Three rows of her soldiers stood between the dais and the crowd. A stake rose from the center of a heap of hay down the dais on its left, and not far away lay the two chained prisoners on their knees. The crowd lowered their humming as she stepped forward toward the edge of the dais to address them for the first time in her reign.
"The royal palace of Paril is not of more import than a shack in the most rural Bermanian village." Rona raised her voice as much as she could to be heard by the crowd. "Every Bermanian has the right to feel safe about his livelihood, to feel safe about his family. And my role as the Queen is to make sure that no one is deprived of this right. With a heart full of sorrow I say that, while we have a dozen families who lost a son, a father, a husband, or a brother. They lost them because a few of us have thought that we live in a bloody jungle that has no order; a bloody jungle where predators would feast on the flesh of their prey. But no! Paril will never be that jungle, and it's not only me who won't allow this to happen, it's us. This great city is ours. And if we really want it to rise again, we should not accept those who break order in it.
"No words or actions can do undo the loss of our grieving mothers, daughters, wives, and sisters, but we can try to alleviate their pain." Rona could imagine a smile on Ziyad's face as she borrowed his words. "So, I here announce, by order of the Queen; all who have lost their sole provider in that horrible incident will join the royal palace."
The people started humming. "My husband died in your bloody war! Is he less worthy than those who died in your palace?" yelled a woman from the crowd, the rumble growing louder in her defense.
I'm not losing control of this. Rona took a breath. "All Parilian children orphaned by this war will be raised in the royal palace," she announced. "Let them all know that their fathers didn't die in vain."
Rona could sense the crowd's approval of her announcement. She could not say they were exalted, but they might be. . . fine about what they heard. Well, she was not expecting them to chant her name. Maybe in the near future, but not this day. Not when she went to the harsh part.
"While executing these two men will never bring the dead back, it will save lives of many others." The wooden stage creaked as she made a few steps toward the stake, glaring at the two chained men before she turned to her people. "You see, my mercy and generosity are not endless. As the rightful Queen of Bermania, remember that Rona Charlwood will always be a gracious guardian for the wronged and a heartless tormentor for the cruel." She pointed at the two culprits. "Those who burned shall be burned."
Silence reigned over the plaza the moment Rona finished her speech. No one would dare to question her sentence now, she believed. All her masked executioners needed was a nod from her to drag the two chained men and tie them to the stake in the center of the heap of hay. She wished she could wear a mask like them to hide her nervousness, but hopefully, her cold eyes would do. It was not her first public execution, but this time she was not executing a king or a lord. Commoners would sympathize with commoners like them rather than highborn culprits.
The hay was ignited, the two men tied inside screaming, begging for mercy. When the fire grew bigger and started to swallow them, they shrieked in agony. With eyes fixed on the crowd, Rona studied their reactions to make sure there was neither sympathy nor discontent on their faces. All she saw was shock and perhaps fear, and about that she had no problem at all. Let them remember these horrifying screams before anyone gets into any sort of mischief.
"Ziyad," she called out while she was leaving the stage. The Murasen advisor hurried after her, royal guards escorting them until they reached her carriage. "Come," she demanded as she got inside.
He sat opposite to her. "A great speech."
"Thanks to your good advising." She meant it. "Masolon knows how to choose his friends after all." But that was her opinion about Ziyad only. She could not say the same about his Antram friend.
"Pleased to serve, Your Grace."
"And who do you serve, Ziyad?"
The right part of his mouth quirked upward. "I serve King Masolon and Queen Rona, Your Grace."
"Do you serve King Masolon or your friend Masolon?"
"The two men are the same person."
"No, they're not. Your friend's plans might conflict with the King's interests."
"That can never happen, Your Grace. Not with me on his side."
"And where were you when he sent a message to the Murasen queen?"
The wide smile on his face confirmed her doubts. He knows.
"The message was for King Rasheed," he said.
