by B Lynch
“Do you know how close you came to bringing our country to war with Barra?” Valkko demanded, his pale blue eyes bulging from behind the unkempt, graying beard that roamed wild across his face. He sat forward on his silver throne like a wolf, prepared to pounce on his prey; Eliya hoped Mas would lower his gaze, and submit to Valkko’s dominance. Anything to make the King be lenient. “Do you?”
“I felt Marrol would not give me a fair trial, and then come for Eliya soon after. It saved our lives.” Mas said, looking him square in the eye. Eliya noticed he said nothing of it being her mother’s idea; she wondered if this was deliberate, and that he chose to fight.
“When you are a Prince, you do not decide what is done with your life,” King Valkko growled. “I do. You represent my kingdom. My country. You are my son, my flesh and blood, and if you are thought of as guilty, you sit in that prison, and you wait until I intervene. If I choose to intervene. When you gave into cowardice, and fled Barra, and left so many of your servants behind.” Valkko said, as he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes squinted with anger, “That was the difference between causing a war, and having cause for a war.”
“You care so little about my life that you’d throw it away, just to be in the right when you attacked?” Mas said, stepping forward, undaunted. Eliya was shocked at Mas’s directness, and at how boldly he disparaged his father. Even if he’d stood up for her.
“I expected you to fulfill your duty, and do what is right for your people,” Valkko said, hostile. Mas seethed, and seemed ready to spew flames, when Eliya interrupted.
“Your Majesty,” she said, with great exaggeration, and a deep curtsy, “My sincere apologies. We have not eaten or rested well in the past few weeks, and we are both very much in bad humor because of it. If you would be so kind as to dismiss us, it would be greatly appreciated.” The King looked at her oddly, and then, at Mas.
“If you intend to marry this girl,” Valkko said curtly, “Be sure she knows her place.”
Eliya was shocked into silence. Mas spoke for her. “You don’t know yours,” Mas replied. “You’re not a king or a father. You’re a tyrant.” Before his father could say anything, Mas stormed out. Eliya was quick behind him.
“Yom above,” Eliya said, incensed. “What were you thinking, saying that?”
“Don’t tell me how to deal with my father,” Mas said, as he clenched his jaw. “I’ve had enough of him.”
“That wasn’t you back there, Mas. That was a man who chose to fight, when he could have been diplomatic. You are better than that, which worries me.” Her words stopped him in his tracks. “Mas,” Eliya said, as she lowered her voice to a whisper, “You do not need to deal with him so stubbornly.”
“He attacked what I did to keep you safe,” Mas said. “I do not care what he thinks was right, or what he wants for his damn kingdom. Our safety comes before his needs, always.”
Eliya was warmed by his words; he’d fight his own family, for her sake. But she knew what trouble they’d cause. “He is difficult, but you mustn’t make things harder for yourself,” Eliya said, softer. “Pick your battles. Let him simmer. He may act like a tyrant, but he is still a father,” Eliya said. “Perhaps you should consider that.”
“I have tried,” Mas said, as he glanced down the hall. “He prefers the crown to fatherhood.” Eliya saw a smile crept across his face, and his eyes brighten; she heard steps on the far end of the hall. Mas shouted to them. “Laus!” he exclaimed.
Eliya turned to look down the hall. She saw a tall, brown-haired man with blue eyes and crows-feet at their corners; he bore the family nose, a trimmed beard, and a more angular jaw than Mas’s. Laus opened his arms, and approached Mas with a grin. “Welcome home, little brother,” he said. “I’m glad you’re well.”
“And I, you,” Mas replied, as he embraced his brother with a hug. “You must meet Lady Eliya, my betrothed.” Laus looked at her, and his grin grew wider.
“Little brother, you’ve outdone yourself,” Laus said, glancing up and down Eliya’s figure “I think you were being far too modest when you described her to me...” Mas gave him a light shove.
“You’re married, as I recall,” Mas said, defensive, a flush coming to his face.
