by B Lynch
“Thank you,” Patta whispered.
“Do you want me to tell him?” Cait said. Patta shook her head. “Alright,” she said. “He’ll hear nothing from me.”
“I just… I don’t want to lose Marrol,” Patta said. “He wronged me, but…”
“Not another word,” Cait said, gently. “Save it for the King. You’ll need every last tear.” Patta hugged her, with as much strength as she had to offer. Cait hugged back. “Come now,” she said, as she went to the door to lock it. “We must make you look penitent.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
“Absolutely not,” Caliandra replied; she felt almost insulted by the prospect that Marrol’s wife had suggested - let him live? After what Marrol had done? Did Patta not see the throne that Caliandra sat in, the clothes she wore - the Peacebringer axe that balanced in her hand? Caliandra had no crown yet, but all the same, it was an impossible request. Patta had approached the King for a private audience, and asked for mercy for the very man who sought to keep the King from her throne.
“I realize I am in the position to demand nothing,” Patta said, with eyes lowered, “But I would like to see him, and I wish for you to consider granting him a stay of execution.” She came dressed in plainer clothes than Caliandra had known her for; she wore only a minimum of powder and makeup, to ensure the effect of humility. Her brother, Talwyck, the Minister of Trade, stood at her side, and said nothing. It was a subtle combination of influences, all meant to open Caliandra to the possibility the offer. Yet, Caliandra refused; she knew she was being pressured by Patta, in very subtle ways. And she knew it would not work.
“Lady Patta,” Caliandra said, as she shifted forward in her throne, “Your husband attempted an insurrection. He stole Peacebringer, ordered castle guards murdered, and tried to unlawfully take the crown for himself. This cannot go unpunished.”
“He was afraid for the kingdom,” Patta said; her tone was uneasy, and her calm was fading. “He thought it would be best not to take a chance with an unprepared king. Please understand, Caliandra, if he had known it would have been you who took the throne…” She stopped, as Caliandra’s expression darkened. Caliandra thought to lash out, immediately; instead, she held her tongue.
“Go on,” she said, glaring at Patta; she could not restrain the hostility that seeped through.
“He would have never tried to stop you, Your Majesty. Marrol holds your family in the highest regard. Your father was one of his closest friends,” Patta said; her words were full of pleading, and her eyes begged for mercy. “If he had known you would be King, he would never have stood in your way.”
“He didn’t have faith in the axe, and as a result, showed no faith in the King it would choose. What if it chose another man - a peasant, perhaps? Would Marrol have followed him?” Caliandra asked; Patta made no reply. “If he did not have faith in the axe, he does not have faith in me,” Caliandra said. “And his actions were those of a man seeking power, not one who feared for our safety.”
“Please, consider clemency, Your Majesty,” Talwyck said, with his certain, slow phrases. “Mercy towards the former Minister Marrol would show how willing you are to put this behind you, and move forward. It would show trust in our soldiers, where now, you plan to have almost thirty executed… Surely, you don’t wish to start your reign soaked in blood?” he said, his tone gentle, yet questioning.
“I do not,” Caliandra said, “But Marrol has left me no choice. Clemency will be given to those who cooperated with us, and the fate befalling the arrested traitors will be death.”
“Surely, there is something you want,” Patta said. “Something that being King alone cannot give you. Your mother spared Royth, after all.” The words infuriated Caliandra at the mention of his name.
“Another misery your husband visited on me,” Caliandra said, sourly.
Patta was quiet, for a moment. She glanced over at Talwyck, as if to note an opportunity. “You want him dead, then?” Patta asked.
“He sent my brother to his death. I mean to send Royth to his own,” Caliandra said, as her grip tightened on the axe. Her eyes narrowed. “That is the only price I would begin consider for your husband’s life.”
“What if,” Patta began, as she stood up a little straighter - a bit more confident - and addressed Caliandra, “We could give that to you?”
“If you have hidden him away somewhere,” Caliandra said, gritting her teeth, “You will tell me, or there will be consequences.”
