There was a long silence and it was gratifying to hear how hard his breath was coming. “As it turns out, my agreement is required. My charter clearly states that—”
“Oh, not that damned charter again!” she exploded, standing up. “Your charter is irrelevant. I am nullifying it and creating another one.”
“You can’t—”
“Yes I can. Who will stop me? One of your many allies?”
That hit its mark. She stood over him, smirking at his trembling lip. “Furthermore,” she said, “Terragand’s new charter allows me to choose its ruler. And you’re in luck; your family name will live on. Your uncle Evard Bernotas will be the new prince of Terragand.”
If she had liked him in the least, the wounded look in his eyes would have been unbearable. Fortunately, she hated him more than anyone. She stared at him a moment longer, then turned on her heel and left the room.
Arryk
The end when it came, came quickly. Arryk received a message from Classen in the middle of the night. He threw on a dressing gown and ran, meeting Aksel in the corridor. They hurried to the king’s chambers. Several doctors clustered around the bed, but made way for the princes.
“What’s happening?” Aksel asked.
“His breath is leaving his body at last,” a doctor said.
“Why now?” Aksel wondered.
Another one shrugged. “Hard to say. Since the attack several months ago, he has lost one vital function after another. It was only a matter of time before either his heart or his breath stopped.”
The king was very quiet, but clearly struggled to breathe.
“Father, can you hear me?” Arryk asked, moving closer. The air in the room was still and oppressive. Taking just two steps required huge effort.
There was no response besides an increased wheezing which went on for a few moments, then stopped. The room was completely quiet.
Finally, one of the doctors felt for a pulse. “It’s over,” he said. “Andres Roussay the Fifth, King of Norovaea is dead. Long live King Arryk the Eighth.”
He’d expected this for so long, but it still seemed unreal. To his surprise, Arryk wanted to cry. He’d never been close to his father, but as parents went, he’d been all right. He’d always been there, and now he was gone. Arryk glanced at his brother, who stood as if frozen, looking down at his father’s body. He was unsure of what to do next, and so was everyone else, it seemed. Then he realized they were waiting for him to act, which paralyzed him completely.
He ventured a glance at Norvel Classen, then wished he hadn’t. The enormous man had fat tears running down his cheeks and couldn’t contain his sobs. He had probably been closer to King Andres than anyone else in the world.
That helped. Arryk walked over to Classen and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you for your loyalty to my father,” he said. Classen looked up at him in surprise. “No, I mean it. We’ve had our differences, but you were a great help to my father and he trusted you with good reason.”
Classen nodded, unable to speak. Arryk squeezed his shoulder and moved on. He thanked the doctors, then put an arm around Aksel, still standing at the bedside.
“Shouldn’t I be more sad?” Aksel whispered. “It just doesn’t seem real.”
“It probably won’t for a while.”
“Now what?”
“Now we let the doctors do what they must and we go back to bed. Tomorrow I’ll figure out what to do.”
In his chamber, Larisa was up and waiting for him. “One of the servants told me,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“A bit stunned, though I’m not sure why. He was ill for so long.” Arryk sat down heavily. “I was so anxious for this, but now I feel bad.”
“He was your father.” Larisa came over and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around him. “Of course you feel bad. Oh, and congratulations, King Arryk.” She kissed his cheek.
“Thank you. A doctor already said something about that and at first I didn’t realize he was talking about me.”
“You’ll get used to it. Not so used to it that you’ll do without me, though,” she said gravely, looking into his eyes.
“Of course I won’t do without you. I need you more now. I have no idea what I’m doing.” And it was true. He’d never given much thought to the actions required of a king and assumed he would understand his role because he’d been born to it. Now he realized he didn’t know the first thing about ruling. He needed to rescue his sister, but aside from that, a whole country now waited for his next act. It was overwhelming.
“I can’t advise you on how to be king, but I can help you with military matters.” Larisa laid her head on his shoulder. “And other things.” She patted his knee.
“Good.” He pulled her closer. “That’s all I need from you.”
He’d need to find someone to give him political advice soon. It was annoying, but that someone would likely be Classen. So much for sending him into immediate retirement.
Teodora
“Your Highness, I’m afraid these terms are …” Evard Bernotas looked at the document, the quill poised above it.
“Different,” Teodora offered. “Different from what your forebears were given and from what your nephew ruled by. But the times are also different. What seemed sensible a thousand years ago no longer does. We don’t live in times of robber barons and kings who ruled by courtesy, if they ruled at all. Our enemies have created powerful kingdoms with powerful rulers and the Olvisyan Empire must keep up.”
“But … but according to this, Terragand is no longer a sovereign kingdom.” The duke put down the quill. “I do wish to rule, but not under these terms.”
“Then I will find someone who does.” Teodora smiled and reached for the quill. “I imagine someone like Aidan Orland won’t turn up his nose, and he also has a suitable heir. Perhaps even more suitable than yours.”