“Happily married,” Laus replied, with an arched eyebrow. “It doesn’t mean I’ve gone blind.” Eliya blushed, as well, and chuckled nervously. “My wife is very much looking forward to meeting you,” Laus added. “She, too, is young, and not with child yet. Not for lack of trying.” He turned, and saw Mas blush again, angrily. “Oh, your time will come, little brother,” Laus said with a smirk. “You won’t be a virgin forever.”
“Are you done?” Mas asked, annoyed.
Laus studied his brother’s face for a second; Eliya watched as he took stock of the situation, and decided on a different direction. Yom above, why couldn’t Mas be like him? She wondered. “I believe I missed lunch,” Laus said. “Will the both of you come join me?”
“Gladly,” Mas said. “I could empty the whole kitchen right now.”
“That sounds like a challenge,” Laus teased. “Eliya - will you still marry my brother, when we need to roll him out of the dining hall?”
“Of course,” Eliya replied. “I’ll hire a cart, should we need it.”
At hearing her remark, Laus burst into fits of laughter. “And a sense of humor,” she said. “Come, let’s eat.” He walked ahead; Mas and Eliya tried to keep up as they navigated the long halls, but Laus strode with a quickness they couldn’t match. After days upon days of long walks, she and Mas lagged behind.
Finally, Laus reached the dining hall ahead of them; the doors were closed, and made of a lighter-colored wood than the oak of the great hall. Eliya was surprised to see Laus struggle with the door. “Mas, you know how these things are difficult to open. Would you help?” he asked. Mas shook his head, and laid his hands upon the brass handle. With a great grunt and a pull, he opened the door; a full spread of food awaited, with savory smells that overwhelmed Eliya, and a group of well-dressed people waiting inside.
There were five men and six women - several of whom bore a resemblance to Mas and his brother. Then she recognized names, and faces: there was Dag, who married the merchant’s daughter; slender Freia, Mas’s older sister; Edvin, his second-oldest brother, who greatly resembled their father in appearance and demeanor, just as Mas described; and Rolf, the youngest, whose hulking frame dwarfed his slender brothers. Mas scowled and chuckled at the same time as he saw his family gathered there.
“You rascal,” he said, to Laus.
“Welcome home, brother,” Laus replied. “And welcome home, my sister-to-be.”
Eliya could not help but smile. If she never had the chance to see Barra’s green hills again, at least, she would have family.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Caliandra waited, fully dressed, in her chambers - her father’s old room. And for all its simple grandeur, it felt empty. She felt empty. She’d never imagined life without her father, and yet, she’d taken his place. The same crown that sat upon her brow also lay on his; but at the very least, he had the advantage of battlefield leadership. He knew what it was to lead men in battle - she, on the other hand, had at best managed a handful of maids. Even the Peacebringer, natural as it felt in her hands, was far better wielded in his own. But only because he had practice, she thought to herself.
There seemed to be a gulf of respect that she had to bridge, and yet, she had not coming opportunity to prove herself in such a way. Worse still, the easy confidence she enjoyed was fractured; each decision she made carried with it an anxious weight, wondering if she was right. It was far different to think of ruling while playing chess, she thought. And the burden seemed so easy on his shoulders.
But there were no prior kings to consult; only her mother, and her father’s predecessor’s wife, Duchess Una, still drew breath. The Duchess Una had sent Caliandra a letter of congratulations; she was physically frail, and remained in Baernswood, where Sophine w
ould soon join her. It was not customary for the previous Queen to stay in Castle Claine, even if she was family. Caliandra had sent a letter of thanks to Una, and promised to visit.
Caliandra waited for word that Fenwyn, Josske, and Sophine had arrived; she needed their counsel desperately. She was not looking forward to her mother’s thoughts, after the clash of differing opinions on her coronation clothing, but with Kells gone, and Marrol dead… she needed minds she could trust, who knew what would be needed of a Minister of War, and of a new Captain of the Guard. The Council had assembled several suggestions for the Minister of War, which Fenwyn would bring with him, but the Captain of the Guard was her own decision - and one she did not want to take lightly.
A knock came at her door. “Your Majesty?” a young voice asked. “Duchess Sophine, Minister Fenwyn, and Josske Akenfeld have arrived, and await you in your study.”