“No, no, no,” Patta said, with her hands up defensively. “I do not know where he is. But if he is with the Nest, they will take him to Silenia, and back to Amaniren, or to Odryg, and you will never see him again… or,” she said, “My brother and I could make inquiries with… less desirable contacts we have made over the years, and perhaps, they could arrange to handle the matter for you.”
“The Merchant’s Guild does not always do business in the light,” Talwyck said. “Sometimes, it is our friends in the shadows who can accomplish far, far more.”
“No,” Caliandra replied, with such force and immediacy that it took Patta off guard. “I want him captured, and alive. His life is mine to take.”
“That would be difficult,” Talwyck said; seeing Caliandra’s face twist with anger, he quickly added, “But not impossible.”
“And what assurance do I have that Marrol will not try to take my throne again, if I let him live?” Caliandra asked; that was the question that weighed most on her heart. She was already ill at ease, knowing that not all of the men loyal to Marrol had been captured; some of them still held rank within her army, and he would not tell whom.
“I swear on our family’s honor, that he will do you no harm,” Patta said. “Please consider our offer, your Majesty.”
Caliandra’s face grew cold. “You may leave,” she replied. “I will let you know what my decision is within the week.” Patta wisely said nothing; Minister Talwyck bowed, and left with her.
“You aren’t actually entertaining her offer, are you?” Fenwyn asked, as Caliandra explained what had transpired in the private meeting. “Calia - Your Majesty, no. He’s a criminal. He betrayed the country. If you let him live, he’ll only do it again. And what guarantee do you have that she can actually deliver Royth to you?” Fenwyn seemed shocked that Caliandra would even consider it; but Caliandra dismissed his concerns.
“I have no guarantee,” Caliandra replied, “And my decision was already made. Rest easy, Minister. Marrol will pay for his crimes.”
“A wise choice,” Fenwyn said. “They may be well-connected, but you can’t trust her word. It’s far safer to assume that she and her husband have been part of the conspiracy against you since the first day - and knowing her, it’d be impossible if she didn’t.”
Caliandra propped her elbow up on the armrest, and leaned her chin into a thoughtful hand as she considered his words. “But he was found with Kells’ wife. Why would she defend him, even then?” she asked. “If Iaen had betrayed me for another woman, I should have cut him from my life.”
Fenwyn shrugged, and sighed. “Some people cling all the tighter to those they love, even after they know them to be wicked traitors. She also stands to lose a great deal of status when he dies,” Fenwyn added. “What sad business,” Caliandra said. Her mind turned to Kells. “Has he returned?” she asked.
“No,” Fenwyn said. “Kells left the city, and took his children with him. Josske is staying with Ostre, to watch the house, and keep her company. Her sister visits, but Josske is a friend of hers, and he’s made it very clear that he wants her to feel safe.” Fenwyn sighed. “My sympathies are with Kells, but for her sake, though, you should consider what you could give them. Not immediately, of course, but… make it a primary concern.”
“A divorce?” Caliandra asked. “The Arch-Priest isn’t very fond of allowing those.”
“She lay with a traitor,” Fenwyn said, “Who defied the divine authority of Yom, and who sought to keep Peacebringer from its rightful bearer.
If she is made to look the victim of Marrol’s seduction, I think the Arch-Priest will easily make an exception for them… especially since her husband’s run off with their children. The more pity on her side, the easier it will be for her to attain a divorce, and remarry to a sympathetic man that can provide for her.”
“Yes,” Caliandra replied, saddened. “Yom knows if she’ll ever see those children again. What a shame.”
“It’s the way of the world,” Fenwyn said, “And remember, even though our pity is with her, it is not always only the man who seeks adultery out.” He shook his head. Caliandra knew it to be true enough; there were a fair amount of stories of unhappy women straying from their men, as there were the other way around. The heart is a capricious thing, she thought. As unknown to us as the thoughts of Yom, and our long dead.
