"Is there a way to raise Darov's cannons atop the walls?" she asked.
Edmond paused for a moment, as if he weighed her idea. "I guess King Masolon considers using those cannons in offense."
"I didn't get an answer," Rona curtly said.
"Raising the cannons is not the problem. It's the space atop the bulwark; it might not be enough to work those engines."
Why am I asking him anyway? "I will see to that while you resume your work, General." Rona wheeled her horse and trotted toward the nearest stone steps of the wall. A royal guard held the reins of her mare when she dismounted and ascended to the rampart, Payton and the rest of her guards following her up. The bulwark was so narrow as Edmond had pointed out, but that was not the case at the first battlement she reached. Standing there, Rona looked around. "Here it is."
Payton leaned to the parapets, gazing at the horizon. "From that height, the cannons can hit too far," he said. "But they will be obsolete if the enemy comes a bit closer."
"I am not thinking of using cannons against enemy soldiers." She stood next to Payton. "I am thinking of using their unparalleled long range to destroy enemy siege weapons. Trebuchets will not be a threat anymore."
"I admit I never thought of that." Payton's eyebrows rose in astonishment. "We should inform the Rusakian to see what he can do."
"Let's check the battlement there first." She pointed to the left part of the gate, walking along the bulwark, descending and ascending more stone stairs to reach the other side. On her way to the battlement, she glanced at Edmond downward. "Do you think my presence upsets him?" she asked Payton.
"Why, Your Grace? Edmond is one of your loyal commanders. Maybe he is a bit stern, but he is dedicated and serious about his work."
And so is Gramus. But for some reason, Masolon believed more in Edmond as a military commander. Perchance her husband saw something in Edmond she missed.
"Dedication and seriousness are good traits in general," she said. "But you need more than. . ."
Suddenly, Rona felt too dizzy to lift her head up. The world was twirling around when she leaned to the parapets. "Your Grace!" Payton hurried to her, holding her arm. As she felt she might throw up if she spoke, she gave herself a minute to take in deep breaths of air until the world stopped spinning.
Now she could raise her head. "I am fine." Her voice was faint when she managed a smile. "Maybe I should have listened to my servant and have eaten my breakfast."
"General Edmond is taking good care of things here." Payton cautiously let her arm free, studying her tired face. "Perhaps we can return to the palace, Your Grace."
The suggestion did not hurt her pride as it did not come from her. She nodded and followed Payton who offered his hand when they reached the stone stairs. Afraid of the world twirling again, she let him help her descend the steps. "I feel better now, Captain." She gently pulled her hand and mounted her courser without assistance.
Payton scurried to his horse and so did the other royal guards. "Make way for the Queen," Payton hollered, leading her retinue through the soldiers who occupied the yard behind the gate. Blast! I can't get sick now. Her army was going to march tonight. If Masolon knew about it, he would never let her join him.
As the royal escort returned to the palace, she dismounted, approaching Payton. "There is no need to make Masolon worry about me. Understood?" She lowered her voice when she warned her captain.
Payton looked hesitant. "Your safety is my responsibility, Your Grace. I must tell him."
"No, you mustn't." She looked him in the eye. "You will not do that. You hear me?"
Payton remained silent.
"I will take that as Yes, Your Grace, I hear you. I will not do that," she said before she ascended the marble stairs at the palace entrance.
Ziyad greeted her when she encountered him in the vestibule. "Welcome back, Your Grace. I hope you feel well this morning."
Even this bastard. "Why shouldn't I feel well?"
"I don't mean to be rude, Your Grace, but your face is a bit pale," Ziyad harrumphed. "Your cheeks are not as rosy as they look every day."
"My cheeks are none of your business," Rona snapped and left him behind. A few seconds later, she felt she might have been too harsh with the court advisor. No, I wasn't. An advisor should focus on the realm matters rather than my cheeks. But if anybody could easily notice her exhaustion, Masolon would notice as well. She had to restore her rosy cheeks before his return.