“Thank you,” Caliandra said. She rose, and the fabric of her dress trailed upon the floor. It was the fashion for a princess or young lady for it to hang so low, but she hadn’t the time to get it fixed to the proper length just above the feet. Caliandra made a note of it to ask for several - but not all - of her dresses to be altered such. And, of course, for more pants.
As she left the room, the guards at the door walked alongside her; they shadowed her steps the full length of the Northern Corridor, and turned left with her towards the study. She glanced at them; they were young. Not much older than she. Caliandra approached the study, and the guards took their positions outside the door. It would take some getting used to; she was rarely unaccompanied in such a way. Yet she felt more alone.
She opened the door, and found her mother, Fenwyn, Josske, and… “Duchess Una,” Caliandra said, bowing her head - almost curtsying, but forgetting that it was the Duchess who now gave such respects to her. Fenwyn and Josske stood up, and offered a bow of their heads; Caliandra’s mother helped the Duchess from her seat, so both could offer her their respects. The woman was far more frail than Caliandra had expected; she couldn’t see the Duchess’s limbs through the puffed arms of her dress, but her face was gaunt, and wrinkled beyond measure. Caliandra guessed that she was at least seventy years old, and that was generous.
“Your mother had told me you wanted a queen’s advice,” Duchess Una said, as she sat down. “I am glad to give it. And especially glad to be away from that dreadful castle,” she said, with a joking shiver. “It is like a tomb, but with servants.” Caliandra noticed her mother winced at the comment, which led Caliandra to believe the coming move was less than eagerly anticipated.
“I am honored to have you,” Caliandra said to the elderly Duchess, as she seated herself. “Shall we attend to the business at hand?”
Fenwyn produced several sheaths of paper. “The Council has approved three men for your consideration for the position of Minister of War,” he said, as he passed them across the table to Caliandra. “There is General Fionan Dubh, from the south, who is young; he is known to be harsh and unyielding, but loyal, and has a good command of his troops. Then, there is Lord Culinn Blaree, from the Westlands, who is possessed of a brilliant mind for strategy; he has served your father well, and King Pronncys before him, but is advanced in age. And there are… unfortunate rumors circling about his mental state,” Fenwyn said. “The public remembers his old victories, but it’s whispered that he’s lost his mind.”
“That should hardly matter,” Duchess Una said, with mild offense. “He’s barely older than I, and my mind is still sharp as a trap. He’s clearly the best choice.”
“My apologies, Duchess,” Fenwyn said, “I only say it’s of concern because we must consider all information and possibilities.”
“That much, you can discredit,” the Duchess said, with a huff. “Now, who else must you consider?
Fenwyn paused, slightly irritated. “Lord Ailin Dugal, from the North,” he said. Tara’s father? Caliandra thought.
“Dugal? No,” Sophine said, abruptly - speaking out no sooner than she’d heard his name mentioned. “Absolutely not.” Caliandra noticed her tone change; her response snapped like a wolf’s vicious jaws. It had none of her even measure.
“Agreed,” Josske replied. That surprised Caliandra even more.
“Very well, he will be discredited - may I ask why?” Caliandra inquired. As interested as she was to hear what Josske knew of him, she wanted to know what prompted her mother’s reaction.
“He is on Martan’s List,” Josske started; he glanced around the room, and found only confused faces. “It is a private list shared between the mercenary companies, made by my former commander, Martan Skol… he made it so that we could protect ourselves from lords who would not pay our wages, or attempted to cheat us.”
“Understood,” Caliandra said. She glanced at her mother, to see if anything else was to be said against Lord Dugal; her mother stared back, and shook her head. Whatever had caused her disdain, it was not something she felt comfortable sharing in front of this group, of people she trusted. The thought worried Caliandra deeply; what could it be. “Then it’s between Lord Blare and General Fionan.”
