus will never betray me, no matter what," she affirmed.

  "Your decision might anger General Gramus indeed, but in the end, he will comply," Payton put in. "It is Lord Foubert who I am talking about."

  Foubert? How could she forget the man who had considered her as a bride for his son? "What about him?"

  "His entrance was decisive in this war," he pointed out. "I presume he might have high expectations from you in return, Your Grace."

  "Lord Foubert's remaining son is a married one, Payton. Unless you think he might propose to me," she scoffed.

  "He is not younger than Daval."

  No bloody way. If Payton's assumption was true, Rona would have no choice but to disappoint the Duke of the East. The question was: how far might that disappointment take him?

  "Wilander's crown." She wanted to change the topic. "Where is it?"

  "It is waiting for you in the royal bedchamber, Your Grace."

  "And what did you do to the women and children you found in the palace?"

  "They are all in the dungeon right now. Wilander is in a separate cell, according to Lord Masolon's orders."

  "Make sure they are well-treated," Rona demanded. "And I only mean the women and the children." Today she would decide what should be done with Wilander and Di Galio. "Call for a meeting by dusk with my lords. We have a few matters we must settle before they depart with their soldiers to their homes."

  "As you wish, Your Grace." He bowed and left. One of these matters was appointing a herald for her. A Queen's Guard Captain should only be a Queen's Guard Captain.

  Slowly touring the throne hall, she contemplated the paintings portraying Wilander's triumphs against the Rusakians in Karun and the Byzonts in Augarin. "Remove these and burn them now," she ordered her guards. There was no need to wait for her council's opinion about that.

  Ascending the stairs in quick steps, she headed to the royal bedchamber, two guards posted already at the door when she entered her new room. There, over the oak dresser next to the king's bed shone the Bermanian crown with its six gems. She put aside the tiara she had worn in her entrance to Kalhom and held her new one with both hands, regarding each gemstone that represented a Bermanian region. With her eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror, she carefully put the crown on her head. Wilander and his minion must see me now. She would pay them a visit whenever she felt ready for that. For the time being, she had no doubt that the moment she stood one foot close from either Di Galio or Wilander, she would plunge her dagger into their guts, and that was not the fate she wished for them. Scum like those two deserved a public display.

  Where was Masolon now? He had not been seen since he captured Di Galio near the docks. He didn't set off for another journey of his, did he? The thought itself was enough to cloud her mind. He wouldn't dare to ruin this moment, she could only hope, because it was never easy to predict the moves of that bastard.

  She sent a guard to summon Lord Masolon urgently, and as soon as the guard vanished in the corridor she regretted her silly move. The royal bedchamber was not quite the place to meet her vassals in. What would her men say about her?

  The guard returned to her room sooner than she expected. When she let him in, he said, "Ziyad begs for your permission to have an audience with you, Your Grace. He says he is sent by Lord Masolon."

  At first glance, she was frustrated that Masolon himself had not come. But sending his friend this fast was a reassuring gesture, right? At least, she was now sure he was still in the palace.

  The Murasen bowed to her when she allowed him to enter. "Greetings, Your Grace. May I say you look prettier in this crown?"

  "Thanks." She managed a faint smile. "Why did Masolon send you? I don't mean you are not welcome here, but I asked him to come."

  "He sends his deep, sincere apologies," Ziyad declared. "He was having a bath when your guard came to him. And as he hasn't slept for two days, he begs for your permission to have a little rest before he comes to you, if it pleases
you, Your Grace."

  At least, he bothered to explain himself. "It is alright. The last two days were too exhausting, I can imagine." She sighed. "Tell Lord Masolon he has my permission to sleep until sunset if he needs to. I will see him at the meeting, then."

  "He will surely be grateful for that, Your Grace." Ziyad bowed again, grinning.

  She dismissed Ziyad, and for a while, his last grin kept her mind busy. He knows too. Masolon must have told him. And that took her to the next question: what had Masolon exactly told his friend about her? I must stop this nonsense. I have a kingdom to rule now.

  "Find me Sacura," she ordered her guards, and in a few minutes her maidservant arrived in her room. "I need a warm bath. Make sure you add a few drops of lavender water."