Sacura was cleaning her bedchamber when Rona entered. "Bring me something to replenish my strength," Rona demanded. "Now."
"Too hungry, Your Grace?" Sacura asked. "I will urge the cooks to ready your lunch as fast as they must."
"Wait." Rona stopped her maidservant before she left the room. Imagining what the cooks might be preparing for lunch, Rona dropped the idea. Her sick stomach was not ready for greasy meat or sauced vegetables. "I need something light. Fresh fruits will do."
"Fresh fruits," Sacura slowly echoed. "You are still not hungry, Your Grace?"
"Not at all." Rona shook her head.
With her hands clasped below her bosom, Sacura approached Rona. "May I dare to ask you something, from one woman to another?"
Rona was not only surprised by her maidservant's question; she was curious as well. "Go ahead," she granted Sacura her permission.
"When was the last time you bled?" Sacura asked in a low voice.
For a moment, Rona felt as if she was caught stealing something, and Sacura was the judge who would decide the sentence. "I may be four or five days late."
"I would say harsher words if I had a daughter like you, Your Grace." Sacura pressed her lips together. "From now on, you must pay more attention to yourself—I mean yourselves. Let the men take care of the realm and its problems."
No way! Rona glanced at the silver armor raised on a wooden stand at the corner. She had not married Masolon to look after his children while watching him rule the kingdom she had fought for. Besides, it was too early to keep her away from the realm problems; she was still in the early beginnings of her pregnancy.
Rona could recognize Masolon's footsteps across the corridor. "He is back," she muttered.
"I will see to your lunch then." Sacura gave her a warm smile before she left the chamber. Masolon was there at the doorstep a couple of seconds later.
"I was told you were looking for me." He approached her, surrounding her waist with one arm, caressing her hair with the other. In a heartbeat, her tension was gone. Exhaustion was not the only cause of her nervousness; it was him being away from her for a long time.
"You are spending too much time these days with your Rusakian friend," she playfully chided him, her fingers stroking his broad chest.
"And you? Jealous?"
She nodded, chewing her lip. "Both of us."
"Both of you?" He furrowed his brow. "Wait a minute." His eyes widened in excitement, his palm gently laid over her belly. "You are not talking about this little fellow, are you?"
Rona giggled, enjoying this rare sight of pure joy in Masolon's eyes. She had seen that beaming face only on their wedding night—particularly after they had become alone in their locked bedchamber.
"This little fellow misses his father." She tilted her head.
"His father is a little busy these days. Come." He held her hand. "You should not be standing up for long." He sat on the edge of the bed, seating her on his lap, their lips meeting for the first time since last night.
"Is it true you are leaving tonight?" she asked him, her arms surrounding his neck.
Masolon exhaled. "Daval is closer to Karun than us. We can only hope that Foubert holds his ground until we reach him."
"Who do you include in we?"
"Me, Jonson, and Gramus. Payton and Ziyad will stay in Paril to take care of the palace and the city."
Now she could not say no. Not after he had known about the babe in her womb.
"Take Payton. You need every capable warrior to win this war," she
said.
"To win this war, I must make sure that my reckless, pretty sweetheart will not need to mount a horse to see to the city defenses." He playfully pinched her cheek.
"I will mount a horse to follow you if you don't return soon." She wagged her finger, warning him. He laughed, but she was not joking. She meant every word of it.
27. SANIA
According to her maidservant, the throne hall was thronged with lords, as it had never been before. Even lordlings from minor houses were present today. Something big is happening, Sania thought. Hopefully, it was not something bad. An hour had passed since the end of that big meeting, but her husband, King Rasheed, had not returned yet.
The doors of the throne hall were open when she arrived at it with her guards, but the throne seat was empty. Looking right and left, she spotted her brother, Feras, standing at the corner with two unfamiliar lords. She did not remember she had seen her brother that upset before.