“Patta, however,” Fenwyn said, “That woman is a whole other pit of snakes.” In a way, Caliandra almost pitied Patta; after Iaen had dismissed her, she felt cast adrift, and would have done anything to take him back. Perhaps that is her reason, she thought, to prove her love is greater than Ostre’s, by saving his life.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Marrol’s anger had long since faded, by the early hours of the morning. Instead, he was left with only regret, and fear - both feelings he was deeply unaccustomed to. After so many years of being close to it, and being its deliverer, the Shade waited for him with arms outstretched. Knowing his hours were numbered - being able to count them - that was… it was an odd feeling. Each vanishing second was a grain of barley, added to the Shade’s store - and soon, the harvest of his life would be complete.
At first, he regretted everything, and wished he could change. How could I have been so foolish, so untrusting? Why did I think I would have ruled better than the one chosen by the axe? Marrol asked himself, as rats scrambled across the stone floor. He’d given up tugging at the chains that bound him. There was no hope left. The only person who could have done anything to save him, Talwyck, had voted against him. A brother’s love, indeed. He regretted not listening to Rionn, and valuing his friend’s advice above his own instincts. Twice, he’d betrayed himself. That was at the core of how he felt, in the cold, musty prison: betrayed. By his own wants, by those who cared about him, by Fate itself.
Marrol looked down at his left forearm, at the healing wound where he’d drown the sword across it. He’d thought it would help him keep his power, like all his actions. Instead, he’d only cut himself - no one else. And he would have done it again. It is a waste to worry, he thought. His actions were inevitable, like an executioner’s falling axe. What was there to regret, when he would have done nothing differently, and he was only scolding himself for acting according to his nature? The moon hung high in the night, and the chill wind that blew through the small peepholes made it difficult for him to sleep. The hours dragged on, and he tried to occupy them with thoughts of his life - but as his mindfulness faded, that too became difficult. He had no anger anymore, just the rising anxiety in his chest; soon, he would be dead. Nothing could stop it. No man or woman -
No, he thought. Neither of them will help me. Ostre had forsaken him. And it was Patta who’d gotten him caught by Kells. She probably relished the chance to have in chains, after what he’d done. He’d not heard a damn thing from her, or seen her… all those years together, for nothing. Worthless.
He’d thrown her away, and then, when he needed her most, she was gone.
I deserve this, Marrol thought, his mind dazed from the lack of sleep. I deserve all of this. It was well into the next morning when the guards came to him, and his mind was easily distracted. It was almost for the best; he didn’t want to be fully aware of what was happening. It would ease the dread, and numb him for what was to come.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Caliandra had never thought she could walk so tall in her life. She'd never been so conscious of the straightness in her back as she walked along the marbled floor of the temple, surrounded by Barrish nobility. Foreign dignitaries, too, were in attendance – another emissary from Kersik, who had arranged to bring Mas’s servants home with his own retinue, the ambassador of Silenia, an Erimeni duke, or at least, the closest thing to, according to Fenwyn – lined the temple floor, standing at attention. Some with particularly shocked looks on their faces... just as she'd hoped. The pants were the right choice, she thought.
Everything was going according to plan, and she had never been more proud in her life. It swelled in her heart, and animated her steps; her boots made long, graceful strides across the white marble, and her ceremonial robe trailed behind her, the fur and velvet dragging on the floor. She did her best not to smile, and to keep her face firm. It was not a wedding, but a coronation. All the same, she felt a similarity between the two; she was to be wed to power and responsibility, sworn to her duty, and blessed in the name of both Yom and the ancestors she held dear.
The aged priest stood at the far end of the temple, under majestic swaths of purple fabric hanging from the ceiling. Sweet incense drifted in the air; it all but begged her to slow down, and savor the moment. She paused before the priest, to kneel and make the sign of the Circle.
; in her small moment of introspection, she glanced down once more to admire the blue doublet, with inlaid jewels and pearls - as well as the soft, embroidered pants she wore. The ones that drew so much attention, for their subtle rebellion.
