And the others' hate... It burned, of course, but next to the flame of her passion, that fire was weak and unconvincing. She could easily overlook it.
***
"When?"
"Tomorrow night."
"We won't make it."
"When, then?"
"At least a day later. We'll gather more people. Our men will get here, too."
It wasn’t the first time the four men had met in that spot. Quiet, secluded, and well-hidden from outside eyes, its only downside was not showing if anyone had followed the participants. Still, they could post sentries—and that's what they had been doing lately, having learned from their mistakes. They had dealt with the fallout, but nobody wanted to take another risk, especially at that stage, when ships were already full of people, their axes sharpened, and victory seemed only a few steps away...
"Be careful with the Ativernans," one of the men repeated once again. Another one gritted his teeth, which didn't go unnoticed. The third one put his hand on his shoulder.
"Elg, you understand it yourself."
Elg did, both that he needed to be careful and that they truly needed peace with Ativerna. After all, what difference did it make to Edward who ruled Virma? All he needed was an alliance, and as for whom to sign it with, it was the island's private matter. The Circle was the Circle. And if they didn't stop Hardring in time...
Gardren was both correct and wrong at the same time. He had served as an impetus for changes in Virma, realizing that the island couldn't carry on the way it was. It needed to move forward and transform. A broom was hardier and more useful than a twig, which couldn't even serve to write a message in the sand. Bran had pursued his goal to unite Virma under one strong ruler for a long time, scheming and bribing. He chose Hardring and never once regretted it. But the other clans...
The question "Why him?" had always been relevant, and it was usually followed by the question "Why not me?". The men who attended the secret meeting knew that if they didn't break the Hardring-Gardren alliance at once, soon Virma would have a king. They didn't want that.
To obey when you used to be a lord in your own right? Never!
There was also the issue of personal profit. Each one of the attendees had their own enemies, plans—including getting the lands of their neighbors—and their own dreams of power.
For Torsveg, it was an opportunity not just to become chief of his clan, but also to be part of the Circle, multiplying his power and prestige. There was only one problem: Tira.
Blonde hair, huge blue eyes, a slender figure that seemed to hover in mid-air... She should have flowers in her hands instead of a sword. Too bad it wasn't Elg she had noticed. In the entire world, there was only one man for Tira—His Highness Richard of Ativerna. Elg knew that at that very same moment, they were together, and it tied him up in knots. He hated it. Whatever happened, he would settle his score with that wretch!
He wouldn't touch Richard—for that, Edward would drown Virma in blood and burn the rest—but the girl would pay. It didn't occur to Elg that Tira had never promised him anything. So what? If not for that pretty boy, she'd come to terms with her fate, sooner or later getting under him, but the prince...
"I remember our plan. The Ativernans won't be hurt, I give you my word as a Torsveg," Elg replied after a pause.
The men breathed out. Each of them knew what it was like to lose themselves in the heat of battle. Each of them had experienced being drunk on blood and death. Each of them was in jeopardy if Torsveg lost it.
"Great, then," Chief Hardar summed it up. "So in a day, two at most, as soon as the ships signal..."
A day or two? It was a big difference, especially when the plot could be uncovered any minute. The third man voiced his concerns.
"It's a long time."
"But we got rid of Gardren."
"We don't know that yet."
"He couldn’t have escaped. He couldn’t. And really, why drag it out now?"
They still hadn't gotten a pigeon from Clan Hardar, and neither did they have any news about Gardren's clan. The Gardrens were a dangerous prey, one that wasn't easy to hunt. It required time. Nobody was worried.
As for a day—well, how long could they stall? The time to kill had come.
Virma was about to change, and whether for good or for ill... The conspirators thought it was good for them, at least. And that meant they had to make their move.
Wellster, outside of Cardin.
Lily kept glancing at Milia. The queen's condition worried her more and more. Her fever had spiked, and she spent most of her time barely conscious. Lily would have loved to put her under, but she had no drugs to speak of. She'd even settle for opium or weed, but...
She touched the flanks of her horse with her heels and pulled up to Gael.
"Will we pass by a village?"
"Chances are we will, Your Grace."
"Gael, we badly need a she-goat or a wetnurse."
"Ahem?"
"If Milia develops an inflammation, she won't be able to feed the baby, and without milk... You think they’d forgive us if we get a prince killed?"
The Virman nodded with a serious expression.
"Will do."
Master Salsi, who was listening in on the conversation, rode up.
"Lilian?"
"Yes, Kort?"
"Rivana gave birth not long ago. She's nursing, but she has enough milk for two."
Lily breathed out.
"Good. But we still need a goat. Some herbs, too! The herbalists should have something, right?"
"What exactly do you need?"
"Chamomile, marigold, sage, stickseeds, clover, thyme, spearmint, yarrow..."
The Virman stared in round-eyed amazement. He clearly hadn't memorized it.
"That's for inflammation, and the more of it, the better. Sedatives, if you find them, and...oh, take everything! I'll find a use for it!"
Having received a clear and brief instruction, Gael nodded. All the herbs, plus a she-goat, or better, two of them.