"Your Majesty." One of the two lords noticed her presence, bowing to her.
"My lord brother, may I have a word with you?" she addressed Feras.
With a grim face, her brother nodded to the two men who took their leave. "I miss you, sister." His voice was impassive when he embraced her. "Why are you still awake at this late hour of the night?"
"What's wrong, Feras?" she worriedly asked. "Where are Father and Uncle? Where is Rasheed?"
"They are going to discuss matters of import with other lords at the eastern wing. I am supposed to join them now."
And she had thought the meeting was over already. "Why there? Why not here?"
Feras looked right and left before he leaned forward toward her. "The walls have ears here."
Her brother was not telling her much, causing her worry to grow worse. "You must tell me what's going on. Why were all those lords here today?"
He let out a deep breath of air. "It's about the King's cousin Dehawy. That bastard has sent to the King and all lords of Murase that he wants to stop the bloodshed because brothers shouldn't be fighting each other. Now he's saying that!"
"What bloodshed does he want to stop? That usurper was defeated already one year ago."
"Most of the lords do not regard him as a usurper now, I am afraid." Feras pressed his lips together. "Only to keep our house away from the throne."
To Sania, that was really confusing. Dehawy was a usurper, and that was a fact. How would anybody see him otherwise?
"Who do you think is going to succeed your husband—may the Lord bless him with long life?" Feras must have noticed her perplexity. "It is either Father or our uncle. But surprisingly, the venomous lords of this cursed country are ready to bend the knee to the devil rather than see our house ruling the realm."
How had she never thought of that? After killing Rasheed's treacherous brother, who had tried to oust her husband from the throne many years ago, her house had become the only family for the Murasen king. Her father and her uncle were the ones who had rallied the other lords to stand against the rebellious brother.
"Why do they hate us?" she asked Feras.
"Every dog of them is hungry for a bigger slice of meat." He pouted, gazing at the empty seats in the hall. "For long years, they have been living in the shadows of Lord Munzir and Lord Ahmet." He turned his eyes to her. "They know that Dehawy will get rid of us if he rules, clearing the way for a bunch of greedy bastards to take over our place."
"This can't happen." Imagining what Dehawy might do to Sania and her family terrified her. "Rasheed will never let this happen. One order from him shall end this folly."
Feras sighed. "Rasheed must find a way other than imprisoning or slaughtering most of his vassals." He gently laid his palm on her cheek, giving her the faintest of smiles. "But let us worry about these matters. As for you, I want you to keep your eyes open, sweet sister. Take care of yourself. I must go now."
Let them worry about these matters? Is this supposed to be reassuring or something? she thought, watching her brother leave the hall. Rasheed could be in danger with Dehawy's peaceful return. That scum had a plan. It did not seem likely that Dehawy had just "expected" the lords' reaction. He could have even arranged for it. And who knew what else he would bring to her husband.
Despite the presence of her guards, the feeling of insecurity overwhelmed her. She could not help hurrying back to her bedchamber, the boots of the royal soldiers echoing around her. The moment she stepped into the room, she barred the door before she lay on the bed, waiting for her husband's return.
Time slowly passed, her eyelids getting heavy. Let us worry about these matters. Her brother's phrase burned her mind. Like her husband, Feras expected her to stay in her room, look after the garden, or choose what to wear because she was just a woman. And women were helpless creatures, unlike men, who were always stronger, smarter, and more resourceful. Sometimes she longed for those days in the castle of Arkan when she was allowed to practice archery. "Why would a queen carry a quiver and a bow? What are her guards for then?" Rasheed had told her once in disapproval, prohibiting her from the only activity that made her feel strong and free, but she had had to obey. That was a good wife always did. She should feel thankful he allowed her to read Bumar's books.
Bumar! The Bermanian healer might guide her to the way out of the predicament of her house. Yes, she would not stay still in her room, waiting for the men until they came out with a solution.
