The Road of Kings: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 8)

by Lina J. Potter

  "Yes."

  "The rest can be figured out. Talk to Angelina, and then we'll go over the details."

  Bran nodded in confirmation.

  Richard left, and Angelina shook her head.

  "I'm not dreaming, am I?"

  "I'm not sure," Bran answered. "Maybe we've gone crazy?"

  "Papa, who's this lady?"

  A child's voice surprised them.

  Bran did remember about his son, but...

  Looking in his blue eyes, he suddenly realized that the answer would be harder than the question.

  Angelina stepped in, sitting down on the grass next to the boy.

  "If you'd like, I could take care of you and your father."

  "Like a stepmother?" Ian asked matter-of-factly.

  Now that was a surprise.

  "Yes. If you don't mind."

  The boy waved his hand in a very un-childlike manner.

  "I don’t. Nanny said that good men never stayed single for long."

  Bran opened his mouth, thought a bit, and closed it. Children, enough said. Their universe was full of weird phrases, their logic incomprehensible for adults.

  Angelina smiled.

  "It's true. But I hope we'll get along."

  "And you're a princess?"

  "Yes. Why did you think so?"

  "That mister is a prince. It means you're a princess, aren't you?"

  "Yes. You're definitely your father's son."

  "Why?"

  "You're just as smart and quick-witted."

  Ian puffed his chest up and then paused.

  "So we're going to live in a palace? I heard princesses live in palaces."

  "Would you like to?"

  "I guess you can't fish there..."

  Angelina laughed out.

  "I suppose we can sort this issue out."

  "Do you promise?"

  "I promise."

  ***

  She managed to talk to Richard only in the evening.

  Angelina knocked at his door when everyone was already asleep. Richard didn't answer for about ten minutes but finally opened up. Angelina nodded at the window.

  "Let's take a walk."

  "You've changed, sister."

  "So, will you?"

  "All right."

  She had changed.

  Richard, sweetie, sometimes, one night is enough to change, and sometimes, an entire life isn't enough.

  I was almost killed; I killed with my own hand; I, worried for my beloved and made the most important decision of my life. It would have been strange for you to see the same innocent girl as before.

  Aloud, Angelina said nothing, simply waiting for her brother to put on warm clothes and leave the room.

  ***

  The seashore was calm and quiet.

  The tide purred sweetly, licking the smooth rocks and swaddling them in its moist hands while the wind whistled a tune.

  It wasn't strong, either: just your usual nightly breeze, cool, salty, and heralding bad weather.

  "It’s almost winter."

  Richard sat on a rock, picked up a few pebbles, and fiddled with them.

  Angelina looked around. She didn't want to keep standing in front of her brother, but she would get cold if she sat. She settled on finding a nice rock and using the folds of her cloak as lining.

  "We need to go home soon."

  "Yes. Don't be scared; I'll back you up. I won't let Father do anything serious. I think we shouldn't go to Laveri at once."

  "What should we do, then?"

  "You'll stay on the Virman ship, or Bran will while you accompany me to Father. We'll talk, sort it out..."

  Angelina shrugged.

  "I guess we could. Maybe it would be best."

  "Father will be livid at first, but then he'll understand you. He won't go against me."

  Angelina got the implication.

  Of course, he would not. How much time had her father left? Two years? Three?

  No doctorus could promise him more, neither Lilian Earton with her divine hands nor Tahir Djiaman din Dashar. And then, Richard would sit on the throne. Their father was already passing the torch to him, step by step, slowly, but still…

  "Bran will always be faithful to you. He wanted you to know it."

  "Oh, really?"

  "We've talked."

  Angelina said nothing.

  She didn't like voicing such things, but...

  Honesty came on several levels—for strangers, for friends, and for family. With your family, you had to be completely open, no other option.

  Lie, cheat, and you'd lose your kin's trust. Who else would accept you for who you were? Who else would help you in your hour of need?

