“Ah, I’d better let you two catch up,” Jerrick said and he gave her an exaggerated wink. Once he was gone, Sade crossed her arms and glared at Henry.
“What in the hell did you tell him?”
Henry tossed a rune in the air and caught it. “Nothing.”
“Henry, this is serious! If Jerrick finds out I’m an outcast Vestral...”
“Relax, I will not out you. If I wanted to, I would have. I might have let it slip you were my long-lost love,” Henry said.
“You did what!” Sade shrieked “Why would you even say that?”
“Eh, I might have gotten a little too excited you were here, and I figured you didn’t want people to know about your history...” Henry took a step back when Sade eyed the bag of potatoes. “Hey, it’s not my fault you don’t have any imagination. Runesmithing, Sade? You might as well paint a giant sign on your head that says ‘outcast Vestral’. Jerrick seems like a smart man; how long are you planning on keeping this up?”
“Until he teaches his new apprentice how to read. Then I will be leaving. I owe him a debt; he saved my life,” Sade said. Her head was hurting. How was she going to help Corin now that Henry was here? She prayed he would be too busy doing Vestral work to follow her around like he used to.
Henry nodded then glanced around his voice dropped to a whisper.
“Any sign of the God of Justice?”
“No... speaking of the God of Justice...” she trailed off.
“Yes, yes I know they still have their statue up,” Henry said with a wave of his hand. “Not to worry, dear friend. I will not take down the statue until you leave.”
“What? Why would you do that? I can’t enter the shrine!”
“Sade, as the Vestral of this village I am giving you permission to enter until you leave,” Henry shrugged and pulled off his cloak. He flipped it around so the runes showed.
“Why would you do that?” Sade asked slowly. Henry started toward the door, where he paused.
“Because the Goddess of Spring does not like to watch people suffer, and who am I to impede the Goddess?” Henry grinned. “Besides, I need someone to help me clean the shrines.”
He ducked when Sade lobbed a potato at him.
“You bastard!” Sade yelled after him. Her rune pouch felt warm again and, as before in Corin’s cellar, the rune for the God of Justice glowed bright for a heartbeat.
13
Whispers of Peace
“THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!”
Emira was glaring at a griffin piece Olric had knocked over with his knight. Olric grinned and motioned for her to give up a coin, which she did with great annoyance. They were sitting in the High Vestral’s drawing room, deep inside the temple. The room was twice the size of Emira’s current quarters. Intricate columns held up a glass dome ceiling that allowed one to look at the sky above. Dozens of tables and chairs were scattered about and fires roared in three separate hearths.
“Ah ha! I finally have an opponent who is worse at this game than me!” Olric crowed as he counted his small stack of gold coins. Out of the corner of her eye, Emira could see Lady Janel and Lady Ethelbright whispering to each other while they worked on some embroidery. The entire Royal Council was present. The Dowager Queen was near a window sipping tea with her ladies-in-waiting and Ambassador Hemsmark. Lord Greensdale and Dovesbane were walking up around the room, locked in a heated discussion about Emira’s recent order to open the food stores scattered across the country.
To Emira’s surprise, the High Vestral hadn’t fought her on that one, instead offering to let the Vestrals distribute the supplies. Though now Emira thought back on it, it was probably because King Olric was in the room; Emira speculated she wanted to display a show of unity. Whatever her reasons, the High Vestral was late for this meeting.
They were waiting for her to come out of the room where she conversed with the Spirit of the Realm. The runes on the door glowed a soft silver, showing she was still talking with it.
“I wonder how it works,” Olric said. A serving boy took away the game pieces. “Does it just poof out of thin air or something?”
“I don’t know; have you ever asked your High Vestral?”
“Yes, and he always laughs at me and tells me to go worry about something else,” Olric said, tapping his fingers on the table. The sound was grating to Emira’s ears, but she kept a smile spread across her face.