And here we start the nonsense. "Are you taking me for a fool, Ziyad?"
"I swear I'm telling the truth, Your Grace," he hurriedly said.
She filled her lungs with a deep breath of air. Getting information from this sly Murasen would be a bit bothersome. She had better ask the right questions. "Then, why didn't Masolon tell me?"
"You know, Your Grace, he didn't want to trouble your mind with the realm problems. His Grace was strict about that." Ziyad's reply was ready as if he was expecting her question.
"He didn't want to trouble anybody's mind, it seems." She gave him a crooked smile.
"The walls have ears, Your Grace."
"Is that so? I wonder what is so important in that message that he kept it a secret."
It was Ziyad's turn to inhale. "It was a warning message. The Mankols and the Byzonts are going to invade the Murasen Kingdom."
Rona peered at him. The Murasen could be telling the truth, but definitely, he skipped a part of the story.
"And that's why he sent his finest knight while we were in need of every man we had for our war with the southerners?"
"Travelling to Murase could be too dangerous for the average traveler, Your Grace. The one to be chosen for that mission had to avoid falling into the hands of southerners, Byzonts, and Mankols. That's why His Grace sent a warrior, not a messenger."
"His best warrior." If she asked Ziyad about the reason behind such a mission in the first place, his answer would be about the importance of making alliances with other kingdoms. The Murasen's games needed patience, and patience had never been one of her virtues. "To warn her."
"I beg your pardon, Your Grace?"
"You know him better than I do, right?" The words were too heavy on her tongue to utter. "You know the whole thing is about her, his first love."
"It's for the good of the Bermanian kingdom, Your Grace. That's all I know."
"Don't lie to me!" she snapped. "You know more than you say."
"I am sorry, Your Grace. I never meant to anger you, but I really told you all I know."
No, liar, you didn't. You just think you can protect your friend this way. We shall see about that.
She could hear the squeal of the iron gates of her palace, her guards announcing the Queen's return. After the carriage halted right in front of the marble steps leading to the fifteen foot-high door, Ziyad helped her out and followed her into the building.
"The two cannons that came out of the workshop before the accident; does anyone know if they are ready?" she asked
"We presume so."
"Presuming is not enough with those dangerous weapons," she firmly said. "They shall not be sent to Ramos then."
"As you will, Your Grace. Anything else?"
"Yes." She stopped and turned to him. "Send Masolon's messenger to me when he returns. I wager he will be bearing a warm reply from the Murasen King."
49. HALIN
No sight was as pretty as that of purple Rusakian roses on the gardens covered with white snow. There was where Halin preferred to spend most of her time, around the roses. The palace had been hollow for two weeks as her dear husband was preoccupied with Lord Larovic, both men overlooking the army preparations.
She was almost done embroidering the doublet when she heard the retinue of King Bechov approaching. As the Rusakian king gestured to his men to stop, Halin put the doublet beside her on the seat and pushed to her feet, he
r right palm over her left, greeting him with a slight nod. "Your Majesty." She grinned.
"The greatest kings should bend their knees before this charming beauty." Bechov held her hand, lowering his head to lay a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.
"That's so nice of you, Your Majesty." She must be blushing now.
Bechov picked up the doublet she was working, giving it a studying look. "Even your hand turns everything it touches into a beauty. I am sure Nestor will love it."
The doublet would fit her broad-shouldered husband for sure, but it was not for him. "It is for my father."
"The lucky old man." Bechov guffawed. "Why do you want him to look so handsome?" He took her seat, inviting her to sit next to him. "Are you visiting him soon?"
"If it pleases you, Your Majesty," she hurriedly said.
"You miss him? Girls of these days!" Bechov chuckled. "When my queen was wed to me, she spent sixteen months in my palace without seeing her parents. I do not think she was content about it, but she never complained."