  Even a white lie had no place in a family, simply because those it was supposed to help would never forgive the liar.

  "Bran said he didn't want to stay in Virma. His clan is no more."

  "But there are those he would retaliate against."

  "Yes. But he can't."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Bran serves Holosh, do you know that?"

  "I do. Odd that you do."

  Angelina shrugged.

  She didn't mind her lover serving probably the scariest of all Virman deities. When you loved, you loved the entire person with all his virtues and flaws. That said, Angelina wasn't quite sure yet to which of them Bran's dedication to Holosh pertained to.

  "I saw him kill."

  Richard knitted his eyebrows.

  He was already aware of the whole story, knew how his sister had been saved, and understood that if not for Bran... In a way, their marriage was just. If not for Bran, Angelina wouldn't be alive. He had saved her life, and if so...

  "Just like a fairy tale, right, Angie? A hero saved a beautiful maiden and got to marry her."

  "You're vulgar."

  "But smart and handsome."

  "All right, that's true."

  "So, what about revenge?" Richard returned to the matter at hand.

  "Bran serves Holosh. If he starts to get revenge, Virma will burn, and that mutiny wouldn't be as easy to subdue. You must realize that such coups involve more than five clans. There must be more, but who and how many of them? They need to be flushed out, slowly and gradually, and dealt with quietly."

  "Bran would have been indispensable at that."

  "Yes. But if he stayed in Virma, he'd become a target. His bloodline was destroyed because they were sure of Bran's death and their victory. His survival threatens the assassins. They'll start hunting him, and his children will become the first to suffer. Bran doesn't want that."

  "What does he want, then?"

  "He will communicate with Olav. And then, there are several people..."

  Angelina wasn't cutting corners; she simply didn't know everything. Several people? It was an entire web that spanned all of Virma, and it was those threads that Bran would pass down to Olav, even if not every last one.

  In time, they would learn who had done the deed and when. And revenge...revenge was best served cold. He would wait. Sooner or later, his time would come.

  Richard chuckled. He saw the picture a bit clearer, but if Bran hadn't told his sister everything yet, then so be it. It's not like he had lied—simply omitted a few details.

  "So, you'll come together."

  "Yes. Bran said that he could swear fealty to you...a blood oath."

  Richard nodded.

  "It won't hurt."

  He knew that was for a reason. In essence, Bran Gardren got a lot out of the deal: a new lease on life, a new country, social standing, an estate and income, a title and a wife...

  That was on the surface. On the other hand, it wasn't all rainbows. He would also get the nobles' scorn, intrigues and backstabbing, unfinished business in Virma, and uncertainty as to whether Bran would actually be able to start with a clean slate. Richard believed he would, though.

  Still, not all nobles would look down on him and wrinkle their noses. Richard was sure that such families as Earton,
Brocklend, and maybe a few more would quickly befriend the Virman. Angelina would help him, but Gardren wasn't the one to stay down long or ask her to wipe away his tears.

  He would fight bitterly and to the last, just like he fought circumstances his entire life. He would clench his teeth and do his damnedest... It occurred to Richard that he would have to introduce him to Hans Tremaine. They were bound to find common ground.

  Both were rather cold, cruel, and pragmatic. If Bran would take Ativernan interests as close to heart as he had taken Virman, he couldn't wish for a better subject. He'd crush every foe and eat them unsalted.

  "I don’t mind. Was it the only thing you wanted to discuss?"

  "When and how?"

  "We can do it tomorrow night. An oath doesn't require much."

  Richard had learned it from the Virmans. Fire, water, a blade: three components. Cut a hand above a fire, speak the words, and wash the blood into the sea. A river would suffice, too, as all rivers run into the sea anyway—as long as the river was flowing, not still water.

  Then the gods would hear the speaker and his oath and accept it, and if he broke it, the sea would do the punishment.

  Angelina nodded.

  "I'll tell him. Same time as now?"

  "Yes."