“Tell me, what do you think of this whole charade?” Olric asked after a moment. “Don’t you think it’s rather ridiculous to have the Spirit of the Realm choose your next ruler? In my kingdom we would never dream of such a thing. Our crowns are handed down to the firstborn. Our Spirit does its job and lets me know when it thinks I’m being an idiot. Otherwise, I’m free to rule as I please.”
“I beg your pardon?” Emira asked. She tried to get Lady Ethelbright’s attention. She was not ready to have these types of discussions. Olric leaned over the table and poked her forehead.
“I’m not asking them,” he said with a bit of venom in his voice. “I am asking you.”
“It can be... restricting,” Emira said carefully, “especially when I don’t have any wish to harm the people.”
“By the Gods, it also makes you run every decision by it?” Olric asked. He waved his hands; the movement caused the Dowager Queen to glance at him with disdain. “What is wrong with this godsforsaken country?”
Emira didn’t get the chance to respond. The door to the Vestral’s special room swung open and she walked into the drawing room. A soft white glow swirled around her like a mist, but it faded the further away she got from the room.
“My apologies,” the High Vestral said. “The Spirit had quite a few things it wished to go over.”
“About bloody time,” Olric said.
They followed her into another room with a large round table in the center. A map of the Northern border had been placed on top.
As Emira sat, Olric quickly sat next to her and Lady Ethelbright took a seat on her left. The others followed suit, Ambassador Hemsmark was the last to enter room and his shoulders sagged when he realized the only place for him to sit was next to the High Vestral. Emira felt no sympathy for the man. He nervously straightened his tunic while the High Vestral motioned for the servants to bring them wine.
Once the doors were shut, the High Vestral rose.
“Your Majesties, Lords and Lady, I welcome you to the opening of the peace negotiations,” the High Vestral said, “there have been many wrongs done by both kingdoms. The Spirit of the Realm of Sodervia seeks to find the most productive solutions for our kingdom and the Western Marshes. Ambassador Hemsmark has informed us of the actions of Prince Felix. Today we discuss his fate and determine if we can broker peace.”
With that, she sat back in her chair and drummed her fingers against the side of her goblet. Ambassador Hemsmark started to speak, but Olric rose and spoke first.
“I want his head,” Olric said calmly. The Dowager Queen looked at him in silent fury when he continued. “How else can I be assured there will be no more sacking of towns?”
“Your Majesty,” Lord Greensdale said. “If I may ask, where is the compensation for all the towns and farms your men have raided and pillaged? Prince Felix’s actions resulted from years of raids.”
Olric’s hands balled into fists. Emira sipped from her goblet as she prayed this wouldn’t turn into a shouting match.
“That wouldn’t have happened if your bloody king hadn’t cut off our trade routes to Litengull,” he shouted. “Our farmers along the borderlands cannot make the food needed to sustain us! All because of the bloody famine your kingdom started!”
“Gentlemen,” Lord Dovesbane said, “please have a drink, we don’t need to raise our voices in front of the ladies.”
The High Vestral cleared her throat. “The Spirit of the Realm would like to make you an offer. We will give up Prince Felix to you and the Marshmires.”
“Absolutely not,” the Dowager Queen snapped;
the table shook when she slammed her goblet onto the wood. “If you give Felix up to anyone, I swear on the bones of my ancestors, both of these damn kingdoms will burn.”
“Your Majesty, the Prince has caused so much destruction that it’s only fair,” Lord Greensdale said, and the Dowager Queen narrowed her eyes at him. “You remember he was exiled for potential treason.”
“My son has done far more good for this kingdom than bad. He’s saved countless lives. What have you done, Lord Greensdale, aside from count money all day?” the Dowager Queen asked, her challenge hanging in the air. Lord Greensdale’s hands twitched, but he said nothing. Olric groaned and covered his face with his hands.
“Gods above, you lot are worse than my nobles.” He rose and motioned for his ambassador to do the same. “I think it would be much less of a headache if we just declared war now and sorted this out on the battlefield.”