"Neither did I, Your Majesty," said Halin. "I am staying here until you allow me to—"
"It is alright, my dear." He patted her shoulder. "You are not a prisoner here. You are a princess, and tomorrow, the Queen of Rusakia. Maybe you are disgruntled about Nestor's absence, but you should forgive him for that. I am asking you as a father, not as a king."
His softness astonished her. She had heard tales about the arrogant, stubborn King Bechov. Iceheart, he was called. "The fates were merciful that Cold Bechov had no daughters. He would knight them, and they would remain knights until they grew old as no lord would dare to vie for their hands," Nestor had scoffed once. Even her father had warned her from Bechov's harshness. "I know he is a good man, but I also know how his stern father raised him," her father had told her. "Just avoid arguing with him, and you will enjoy your life in the royal palace."
But her husband and her father seemed to be talking about someone else. The old man always met her with a warm smile on his face
"Of course, I forgive him. I just. . . miss him." She lowered her eyes.
"There is no shame in missing your husband. But as I want Nestor to be a strong king, I am asking you to be a strong queen as well. I am telling you so because he is arriving at any moment, and I do not want you to demoralize him. I know you loathe this war, which is not something I am happy about to be honest, but that is another topic to discuss later. Anyway, if you do not have anything good to say about our glorious war to free our lands, do not say anything bad."
Halin knew it was pointless to argue with Bechov about the point of this war. Wait? What had he just said? Nestor was arriving? Here? "I thought Nestor had marched already to the Bermanian lands."
"You do not know, right?" Bechov chewed his lips. "Well, our Mankol allies have a small problem that delays their march. While Kan Cunshez seems to be a great king, it turns out that he is not in control of his sons. His third-born has started a war against the Murasens without informing him, and now he is invading their northern and eastern territories. His father, Cunshez sent us begging for forgiveness that he might not be ready until he settled his family problems."
Halin could not help grinning. "So," surely, her face betrayed her joy, "we are not marching to Bermania." She felt she sounded silly the moment she said that. He called that war 'our glorious war to free our land', stupid girl. "I mean until our Mankol allies are ready."
"We have not decided yet. That is why Nestor and Larovic are coming here. Tonight we are going to decide whether we wait for the Mankols or we attack without them." His eyes were fixed on hers, as if he was studying her reactions. "And you are going to decide with us."
Suddenly, her throat was tight. "Me?"
"Your father used to call you Snow Rose when you were a girl of four. But listen to me, Halin," his voice was getting firmer, "you are much stronger than the rose your father think you are. I have been dealing with men and women for more than half a century and I can tell who is strong and who is weak. I know you are not born only to sew and tend to flowers, which could be. . . What is the word? Nice?" He gently held her chin, his voice still firm. "You are born to rule this kingdom with my son. After my death, you will be his Queen and High Counselor. I know you can do what my wife was not able to do. But to do that, you must learn, and I know you will. That is why you will be joining the Rusakian council."
"As you will, Your Majesty," she said without much thinking. She had to comply anyway.
"I will see you tonight in the small hall, then." He rose to his feet, Halin helping him up. Confused, she watched him rejoin his retinue. Which part of his talk should she believe? The first warm, fatherly part? Or the last firm, kingly one? Maybe Nestor was not that wrong about his father.
Only a few touches remained to finish the doublet, but Halin did not feel like resuming her sewing work. She took it and returned to the palace, hurrying back to her chamber. She had better bathe and change her outfit to look her best when Nestor returned. He must have missed her as much as she missed him.
She was just coming out of the bathtub when she heard her maidservants announcing the arrival of Lord Nestor at the royal palace. With only a long woolen piece of cloth covering her body, she thought of waiting for him in their bedchamber. She was sure he would like this simple outfit as much as he would like any of her nightgowns. If not more.
Sitting on the edge of their bed, she waited, but he was taking too much time to show up. And when she was about to give up, he pushed the door open, clad in the shining silver armor. "Nestor." She sprang out of the bed toward him, throwing herself in his arms. "I missed you so much, love."