  "Let me see what I can do, Your Grace," said Sacura. "I am still not sure what I can find here."

  After almost an hour of waiting, Rona was glad as Sacura returned with the good news. "Your bath is ready, Your Grace," the maidservant announced. "And I've found lavender water."

  Following Sacura to a nearby small room, Rona found three other maidservants waiting for her with pitchers and two folded pieces of linen. "Make sure it is not scratched." She handed the crown to one of the maidservants. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of lavender coming from the canopied wooden tub. Sacura helped her strip off her garments before she immersed herself into the water. She sighed as warmth crept into every inch of her body. I need to release the tension from my chest too. She tilted her head upward, letting Sacura hold her long golden hair and pour water on it.

  Rona rested her head backward on the side of the tub, recalling her memories in the last five months. All the people she had met and all the conversations she had had with them since the start of her war until her last chattering with Payton. Now she could see everything clearly, astonished how she had not been able to sense something obvious like Lanark's treachery; astonished how she doubted Masolon, forgetting how he had slain Di Galio's dogs in Ramos to protect her. Now she realized it was not his queer sudden moves that worried her the most; it was his mysterious past with his nameless princess. Rona wished she could be strong enough to ignore that part of his life, but here was the ugly truth: she was a bit jealous of that nameless princess. He doesn't think of her anymore, does he?

  "Your Grace, the water is cooling," Sacura remarked.

  Rona did not notice how quickly time was passing by. "It is fine," she said. "Still much better than my baths in the Skandivian lands."

  "Skandivians are harsh people."

  "They are," Rona agreed. Part of her was hardened by the years she had spent with them.

  "Do you want me to warm this water a bit?"

  "Not yet." Actually, Rona was enjoying the mild coolness of the water. Mentioning the Skandivians reminded her of the mercenaries who would ask for their pay and the merchants who had supplied Masolon with material and a boat so that Darov could build his monstrous weapon. She wondered if she had enough coin in Paril treasury to pay those warriors and merchants back, bearing in mind that none of her debtors would let her wonder for long.

  "I am done." Rona rose from the tub, wrapped a linen cloth around her dripping body, and wiped her wet hair with another piece of cloth.

  "Too cold, Your Grace?" Sacura asked.

  "Not quite." Rona went outside the canopy, and Sacura followed her. Actually, Rona had decided to finish her bath the moment she had made up her mind regarding the soon-to-be-held meeting with her vassals.

  Sacura helped her put on a crimson dress with golden stripes. "Your crown, Your Grace." Sacura returned the diadem to Rona. Now she was ready to go to the throne hall.

  Rona found Payton outside the room with the royal guards. "They are waiting for you, Your Grace," Payton told her.

  "I'm ready, Captain."

  Rona could still hear the clamor of her exultant soldiers outside the palace while she was going to the throne hall, escorted by her royal guards. "Queen Rona!" Payton announced as the royal escort entered the hall. Gramus, Foubert, Norwell, and Masolon bowed. He is here.

  This time, Rona kept her feet steady when she ascended the three steps to the throne. With such an audience, she should not feel nervous at all. "It has been a long road to reach this point, and still we have a lot of work to do." She gestured to them to be seated. While having her bath, she had thought of what she should say the first time she would sit on the Bermanian throne, and that was the best opening she had come out with. "We have soldiers who are longing for their families, and yet the war is not over. We have the Skandivian merchants, who are anticipating their reward, and still I am not sure how we are going to pay them, bearing in mind we may need coin to grow our forces for the coming battle."

  "Let me start with the merchants' issue." Masolon gestured to Rona, asking for her permission to continue. "They do not want gold. Unshared trade rights for five years are what they ask for."

  "A fair deal for your friends." Gramus smirked.

  "Not all of them are my friends, General. Only their master is enough." Masolon gave him a lopsided smile.

  "Do you understand what unshared trade rights mean?" Gramus looked Masolon in the eye. "We will pay higher prices for goods we buy from outside the realm because the only way to get those goods will be through your merchants."