“Your Majesty,” Fenwyn began, “If I were you, I would postpone the decision until we know more about Lord Blare’s state. Another week will not mean the end of us, and it would be best not to make a rash decision. I know the Council is rather impatient to have the matter settled, but -”
“Why delay at all?” Duchess Una said, with chuckling disbelief. “He’s perfectly fine, and far better than that General you’ve picked. Lord Blare has won battles and small wars. Your General has done nothing of the sort!”
“We must be certain that the rumors have no basis in fact,” Fenwyn replied, and turned to Caliandra. “Your Majesty, please. I’m sure that there are no troubles with Lord Blare’s mind, but let us be fully confident and remove all doubt, than to disqualify him out of hand.”
“Or to find we have good reason to side against him,” Josske added. Caliandra saw that his remark drew a withering glare from Duchess Una, but nothing more. Caliandra considered her options; it seemed the decision was made.
“Fenwyn, let us arrange to visit these men,” she said. “We will take the week to visit them, and find out whatever we can. The decision will wait until then. What else must we decide today?” Caliandra asked.
“Kells has still not returned,” Fenwyn said. “His wife has been staying with her sister, in town, and she is… she is not well, Your Majesty. Kells took the children with him, and she imagines that they have gone to rejoin the Erimeni.”
“Which clan?” Caliandra asked. There were three in Barra that she knew of, and if he had gone over the border, into the Erimeni Freelands, then there were eight larger clans, with countless smaller clans beneath them. If the clan name was known, it would be easier to find him - and to know if he were willing to come back.
“She does not know,” Fenwyn said. “He’d told me once that his father’s clan was absorbed into another, after losing to them in a battle of territory… but his aunt and uncle, whom he lived with in town before he married, have no idea, either.”
“Then we must assume he’s gone to the Freelands,” Caliandra said. “Has she said what prompted it?”
“Yes,” Josske said. “She’d slept with Marrol, and lied about it; a letter penned in the Minister’s hand for his schedule found its way to Kells, who was charged with his security ahead of the meeting, before he was arrested. It was Kells who found them in bed together, and… she’s regretted it ever since.”
Caliandra was flattened. “Yom above,” she said.
“And it was not the first time her affections had strayed,” Josske said. “Her daughter caught her with her tongue down a merchant’s throat some days before. She has told me that being Kells’ wife was… far more difficult for someone such as her, who needed to be tended, and loved.”
Sophine shook her head. “Poor woman,” Sophine said. “I do not excuse her actions, but certainly, you can understand them… a
man like Kells would have difficulty separating himself from his work.”
“Surely, you must bring them back together,” the Duchess Una said. “They are her children, and she is their mother. She’ll know how to raise them better!”
“If he is gone from us, then we should promote whoever is highest in line, or the best candidate,” Caliandra said. “Someone who is trusted.” Then, she paused, realizing the opportunity this afforded her. “Josske,” she said. “Would you -?”
“No,” Josske said. “I am sorry, but… much as I miss it, I do not wish to find myself back in that life, even in a Captain’s capacity. Fenwyn would never forgive me if I kept him waiting up at night.”
“You would be good for it, though,” Fenwyn said, with a sad smile. “And you know how little I sleep at nights anyway.” Josske leaned over, and whispered something in Fenwyn’s ear, and the Minister chuckled.
“Then perhaps one of the lieutenants,” Caliandra said. “Or a reward for Darryn, without whom we would still be in the clutches of Marrol’s conspiracy.”
“The soldier?” Sophine asked, suspicious. “Why him?”
“He has proven his loyalty, and his capacity to go beyond the call of duty for his country.” Caliandra said. And, she wagered, the women of the castle would enjoy having such a handsome face around, herself included.
“Your Majesty, I would recommend you consider someone more experienced,” Fenwyn said with concern. “A willingness for the job and such qualities will only take him so far.”
“I too, would suggest someone more experienced,” Sophine said, “It would create unrest among the guards who have given us so much of our lives in service. And being ordered about by someone so young… I do not think they will take it well.” Sophine wore her reticence like a winter fur, and pulled it tight around her; she regarded Caliandra’s suggestion with distance. “Pick one of the senior guards. They would have more experience in planning details, and the management of the castle’s safety.”