Around her, the room thrummed with excitement; and though she herself wore a great deal of makeup, caked on in layers, she'd never seen so much on the faces around her. It seemed that the sheer amount could keep a theater company in business for years. As she stood up, she saw Lady Ostre close to the front, standing with Fenwyn and Josske; Kells was nowhere to be seen, and neither were their children. Caliandra could not blame him. Ostre had worn something decorative, yet fresh, like spring itself, but Caliandra could see the contrasting sadness in her eyes. Josske wore a white-and-gold leather jerkin over his grey doublet, and kept a hand on Ostre’s shoulder; Fenwyn, in his green Minister’s robes, gave Caliandra a proud nod, and it brought a smile to her face. Her mother stood close to them, and though she looked lovely, her scowl of disapproval marred her appearance. That hardly surprised Caliandra. What did, though, was Iaen.
Caliandra wasn’t sure he’d come; she’d invited him out of spite, knowing that it’d be uncouth of him to refuse a request of the King-to-be. There he was, with her - Lady Tara Dugal - beautiful as ever, and yet both of them were awed by her presence. At first, Caliandra felt a tinge of fear at the sight of them, but once she truly looked at their faces, swelling pride took root. Iaen had made a wise choice, yes, but Caliandra knew that in her heart, she’d transcended him. It hurt far less to think of him - especially now, when she was about to be crowned King.
The priest beckoned her forth, and Caliandra walked forward. Next to him, an ornamented guard struggled to hold Peacebringer upright; he'd leaned it against his body, to counter the weight. She almost cracked a smile. In her hands, it felt almost weightless. She glanced over his clothing; silk robes, finely inlaid with gold, and eight gold rings – as mandated by the occasion. He raised his hands, and his voice rang throughout the temple.
“Behold Caliandra, successor to the throne,” he said. She stood tall, and held her head high. “On this blessed day,” he stammered, “We come to pay our respects to the crown, and those who’ve ruled us before with wisdom and courage. Today, we wish to welcome Caliandra Feor, daughter of our beloved King Rionn, who has been chosen by the axe before the Council and Regent, to take our throne. Stand before me, Caliandra.”
Caliandra took three steps forward, and could hear them all perfect in her ear; she could hear the robe dragging on the floor behind her, she could hear it rustle, and drag, until it stopped. A flood of nervous anticipation rushed through her body, and begged her for movement; she would not obey.
“Raise your right hand, and repeat what I say,” he asked. She obliged, and raised her hand. “I, Caliandra
Feor, promise to uphold the proud traditions of our kingdom... to defend it from those who wish us harm, and to represent it with pride - and when I do pass from this world, I trust in those who come after.”
“I, Caliandra Feor, promise to uphold the proud traditions of our kingdom, to defend it from those who wish us harm, and to represent it with pride - and when I do pass from this world, I trust in those who come after,” she said. She echoed the priest's words to the letter.
He spoke again. “I swear to ensure just and fair rule; to promote growth, but not at the expense of my people; To root out the evils who threaten our way of life; To lead with pride, and not to falter.”
Caliandra took a breath. “I swear to ensure just and fair rule; to promote growth, but not at the expense of my people; to root out the evils who threaten our way of life,” she said, pausing to swallow, “To lead with pride, and not to falter.”
The priest smiled, and motioned to the guard next to him, who leaned the axe forward. The priest made a brief circle over it, with his hand, and then gestured to Caliandra. “Then I offer you the Peacebringer, which has chosen you - let it serve as a reminder of your duties and your station, and never leave your side.”
She took it gladly, and felt the familiar thrill; like the embrace of an old friend. Her hands lingered along the axe's head, but she remembered the words she had to speak next. “I take the axe in good health, and promise to honor those who have held it before me,” she said.
The priest then motioned to a child behind him. A young man, only a few years younger than her, emerged from the back, with her crown on a silk pillow in his hands. The priest waited until the young man brought it out; his slender fingers gripped the crown, and lifted it off the pillow, high into the air, for all to see.