  Richard understood why Gardren hadn't come himself. He wasn't afraid—he had never been. He simply decided it would be better to let the siblings talk it out first. He would never evade a meeting and would gladly answer any of Richard's questions, swearing an oath and agreeing to everything.

  A lot could be said about the lord of Gardren.

  He was cruel, true, and slippery as an eel.

  He was also ruthless, absolutely, but he had his own brand of honor, and he was also capable of gratitude. Richard needed an advisor such as him, and as for any ill-wishers among nobles...

  He would have an excuse to reign in the smartest of his opponents. Although Richard doubted there would be many dissenters, especially after an unveiled conspiracy.

  "Richard..."

  Tired of silence, Angelina was the first to speak up.

  "What?"

  "I'm sorry about what happened to Tira."

  Richard shook his head.

  "Don't, Angie. Don't."

  "No, Richard. I would have been glad to call her my sister."

  "If she survived, I would have abandoned everything sooner or later," Richard blurted out. "You know, Angie, once, I condemned Father for choosing love over his country, causing a lot of bloodshed. I never thought I could do something like that."

  "Do you still think that father was wrong?"

  Richard lowered his head into his palms. He didn't want to lie, but saying the truth hurt.

  "I don’t know, Angie, I don't know...Aldonai! It hurts so much! If Tira were alive, I would have dropped everything. I would have married her, abandoning Wellster and the crown's interests...but would it be right? I don't know."

  Angelina shook her head.

  "I'm glad I'm only a princess. I'm not a queen, and I'll never become one. I don't want to, either."

  "I'm happy for you too, sister."

  "The morals of a common man and the morals of a king... You are going to become a king, Richard, but the price you pay for that is dire."

  Angelina leaned forward and impulsively hugged her brother. Richard pulled her in, resting his nose in her fluffy blond mane.

  "Angie... As one man to another, I don't just understand my father: I know that he did right. But as a king, he did not. Fate made the choice for me. Tira's dead, and I get a chance to become a good ruler. I'll go home, marry Maria, and she'll never know that my heart remained in Virma. But it hurts, sister, it hurts so much! It's as if it was I who died, not her. I will remember Tira while I draw breath. I'll even name my daughter after her. But a part of me burned on that ship with her. Maybe the best part."

  What could Angelina say? Nothing, really. She simply embraced her brother and stroked his hair as a mother would.

  Oh, Richard.

  How could she comfort him? She could not. He already understood everything. But why did Angelina feel so guilty? It's not like she had done anything. She would simply live and try to be happy, thanks to Richard.

  The road of kings: life, happiness, honor, and the soul of one man in exchange for life and prosperity for many others. Was it a fair trade?

  It was not, but destiny didn't offer a choice.

  The siblings sat by the sea in silence. There were no words and no answers. Everything had been decided. Each of them had chosen a road and would walk it to the end.

  ***

  Richard met Bran the next evening.

  Gardren came to the shore alone, without Angelina. He was standing still and watching.

  Richard reached out for the campfire, trying to warm himself.

  "Have you decided, Gardren?"

  "I have."

  "Then let's talk everything through and make everything clear. You'll marry Angelina. I'll give you a title and an estate. In exchange, I demand unconditional loyalty, the same as it was between you and Hardring."

  "I'll need time. Here, I'm playing in my own field. In Ativerna, everything will be new."

  "Really?"

  Bran looked at him innocently.

  Fine, it wasn't that new. The island lord had been observing the goings-on on the mainland for some time. He didn't take any active measures, however, having no reason or desire to. He would have to step up his game as he got acquainted with new pastures.

  Well then, he would play, and he would win. The stakes were too high for him: his life, his children, and his love. His happiness.

  Yes, as it turned out, happiness was in the books even for him, even if it cost an ocean of blood and pain.

  Bran would never forget and forgive what had been done to his clan, never. But it wouldn't preclude him from living on, being happy, and maybe having more children—Angelina would probably want them, anyway.