"Hey, Halin."
What was that? His voice was dry when he briefly surrounded her shoulders with his huge arm before he casually let go of her. Not quite the reunion she had expected. Why so grim, love?
"Are you alright, Nestor?" she asked as he went past her to the wardrobe.
"I am tired. I need to sleep before tonight's meeting." He was not looking at her when he replied. "I was told you would join us."
"If that annoys you, I will apologize to His Majesty."
"No, you will not." He started with his gauntlets before he took off the arm armors, the pauldrons, and the gorget. "You must obey His Majesty and attend to take part in the decision. But we know what you are going to say, aren't we?"
"I do not understand. Should I feel delighted to watch you ride for a war? Is it my fault that I cannot stand seeing you in danger?"
"Are you worried about me?" He turned to her, his eyes glowing. "Or your warrior?"
For a moment she doubted she heard that right. Her husband was not hinting at Masolon, was he? "My warrior?"
"Yes, your warrior, remember?" He gnashed his teeth, and she had never seen him that furious. "The one they caught with you in your bedchamber."
Larovic the bastard! What did he tell him? "That is nonsense," she snapped. "Who told you this folly?"
"Tell me this folly did not happen." He glared at her. "Tell me that Gerviny did not catch you with Masolon in your bedchamber."
She would be a liar if she denied, a sinner if she confirmed.
"That sick Gerviny wanted to make a trap for Masolon," Halin explained. "But I swear he did not touch me. I had nothing to do about that in the first place."
Nestor held his waist, shaking his head. "You were involved one way or another, Halin. For some reason, Gerviny did what he did. And for some other damned reason, a wretch found nothing wrong in coming into your bedchamber. He would never travel four hundred miles unless he was certain, or at least hoping, you would not. . . disappoint him."
"Do you blame me for other men's folly?"
"I blame you for not telling me," he snapped, pointing his finger at her. "You cannot imagine how insulted I felt when I learned about such an incident from one of my men. You should have told me to spare me the embarrassment of being ignorant about my wife, to be able to look him in the eye and condemn any shame
ful suggestions about you."
The words slapped her in the face. Even you, Nestor? How could you be so cruel? "You felt insulted? What about me?" Her jaws quivered. No, I am not going to cry. "What about my insult, Nestor?"
"You allowed us to be insulted," he chided. "Blast! Why didn't you tell me, Halin? Why did you hide that from me? Why did you make me doubt everything and everybody?"
"You doubt me, Nestor?"
"You hid that for a reason. Why?"
"You answer me; do you doubt me?"
"Why on earth did you hide that from ME?"
"There was nothing to hide!" she blustered. "That was a tale of two foolish men. I never felt like telling it."
Letting out a deep breath of air, Nestor stood like a statue for a while before he resumed taking off his armor. He was avoiding her. But had he realized his grave mistake?
She approached him when she noticed he was struggling with the breastplate straps on the back of his shoulder. "I can handle this." He gestured with the back of his hand. Aggravated by his brusqueness, she left him and went to her wardrobe, looking for an outfit to wear for tonight's meeting. A black dress would suit her mood, she thought.
Halin had plenty of time before the start of the meeting when she was ready. Leaving Nestor asleep, she took the knitting tools and the doublet she was making for her father, and sat in the balcony of her chamber after she closed the door behind her. She held the needle, yet her fingers were so shaky she could not make a single stitch. Curse you, Larovic! May you rest in hell beside your despicable son! She had no doubt he was the one behind all this farce. He would not rest until he witnessed the doom of the man who had killed his Gerviny. Well, she wished she could witness the doom of the same man, too. The tale of the Fair Lady Who Fell for the Champion had gone too far. It must be concluded for good. And after she was done with Masolon, she would find a way to punish Larovic for his insolence. She would even throw every bard who sang her song with the Contest warrior into the darkest dungeons.
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