“Wait!” Emira cried, grabbing the hem of his tunic. Olric looked down at her with surprise. “King Olric, there has to be a solution we can come to. I am not the late King; I don’t wish to see strife in my kingdom, nor do I want there to be bloodshed between ours. Our kingdoms are both being ravaged by this famine. If we forgo peace, our peoples will perish in a war they have no heart in. They don’t even have enough food to fight.”
She turned to look at the others, looking them one by one in the eyes.
“I am not a stateswoman; I was raised to catch fish and clean nets. The one thing I know is if we do not correct this course, our kingdoms will become nothing more than ruins. I do not care who started it, I only see issues have been allowed to fester like a dock riddled with rotten wood. So please, I beg all of you, on behalf of those whose lives depends on it: help find a solution that won’t mean the deaths of thousands.”
Olric scratched his chin and he looked about the room. When his eyes met Emira’s, his lips pursed as if he smelled something rotten.
“And what do you propose?”
“King Olric, the Queen must always run her decisions by me before making any declaration, surely you can understand,” the High Vestral said, her posture resembling a griffin ready to pounce.
“I wouldn’t dare step on your most annoying of traditions. I am asking for her opinion, not a ruling,” Olric snapped, sitting down with a huff.
The High Vestral sat back in her chair, but her face was clouded with anger.
Emira took a breath and stared at the wall above the High Vestral’s head. She would lose her nerve if she had to keep looking at her stony gaze.
“I have spoken to Lords Dovesbane and Greensdale on this issue. We concluded that the best way forward would be for us to return the Marshmires to you and to reopen the trade routes.” Emira’s voice trembled, she took a drink to calm herself. She focused on the cool liquid trickling down her throat before she continued. “The stolen grains and goods will remain with us. I’m believe most of it is from our kingdom anyway.”
The High Vestral eyed Lord Dovesbane. “Is what the Queen says true? You spoke with her on the issue?”
Lord Dovesbane nodded and Lord Greensdale cleared his throat.
“It came up during one of her Majesty’s history sessions. There was a similar issue back when the Eastern Isles was in control of what is now Litengull.” Lord Greensdale reached into a small pouch on his belt and pulled out a scroll.
“No need, Lord Greensdale. I was merely curious,” the High Vestral said and her attention shifted to Olric. Who was leaning forward on the table, his chin resting on his clasped hands, watching them like a hawk.
“Half,” he said as he straightened.
“I beg your pardon?” the High Vestral asked. Olric’s eyes narrowed at her. When he turned to Emira, his gaze softened.
“Keep half the grain, my people are also starving, and you will have your peace treaty,” he said.
Emira smiled and nearly leapt from her chair with joy when the High Vestral slammed her hands down onto the table and stood. The runes on her cloak shifted from silver to dark red as her gaze swept around the room.
“Your Majesties, need I remind you I will have to ensure the Spirit of the Realm agrees with this.”
“Well then I’d get a move on! My patience is running thin, High Vestral,” Olric said as he rose and turned to his ambassador. “I would like to see the griffins again.”
Lord Dovesbane stood while Ambassador Hemsmark rolled his eyes.
“I will escort you myself! My griffin is available, I don’t think there is any harm in taking him out for a ride,” Lord Dovesbane said and followed Olric out of the room. Ambassador Hemsmark trailed after them, his gate heavy with resignation.
The High Vestral rose from her chair, letting the wood scrape against the stone. A heavy magic followed her out of the room. Her cloak snapped at her heels like an angry dog.
“Well, that didn’t go as badly as I thought it would,” Lord Greensdale said, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
“Your Majesty, if the Spirit of the Realm approves this idea, what are you going to do with my son?” the Dowager Queen asked.
“I... am not sure yet,” Emira replied and gave her a small smile. “But do not worry, I will not execute your son. He has done great service for the people.”
“Do not make promises you cannot keep. The Spirit of the Realm might have other ideas,” the Dowager Queen said.
“Your Majesty, I believe it is time for you to speak with the tailors regarding your coronation gown,” Lady Ethelbright said.