Lily sighed heavily. They would have to spend the night in the open field, which was risky for Milia. But what could she do, really? It couldn't be helped. All of her herbs, medicine, and supplies were back in Cardin.
Ah, how she wished she could kill those blasted conspirators, just kill them, slowly and coldly! They couldn't have chosen a worse time for their plot.
Once again, the thought about Jerisson's fate came unbidden. Her mood, which was already far from cheerful, grew even more sour. To distract herself, Lily turned to her daughter. At least Mirrie was with her. The girl alternated between obediently riding with her mother and inside a cart. She never gave any trouble, didn't ask for anything, and didn't bother her mother with ill-timed questions.
That's how children grew up, Lily thought, becoming tempered in the fire of other people's woes. You couldn't shelter them; you couldn't keep them safe...even if you really wanted to.
She would have given everything to shield Mirrie from the world and raise her like a delicate pampered flower. Not a chance.
Lily touched her dark hair with her lips. Mommy's here, sweetie. Mommy loves you and will see that no harm comes to you. And if anyone dares to threaten you, she'll bite of their head and spit it out.
"Mirrie, are you feeling all right?"
"Yes, Mama."
"Please hang in there, honey. Soon, we'll stop for the night, and after that, it's not too far until safety."
"I will," Miranda agreed. "I promise." She hesitated a bit and muttered, quietly and with uncertainty. "Mama, will Papa make it? Will he be all right?"
"Of course." Lily's voice had enough confidence for three men. "He's so smart and wonderful, how can he not? Impossible!"
Mirrie nodded. For her, it was that simple. If her Mama said it, then so it was. For her mother, though...
***
At that moment, Count Earton was busy arguing with Leir Olsen.
"What do you mean you won't give me soldiers?"
"My wife is there!"
"Half of our men have families inside the city! You can't go inside. Your appearance is quite distinctive; they'll recognize you in an instant. You'll fail both her and yourself!"
"I'll make it."
"How?"
"I'll dress like a beggar."
Leir Olsen groaned. Yeah, as a beggar. The other beggars would knock the hell out of him as soon as he entered the gate. Their world was a different one, with their own laws and rules. A stranger had no place there. In a flash, the right argument came to him.
"Jess, you have to stay."
"No, I don't."
"You must. Just think—if you leave, who am I next to the prince? You're an ambassador, the king's nephew, his representative, and I'm a simple leir, a commander of a backwater garrison. They'll snatch the princess; I bet my boots on it! They're already staring at her like cats look at fish!"
Jess sighed. Richard would have ripped off his head for that, and so would his uncle.
But Lily and Miranda were inside the city. How would he keep on living if something happened to them?
"We'll march out tomorrow." Leir Olsen put his hand on Jerisson's shoulder. "I've arranged it, and we've also sent a message to the duke saying that the fort has been taken, the Ceruleans were captured, and we'll arrive tomorrow. Let's get the fortress in order, wash the blood off, and have a bite to eat, plus take care of the wounded. They can't all know each other in person—we'll change and try entering the capital. After that, it's either Aldonai or Maldonaya."
Jess sighed.
"If my wife and daughter—"
"We'll also send one more letter."
"What kind of letter?"
"That we've captured Count Earton here. He's still alive, but the princess is not with him."
"Hmm."
Jess paused and then nodded. Yes, in that scenario, he would be led to the pretender, or maybe he'd even send men after him, splitting his forces. That was good.
Plus, if Alcine had Lily and Mirrie and they were still alive, he'd put off killing them. They were leverage, after all.
"Thank you, Leir."
"Pay it off with blood in battle."
Jess smiled. It was an old saying among soldiers. Still, it felt nice, being accepted not just as a count from another kingdom, but as one of their own. One would never joke like that with a man who could become your enemy.
"Won't be long now."
"It won't. Come on, let's write a letter."
***
Aldon Peters wasn't surprised to hear from his secretary about Duke Alcine's visit. That was inevitable, considering what had transpired the night before. The aldon himself hadn't attended the ball, but any palace has a gate and servants, making it impossible to keep a secret within its walls. Drop by drop, the truth will out.
Was the aldon mourning Gardwig? Now that would be funny. To grieve a man who could send you to the gallows any minute and replace you with a more obedient priest? Never. Peters had never been that honorable. He was, however, quite concerned. It wasn’t like Alcine couldn't do the same to him; he could, easily.
And so, Peters received the duke with all due courteousness, ordered the servants to bring wine, and amicably offered the guest a comfortable chair.
"Happy to see you in good health, Duke."
"Thank you, Aldon. Through your prayers, I suppose."
An exchange of niceties followed, but both men were far too anxious to prolong it. Alcine got down to business.
"The funeral for His Majesty Gardwig will take place tomorrow evening."
"Well then...we're all mortal. A great sorrow struck Wellster, but life goes on, Duke. Isn't that right?"
Alcine nodded to his own thoughts. He had expected something like that from Peters. The aldon would never grieve over Gardwig or his children.
"I hope, Aldon, you won't refuse to perform a funeral service for those who left us?"
"It's my sacred duty. I hope Her Majesty Albitta will be present at the ceremony?"