There was a long silence while the duke’s jaw worked and his face turned varying shades of red and purple. Teodora hoped he survived the stress. Others could take his place, but she’d have to argue all of this again. It was uncomfortably warm in her private study, perhaps because a wintry late-afternoon sun warmed the room through the tall windows, or perhaps because Teodora’s frustration was rising.
“So, if I sign this document,” the duke said slowly, “Terragand becomes a kingdom with the status of Moralta or Marjatya.”
Teodora nodded.
“I will be just a governor, ruling at your pleasure.”
“You will be more than a governor. You will be a prince, and a hereditary one at that. Barring outright rebellion, I cannot remove you or your heirs from your position. What’s different is that you will no longer print your own currency or be able to treat with foreign powers. Your treaties with countries like Sanova and Norovaea will need to be rewritten, though I imagine terms can remain the same.”
“I doubt Norovaea will agree to that,” the duke grumbled.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Teodora said, handing the quill back. “Any more questions?”
The duke took the quill, but laid it down again. “I’d like money,” he said flatly.
Teodora laughed. “I’m giving you a kingdom, and you want money? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious. You’re giving me a kingdom which has been half destroyed.”
“Because of your nephew’s foolishness, which you supported.”
“I did not.” A vein throbbed in his temple. “I was completely opposed and told him so.”
“And yet, you fought off the hussars at the gap, and stood beside Kendryk on the field at Birkenfels.” She didn’t need to bring up the fact that his wing had crumbled first and he had surrendered to Demario Barela in less than an hour of fighting.
“He had my son.” The duke gritted out between clenched teeth.
“I understand,” Teodora said. “I would have done the same had it been one of my darlings.” In truth, she wished Elektra were in someone’s dungeon, prefe
rably dying there, so someone else could be her heir. She was still amazed she’d somehow produced such a plain, stupid girl and was certain it hadn’t come from her side. The Inferraras might be a touch eccentric, but they always possessed striking looks and some measure of intelligence. Common blood must be hidden somewhere in her husband’s impeccable lineage.
“The fact remains that Terragand is devastated, and I don’t have the funds to restore it.” The duke drummed his fingers on the table.
Teodora felt her blood rise. If anyone in this room was entitled to a tantrum, she was, not this supplicant. And yet, she was tired of delays. She wanted this wrapped up now. She had to remind herself that part of being a wise ruler included moderation of one’s temper, in spite of annoying subjects.
Teodora drew a deep breath and pondered while she calmed herself. She didn’t want to start handing out money. If she did, there would be no end to the petitioners. But it was true that Terragand could not meet its new and increased tax obligations in its current state.
She thought of the look in Kendryk’s eyes when she presented him with this document and that decided it. “All right then; sign this at once, and I’ll see you get a loan from the treasury.”
“I’ll want better than the usual terms,” the duke said, quill poised once more.
“Of course,” Teodora said. It was no wonder Prince Kendryk hadn’t loved this uncle. He was quite horrible. “How does a five percent discount from the usual rate sound?”
“Ten,” the duke said.
“Seven,” Teodora replied, anger leaking out around the edges of her voice.
“Done.” And Evard Bernotas signed the new charter of the Imperial Kingdom of Terragand. Kendryk was no longer a prince and no longer had a kingdom.
Janna
Janna’s first wedding had been terrifying. She’d been so young and Dimir was a stern, distinguished stranger. This time she was excited and happy, but she had to wait. Senta hadn’t been able to line up both a temple and a feast as quickly as she’d hoped, so it was nearly a month before the ceremony could take place. Senta wouldn’t let Janna help, so she occupied herself by shopping for new clothes and altering the ones Adela gave her to wear later in the pregnancy.
After a string of dark, rainy days, the day of the wedding dawned cold and sunny. Braeden had hired a fine carriage and Senta brought the dress over the night before. To her relief, Janna hadn’t been sick in the morning in over a week.
Braeden wore the same suit he had worn to the empress’s feast the previous summer. He helped Janna into the dress, then stood back to admire her. “You look perfect,” he said. “Senta will be so pleased.”
Janna laughed and took his arm. “What about you?”
“I’m very happy.” He handed her into the carriage and climbed in after her. It was warm inside, so they were a bit disheveled by the time they arrived at the little temple in the old city.
“You are supposed to wait until after.” Senta shook her head as she repaired Janna’s hair.
“That horse left the stable some time ago,” Braeden said, patting Janna’s bottom, though she couldn’t feel his hand through the voluminous skirts. It seemed neither one of them could stop smiling.
They both gasped with pleasure as they entered the temple. It was small and over one hundred years old, a beautiful example of the ornate style of that time. A famous Cesiano artist had painted the icons at the high altar and gold leaf adorned every cornice and crevice.
An elderly, dignified priest presided. The ceremony was short and simple, with only the Torresias, Novitny, Franca, Miro and Adela’s family present. Franca even wore a dress, though she looked very uncomfortable.
“You didn’t have to,” Braeden said, when she came to offer her congratulations.