  "I don't see a big issue in that deal." Rona killed the argument before it might develop into something worse. "I believe we can do without Rusakian honey, Murasen spices, and Skandivian wine. What matters now is ensuring that all our farms are yielding their crops and our blacksmiths are forging swords."

  "You mentioned a coming battle, Your Grace," Foubert said. "Is there any news from the South?"

  "Not yet." She shook her head. "But I can see a battle with Daval in the coming few weeks. News of our victory will reach him before next dawn. He may wait for a week for my final answer to his proposal, and my answer will be a letter commanding him to swear fealty to his queen. I will be surprised if he does." From Augarin, he can march to Ramos or Lapond or even Paril. "Our troops must be redistributed in order not to leave him any of our major cities undefended."

  "We need to recruit more men, then," said Gramus.

  "I was thinking of more cannons." She turned to Masolon.

  "This will require more gold," Masolon remarked.

  "And time to train our soldiers how to use it accurately and safely," Gramus added. "It is needless to speak about the risks related to its operation, transportation, and storage. A little spark could have blasted an entire battalion in our own camp."

  "General Gramus has a point," Rona addressed Masolon. "I want to meet your Rusakian friend tomorrow morning to tell us how he can slash those risks."

  Masolon nodded.

  "Still we need more men, Your Grace," Foubert pointed out. "I would pay for four thousand soldiers in each region rather than more of those cannons. It is true those weapons fare well against walls and towers, but they can never decide a battle without strong cavalry and infantry."

  That number of men would make Daval think twice before he made any grave move against her. "I agree. Tomorrow I will send my orders to the lords of Lapond and Ramos to raise our garrison in each of the two cities to not less than four thousand men during the next four weeks. The lords of Karun and Kalhom will be given four more weeks to reach the same number."

  Gramus and Jonson glanced at each other.

  "What is it, milords?" Rona asked. "Am I asking for too much?"

  "Not for the Lord of Karun who commands this number of soldiers already." Gramus shrugged.

  "Four weeks might not be enough for Ramos as well, Your Grace," Norwell pointed out.

  "I wager Lord Jonson will surprise us all with what he can do to Ramos and Subrel in this short period of time," Rona insisted.

  Foubert rolled his eyes when he said, "I thought it was Lord Masolon who was in charge of Subrel."

  Masolon shot her an inquisitive look.

  Now c
omes the moment. Don't be hesitant, Rona. "Perhaps I should have started our meeting with the following announcements," she said, her voice loud and clear. The four men stared at her in anticipation.

  "I guess you all know, but I have to confirm that Payton is now the Captain of the Royal Guard," she announced, and indeed no one seemed to be surprised. All were waiting for what she was going to say next.

  "Second, Lord Jonson to be the Duke of the entire region of Ramos. Lord Norwell will be reporting to him as his deputy in Subrel." She scanned the faces of her audience with her eyes. Gramus grinned. Foubert furrowed his brows. Masolon arched an eyebrow, his elbow leaning on his thigh.

  "And where are you moving Lord Masolon to? Not to Lapond or Karun, I'm afraid." Foubert chuckled nervously.

  "To the Royal Palace in Paril," she replied. "Where the King of Bermania always resides."

  16. MASOLON

  It took Masolon a few seconds to make sure he had heard Rona right. A look on the stunned faces of Foubert and Gramus was enough to know that his ears did not play tricks on him.

  What on earth is she doing? Why did she not tell me before this damned meeting? It is her first hour on the throne, yet she makes such an announcement! That reckless, foolish girl!

  "Lord Masolon has proposed to me, and I said yes," Rona continued in the same confident tone. "I must admit he asked me to wait for some time before we make such an announcement, but I see no need for that. On the contrary, I believe that my closest people, whom I trust the most, should know the news from me in person, not from a letter with my seal."

  Gramus opened his mouth to say something, but he changed his mind.

  "We will keep this news between the walls of this hall for three days," Rona put in. "Let the people mourn their dead."

  "You will let a foreigner rule us?" Gramus spat.

  "As I let a half-Skandivian lead our army." Rona glared at Gramus. "This foreigner fought side by side with us. Do I have to remind you how many Bermanians of noble birth have betrayed us?"

  "The Bermanian court will not accept something like that," Gramus curled his lip.