"Yes, of course."
"I’ll do everything in my power to attend."
Robert nodded and moved on to a more complicated matter.
"After a while, Cardin will be visited by the son of His Majesty. And Her Majesty."
"I'll be glad to meet this young man," Peters said with a friendly smile.
"He'll need to be crowned."
"Of course, Duke. A country cannot exist without its king. But...you must realize that there cannot be strife."
Robert understood that.
"Crowned as the king's first and only son."
Another nod.
The aldon had just named his price.
He would only take part in the plot if he were sure in the outcome. Her Majesty and Their Highnesses had to die. In any case, it didn't go against Robert's plans. The duke nodded.
"Yes...a royal funeral is a costly affair, especially when there are several of them."
"Such a sad event..."
Two dirt bags could easily find common ground.
All that remained was to capture the condemned but that was Alcine's task.
***
Aldon Peters wouldn't be as calm if he knew about one little fact. Trusting the clergy would have never occurred to Gardwig. Why trust those whom you're constantly stomping on, forcing them to do something against their wishes?
Hoping the church wouldn't retaliate, stabbing him in the back, would have been extremely naive, and both Gardwig and Altres Lort were anything but.
The aldon's secretary had long since been turned, ratting out his boss so diligently and dutifully that real vermin could only envy him. There was nobody to contact at the moment, but the secretary still wrote down the entire conversation. As they said, nature abhorred a vacuum.
Sooner or later, he would figure out to whom to sell the dirt.
***
"Why don't you want to go to Ivernea?"
Lydia didn't really have anything against Wellster. That said, she wouldn't mind spiting Richard. Wouldn't it be ironic if Lydia's brother stole Richard's bride when Richard himself had chosen another girl over Lydia? From her point of view, it was. That's why she kept on pestering Maria.
She wasn't doing too well, though. The princess kept calmly brushing her hair, seemingly unperturbed.
"I gave my word."
"Your father did. If he knew how it all would turn out, he might have married you to Miguel."
"There's no point in talking about it," Maria brushed her off. "And no need to try and persuade me. I will never agree to anything like that. It would be low."
"It's a military maneuver!" Lydia argued.
Alas, it was hopeless. Maria sighed.
"Lydia, may I be frank?"
"Yes."
"I just really don't like Miguel. He's not my type at all."
Lydia was about to object, but then she noticed sparks of amusement in Maria's brown eyes. So she was joking?
"In a marriage, one loves, while another permits one to love them. It's better to be the latter."
"Who said that?" Maria grew interested.
"Lilian Earton, my friend."
A dark look clouded the princess's face.
"The count still doesn't know what happened to her. He's mad with worry...he loves his wife."
"He does? Jerisson Earton has no idea how to love!"
"Look at him; he's all dark and gloomy."
"He just forgot to wash up."
Maria couldn't help but giggle.
Yes, between the two of them, the nice ladies had enough poison for a squad of king cobras. Too bad they couldn't switch places. Cobras would have come in handy.
***
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Her Majesty Albitta."
The Assembly started.
Most countries had a similar institute, a gathering of noblemen under the king. Sometimes, the sovereign was able to squash their
ambitions with an iron fist, and sometimes, the Assembly managed to bring him to heel. The name of the body was of secondary importance. It could be a Seym, a House of Peers, a Parliament... The details didn't matter. In Wellster, people lost no sleep over them.
So noblemen met up to solve a question? Great! Then Assembly's in session!
In truth, in Gardwig's time, the lords had gathered purely for decoration, applauding any and all words spoken by the king and approving any of his decisions. It's not like they could talk back, really. Those who were too loud, Gardwig immediately made shorter by the head or hung them around in pleasant disorder. It didn't save him, but neither was Alcine ever a member of the Assembly. He wouldn't take it for free.
So the nobles lost a privilege? Let them choke on it!
At the moment, he still wasn't a member—he was its head. It was him who had given out the order to get everybody to the palace. It was him who commanded his men to bring them in politely, not by force. He could have said something else, and his servants wouldn't dare to object. Robert could feel the taste of power almost physically: hot, spicy, just a little bit bitter, and impossibly intoxicating.
It was he who spent the rest of the night sorting through papers and looking for dirt on those he still didn't have any dirt on. The copies of some of those documents were being handed to the nobles as they entered the hall.
Really, why hold people at knifepoint? It was easier to threaten them with losing their purses or muddying their reputation. Sometimes, such prospects were much easier to understand. In any case, even if they accepted Robert by force, he still would have to rule them.
Despite his original intentions, he was starting to think that the best revenge on Gardwig would be him staying in power. Forever. Not a trace of that bastard would be left in Wellster!
The lords entered, whispering and exchanging glances as they took their seats. Robert Alcine slowly came up to the dais holding the throne, a woman dressed in scarlet and white on his arm: royal purple and white as snow…and diamonds, of course.
The royal crown shined on Albitta's head. Her wrists, her neck, her fingers—all of her was covered with diamonds; enough splendor to make a Christmas tree would be jealous. Albitta was rewarding herself for years spent as a caged rat.
The Road of Kings: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 8) Page 6