Slightly excited, she left the room in quick steps, her guards following her. "Stay here," she commanded them when she reached Bumar's studying chamber. The Bermanian healer rose to his feet when she entered. She could barely see his round face from behind the neat piles of books stacked up on his huge desk. Sometimes she wondered how her room and wardrobe would look like if he taught her maidservants how to put her things in order.
"I am honored with your visit, Your Majesty." Bumar bowed. The healer had been a resident in this palace for more than a year, but she had never passed by the study room before. Most of the times, she met him by chance either in the palace corridors or outside in the garden. Tonight she came herself seeking his help.
"Is this how you spend your time when you are not healing wounds?" Sania managed a smile, nodding toward his books.
"A swordsman keeps his skills honed by sparring." Bumar grinned. "This is how I spar."
She was still unsure of how she should address her problem. Asking him directly was harder than she had thought.
"Is there anything in medicine you don't know about. . . yet?" She must be sounding like a fool.
"Our knowledge is never complete, Queen Sania," he replied calmly. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
His question made her task much easier, or that what she thought. "You are the only one who can help me, Bumar. I have been married to His Majesty for more than a year, yet I'm still. . . you know. . . I mean I didn't. . ."
"There's no shame in illness, Your Grace." Bumar's voice was coming from a deep well. "What you tell me here stays here."
Taking a deep breath, she collected her thoughts, the words stuck in her throat. "The King needs an heir." At last it came out; a simple phrase that told the whole story.
"That's not necessarily your fault, my dear queen." Bumar kept his reassuring grin. "You know that His Grace wasn't blessed with children from his first wife either."
"It doesn't matter whose fault it is, Bumar." She leaned forward toward him. "Dehawy is waiting for Rasheed's. . . ," she couldn't utter the word, ". . . to proclaim himself King of Murase. And I am not sure how patient that bastard is."
"Dehawy is a usurper, as far as I remember," Bumar prompted.
"And the eldest cousin of a king who has no sons or brothers. According to the cursed norms, he still has the right to rule after Rasheed."
"Your father, your brother, and your uncle will not accept that."
"They will be considered as rebels by the lords of the east if they don't swear fealty to the rightful king of Murase. The realm will be split into t
wo warring kingdoms, Bumar, and there will be too much blood and fire. But we can stop all of that before happening if I bring Rasheed his heir."
Pressing his lips together, Bumar paused for a moment. "Let me see what I can do for you, my dear queen," he said, the smile gone from his face.
Disappointed, she turned to leave. The hopes she had put on the knowledgeable Bumar were much greater than that. As she reached the doorstep, she looked over her shoulder. "Am I asking for the impossible?"
Bumar managed a smile. "Everything seems impossible to us until we learn how to do it."
He is just trying to make me feel better. Maybe there was a glimpse of hope for real.
With a turbulent mind she walked away from Bumar's chamber. "Your Majesty." Qasem, Captain of the Royal Guard, hurried to her from the end of the corridor. "We have a Bermanian messenger who insists that he will only hand the letter he bears to either the King or the Queen. But His Majesty has warned us from interrupting his meeting."
"Bermanian?" she exclaimed, her heart suddenly throbbing. Who would send a Bermanian messenger?
And why was she so. . . excited?
"What would the Bermanians want from us?" She tried to sound firm as she strode toward the throne hall. Qasem did not give her an answer, and she was not expecting one. The answer was with that Bermanian messenger. Curiosity made her steps to the hall quicker.
"Bring in the messenger from Bermania," she commanded as she reached the throne hall.
Towering over the four guards surrounding him, a black-haired man with a square jaw and broad shoulders entered. To Sania, he did not look like just a messenger. "Who are you?" she asked him.
"I am a knight in King Masolon's service, Your Majesty."
She swallowed when the name echoed in her mind, reviving the happiest and gloomiest moments of her life. Keep your composure, girl.
"A knight," she said warily, "with a message?"
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