“I felt the occasion demanded it, sir,” she said. “Though if you don’t mind, I’ll change into something more comfortable for the feast.”
“I don’t mind too much,” Braeden said, laughing at her obvious relief.
The feast took place at a small inn not far from the temple. They gathered in a room toward the back and a jolly innkeeper brought trays of food. The guests may have been few, but the food was plentiful.
Janna thought the whole roast pig provided more than enough meat, but it was accompanied by four kinds of sausage, from very mild to a spicy Marjatyan variety. There were dumplings made of herbed bread, thick noodles blanketed in cheese and onions, several different stewed vegetables and fruit, and the wine flowed freely. Through the open door, Janna spotted a table laden with cakes and pastries. She wondered who would eat all of it.
Everyone had just settled down to loaded plates when there was a small commotion.
“I didn’t know you were in town, General,” Braeden said, jumping up upon seeing a dark, wiry man wearing black velvet adorned with puffs of gold lace stride into the room.
Janna recognized Demario Barela under the enormous black hat with its plumes of red and gold. The rest of the wedding party, bride and groom included, looked dull by comparison.
“I’ve just arrived from Kronland.” Barela swept off his hat and executed a courtly bow in front of Janna. “I was looking for your superior officer,” he added, nodding at Prince Novitny, who raised a goblet in his direction before downing its contents, “and was told there was a party going on. I hate to miss a party, you know.” He winked at Janna, who promptly blushed. “I understand congratulations are in order.”
Janna, blushed some more when Barela then greeted her in the Maladene fashion. This exotic custom started with a nibble on her fingers, followed by a kiss on each cheek and one that lingered on her lips. Fortunately, Braeden didn’t seem the least bit offended by the attention paid his wife, and gave the general over to Senta, who became uncharacteristically flustered at similar treatment.
Once he’d kissed all women present, was seated and provisioned, General Barela said. “I have interesting news from Norovaea.”
Kendryk
Kendryk opened his eyes and blinked when the door burst open and lamplight flooded the room. Only one person made this sort of entrance. He tried to prepare himself for whatever it was she might put him through.
He was strong enough now, so he pulled himself into a sitting position. “Your Highness,” he croaked, his throat parched, and not just from lack of water.
“Please, don’t get up on my account,” Teodora said, an unpleasant smile fixed on her face.
“I won’t then,” Kendryk said, before reminding himself to mind his tongue. He didn’t need to make things worse than they already were.
She pulled up a chair and sat so they faced each other. He studied her face for any new signs of strain or weariness. It was hard to tell.
“So,” she said. “It seems Sybila has worked a miracle and won’t need to saw off your leg.”
“She’s an excellent doctor.”
“She is. I must confess that I’m sorry about your leg. I would enjoy watching her cut it off.”
“Why are you so horrid? Isn’t it enough that I’m here, in this condition? Besides, I’m sure you could have someone hack off my leg anyway, if it would make you happy.” There didn’t seem to be much point in being polite.
“Somehow, it’s never enough,” she said, with a smirk. “Though I bring news that might make you feel even worse.”
She must have captured his family after all. He thought he’d been prepared for this, but still felt it like a punch to his chest. He resorted to his old training to keep his face neutral no matter what. Her victory might be complete now, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him break down.
“But first,” she said, in that same smug tone, “I’d like to ask you one more time to abdicate as ruler of Terragand.”
“What are you offering in exchange?”
She laughed and struck his wounded leg. It no longer hurt as it once had. He didn’t even flinch.
“You’re not in a good position to negotiate,” she said.
“Your family—” she began.
“If you have them, show me.” He was determined to call her bluff, even if it killed him. “It shouldn’t be that hard to arrange. That I haven’t seen them means that they aren’t in your power, or you’ve murdered them already. In either case, you can’t sway me.”
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she asked, her mouth tightening.
“Not really.” He let his head fall back against the pillow. Arguing with her wore him out quickly.
“In any case, I was only asking for your permission as a courtesy, since I don’t need it. I might as well give you the news.”
He nodded, wondering if he was prepared for whatever she was about to tell him.
“You are no longer Prince of Terragand,” she said. “I have removed you from your position and given it to your uncle Evard. He kindly agreed to a new charter as well.”
“He’s a traitor,” Kendryk said. “It’s still illegal and no one else in Kronland will accept it.”
“Princess Zelenka already has.”
“Everyone knows she’s your toady.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Teodora tossed her head. “As far as everyone is concerned, you are no longer a prince and you no longer have a country.”
Kendryk was certain she would not get away with this. This new charter was nothing more than a piece of paper, and unless every last one of the other Kronland rulers ratified it, it had no meaning. “I refuse to agree to this arrangement.”
“Your agreement isn’t required, though it would bring Kronland into line faster and I wouldn’t need to kill half the population.”
“You’d do it anyway, just for fun.” Kendryk wished she would go away. The meaning of what she had done was finally trickling into his brain and he now had to fight for composure. Illegal as it was, he realized she could do this because no one could stand against her. His kingdom was gone.
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 50