When began to walk out of the High Vestral’s drawing room, Emira glanced back at the glowing door. A part of her longed to throw them open and demand to speak to the Spirit of the Realm herself, but she could tell the High Vestral was already barely tolerant of her. If she barged in there she might get thrown into a dungeon.
IT HAD BEEN THREE DAYS since the council meeting and not a word came from the High Vestral. Olric was getting anxious and kept threatening to leave. In a last ditch effort to calm him, Lord Greensdale and Lord Dovesbane had taken him to the lake to see if they could catch the lake monster the common folk believed lurked in the waters.
Emira, however, had stationed herself in the High Vestral’s drawing room. She only left to sleep or bathe. Lady Ethelbright and Lady Janel sat with her, each engrossed in their embroidery. Emira sat with a scroll as she continued to work on her reading. Nobles flittered in and out of the drawing room, and Emira avoided their curious stares, wondering if they thought her mad.
“Gods above, this is ridiculous! How long will it take for the Spirit to give an answer?” Lady Janel said and threw down her embroidery.
“As long as it takes,” Emira said, tracing a word on the scroll with her fingers. She eyed the door. It was still sealed shut, but now had two Vestrals guarding it. Their hoods covered their faces, casting eerie shadows onto their skin.
“Prepare yourself, Your Majesty. I cannot think of a time where the Spirit took days to answer,” Lady Ethelbright whispered as couple young noblemen walked over to Lady Janel. Their laughter was a brief burst of brightness in the gloomy atmosphere.
“Where is he?!” A rough voice shouted and Emira watched a grizzled looking man with dark gray hair storm up the drawing room toward her. His enormous frame was dressed in a steel gray tunic, patchy black pants and mud caked boots. The nobles in the room gave him a wide berth as he walked up to Emira. Before she called the guards, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head in reverence.
“Lord Rover, Prince Felix’s guardian,” Lady Ethelbright said when he rose. “He was with the Prince during his exile.”
“Gods be with you, sir,” Emira said. Lord Rover’s dark eyes glimmered with suspicion. “Your Prince is currently being detained in his quarters.”
“Then...” he hesitated, “he is not to be executed?”
“Unless the Spirit of the Realm says otherwise, I have no intentions of killing him,” Emira said.
“Oh, Gods be praised,” Lord Rover muttered and
jerked his chin toward the glowing door. “So the High Vestral has yet to decide?”
“You are correct,” Emira motioned for Lady Ethelbright to make room for Lord Rover. Lady Ethelbright looked at her with confusion for a moment before she nudged Lady Janel.
“Come my dear, why don’t we get the Queen a new scroll to read. She looks rather bored of that one.”
The two ladies left with the young noblemen trailing behind them. Lord Rover sat on a chair, though his posture was stiff and he looked rather uncomfortable.
“Lord Rover, I have heard nothing but secondhand reports of our borders with the Western Marshes, and seeing as I cannot finalize the situation with Prince Felix at the moment. Would be so kind as to enlighten me?”
Lord Rover scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Well, to be frank, Your Majesty, it’s been an absolute bloodbath. We didn’t have enough men to keep all the towns safe and there were plenty of times where we showed up too late. Prince Felix’s actions have slowed down the bandits a bit, but I fear it won’t last for long.”
“Why do you think Prince Felix ransacked a town and capture the Marshmires?”
“In all fairness, Majesty, Prince Felix spent years on the border, trying to stop something that was impossible. A task given to him by a father who thought his own son was trying to murder him. He did everything he could by rounding up those who were willing to fight,” Lord Rover said. “I fear the impact of his father’s death and finding the letter that showed Lord Marshmire’s involvement with a group of bandits proved too much for him. I fear he finally broke.”
“What letter?” Emira asked. Her stomach turned to knots.
Lord Rover frowned. “You didn’t get that report?”
“No, I was not told of this by anyone.”
“I sent a report directly to the High Vestral herself.”
Emira sucked in a breath as she bit the inside of her cheeks to keep herself from marching over to the High Vestral’s private room and demanding an answer.
“Majesty?” Lord Rover asked slowly. “Are you all right?”
The Spirit of the Realm Page 16