  Bran pulled out a ritual dagger, cut his palm above the fire, and spoke the words of an oath. A similar blade flashed in the prince's hands.

  Richard accepted his vow and made one in turn: to never betray him. They were a vassal and his liege.

  The sea listened to them, silent. It listened and remembered.

  Wellster, Cardin.

  Altres Lort didn't do anything to arrange a welcoming ceremony. What for? So some resenter could fire an arrow at the queen or come up with something else? He didn't want that.

  The people, however, poured out into the streets as soon as they caught sight of the queen's cortege and carriages emblazoned with the royal coat of arms. The first hurrahs went off, and shawls and hats flew under the wheels and hooves in the absence of flowers.

  Milia looked at Lilian.

  "Maybe I should come out?"

  Lily shook her head.

  "Your Majesty, it's not a good idea. Remember Fremont. One crossbow bolt..."

  "The people are waiting."

  Lily paused for a few minutes, then called Lord Renard.

  "Leir, could you make an announcement?"

  "Your Grace?"

  After the assassination attempt, the leir had started to defer to Lilian. Yes, the guards had never listened to peasant women, thinking that they were only good for one thing. The Virmans, however, had—and caught the assassin as a result. Maybe he should be listening to the countess, too? She might be a woman, but even women had brains...apparently.

  "You need to say the following..."

  The leir heard her out, nodded, and called up a trumpeter.

  In a minute, the high-pitched sound of a trumpet drowned out the noise of the crowd.

  "People of Wellster! Her Majesty is alive and well. However, she has survived an assassination attempt, so you can see her a bit later. For now, rejoice! The king's third son was born: His Highness Gardwig!"

  For a second, the crowd fell silent. Then, tentative and unsure but growing stronger with each second, a thunderous cheer roare
d above the streets.

  "Hurrah to Her Majesty! Hurrah to His Highness Gardwig!"

  He had to repeat his announcement a few times, but the people showed understanding.

  "What next?"

  Lily shrugged.

  "Security is Altres Lort's task. Let him put archers on the roofs, post guards in vulnerable positions... He should know it better than me. Was he in charge of guarding the king?"

  "No. Viscount Dishan was."

  "He's alive?"

  Milia shrugged. She didn't know anything about the fate of Count and Viscount Dishan, although she suspected both might be dead. It was unlike Alcine to leave them be.

  "So discuss it. What, where, when..."

  Her Majesty nodded.

  "I hope that one day, it will all be over."

  Lily took the queen by the hand, checking her pulse along the way—it was good and steady, maybe a little bit quick, but that was natural in such situations.

  "Everything will be all right. You will live; you will raise your children... Oh, by the way," the countess said with a sly smile, "Is Count Lort married?"

  "No.

  "Any children?"

  "Where from?"

  "How should I know? Maybe he has a brood of bastards running around in some village."

  "No, I would have known that."

  "We need to marry him off. Such a man shouldn't go to waste without a family!"

  Milia considered her words. Lily gave her a mischievous smile.

  Serves you right, Your Grace. This is for your last year's shenanigans! You'll have to beat off brides with a stick. Consider this my tiny but very sweet revenge.

  Still smiling, Lily rode into the palace. She might be all white and fluffy, but some people deserved hell…with interest!

  ***

  "Lilian!"

  "Jess!"

  "My girl!"

  "Papa!"

  A man, a woman, and a child tangled together in a ball so tight one couldn't stick a needle between them. Tears, hugs, kisses...

  The proud and unyielding Countess Earton was bawling like a baby, and nobody could condemn her.

  As soon as her carriage stopped, Jerisson flung the doors open, pulled his wife out, and locked her in an embrace. Lily couldn't resist.

  She was safe. He was safe.

  She could finally let go and let him take charge—well, for a spell. She wasn't going to change much or start relying on him all the time, of course not. But she was tired of taking care of everything and everyone all the time. She wanted peace. She wanted safety.