Solace Shattered

by Anna Steffl

“Aunt Martise,” the princess called across the room, “I was telling Gregory about your gardens at Ramblewood. Everything is blooming now, isn’t it?”

  Lady Martise closed her cards in her hand and to Degarius and Miss Gallivere said, “My late husband was fond of flowers. He had plants brought to Ramblewood from all over the Easternland. Some are ancient varieties that survived the Reckoning by the care of single, daring families.” She tapped the cards on the table. “Captain Degarius, your father said you’re interested in horticulture.”

  “Yes, lady.”

  “Perhaps I should organize a small party for the young people to view Ramblewood.”

  Princess Lerouge clapped and jumped from her seat. “When shall we go?”

  “Captain, we’re at your leisure,” Lady Martise said.

  Why had this been pinned on him? Degarius privately groaned. As much as he enjoyed touring gardens, there were far more pressing matters to attend in Acadia. But there was Fassal, looking at him expectantly. He wanted to marry the girl. It was a pressing matter to him. Still, things had their order. “I’ve committed to going south tomorrow to check on a contract my father made with a saddle supplier. I’ll be back in three days. Otherwise, don’t delay your pleasure on account of me.”

  Miss Gallivere shrugged. “Why not in three days?”

  “A small party?” The king pursed his lips and looked between Lady Martise and his daughter. Issuing the invitation to Degarius first hadn’t fooled him.

  “Perhaps you wish to come, brother Dontyre,” Lady Martise said to the king. “It’s been an age since you’ve been to Ramblewood. Of course, if you don’t have time...”

  The king laid his cards faceup on the table. “Sarapostans, it’s time to speak with me. In my private study.”

  The king lit a pipe and passed it to Degarius. To Degarius’s dismay, black leaf, not altartish, packed it. Minding ceremony, he took a shallow puff and gave it to Fassal.

  Next was the wine. The king drank deeply from his goblet. Wine glistened on his mustache. He whisked it and the formalities away with his forefinger and said flatly, “You want to ascertain what assistance Acadia can provide against the Gherians. But honestly, you stopped them forty years ago without Acadian help, and I have my hands full with Orlandia. Plus, I have my information that old Alenius may be dead. No one has seen him outside the Forbidden Fortress for moons now.”

  “So we’ve heard,” Fassal said. “And there’s a rumor that he’s taken to wearing a hood at all times. There’s speculation that he’s died and this hooded figure is a way the generals have of keeping the clans together to wage the war. The other explanation is that Alenius has a disfiguring disease, which seems a just fate considering his reputation for being a vain, old peacock. Or, more likely, it is ploy to make Sarapost less worried about the possibility of war.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a silver coin, and flipped it to the king. “The clans are united, and they’re minting these and giving them away.”

  The king rolled the coin in his fingertips to study it. “What about it?”

  “It is a new coin, cast with a thistle and the words Gheria United.”

  “What does the reverse say?” the king asked.

  “Alenius, Divine Sovereign, Jole, Year 0,” Degarius answered.

  “That’s a bit rich,” said the king. “The Gherians fancying Alenius divine?”

  “And starting over the calendar. Jole is the Gherian word for the winter solstice, the first day of their New Year,” Degarius added.

  “Which brings me to this,” said Fassal. “We’re not ready for war this winter. They’re promising any man who fights a piece of Sarapostan land as a reward. We don’t have enough men trained to fight the numbers they’re swelling. And those we can train, we can’t supply with weapons. They are twice as strong now,” Fassal said. “If Sarapost falls, then the Gherian problem will be squarely yours, along with Orlandia. Or do you hope the Gherians will be content to stop at your border? Degarius, show our intelligence.”

  The king flipped the coin back to Fassal and waved away the papers Degarius began to nudge toward him. “I don’t wish to fight your battle unless I’m fairly rewarded for it. If I send my troops north, what is Acadia to gain? Chancellor Degarius could give me no promises. Has Sarapost changed her mind? Is she willing to commit to a plan to share the gain? Sarapost, not Acadia, will be enriched by this war. My northern ally might become my northern rival if she possesses all the Gherian lands. Do you expect me to provide you assistance at my own great expense?”

  “The full power of Sarapost is entrusted to me,” Fassal replied.

  The king’s hand thumped the table. “Show me your intelligence.”

  Degarius gave him the report. “Mining and weapons production are up. Many of the cabinetmen are desperate for field help because their hands have left to serve in the war in hope of a piece of land. Huge companies are training on the plains north of Sarapost.”

  The king read and then placed the report on the table between them. “Already I allow you to buy arms from Acadian suppliers. If I were to pledge four infantry divisions and two cavalry, what would Sarapost offer?”

  Fassal stood and leaned upon his knuckles over the table. His expression was confident and hard. It was a manner he’d assumed as acting captain during the long stay at the Outpost and in getting the regiment back to Sarapost. “Acadia can expect what is fair. All territory gained will be summed and divided between us according to the proportions of the troops. But Sarapost gets choice of lands contiguous to her.”

  The king stroked his mustache. “What about spoils? I hear the sovereign’s Worship Hall and Forbidden Fortress are full of treasure. You’ll get the land contiguous to Sarapost. But I ask for first choice of the valuables. Gherians are known for their fine swords. I’ll not take more than my share of land and spoils by proportion of troops.”

  “I suppose that’s fair.”

  “Finally, Sarapost is prepared to deal,” the king said. “But you complicate things by giving attention to my daughter. Courting her at this time arouses suspicions that you do it solely for Sarapost’s gain. I’ll not have her be a political pawn. Speak your intentions if you want my permission to try to win her hand.”

  What was this about? Degarius’s father had warned him King Lerouge was a wily bastard. It wouldn’t be a brilliant match for his daughter. Acadians regarded Sarapost as a backwater. Why would Lerouge seem prepared to consent to it, so soon, with no terms other than Fassal’s good intentions?

  Fassal stood, bowed, and placed his hand to his heart. “King Lerouge, I don’t need to extol to you the charms of your daughter. All in Sarapost will honor her. While Sarapost cannot claim to be Acadia, I am proud of my home, of the bravery, good sense, and value of my compatriots. To be queen of such a place, provincial as it is, cannot be thought degrading.”

  The king took another drink and said as if he had not heard Fassal answer, “Present me with your captain’s sword as a pledge of your honorable intentions toward my daughter.”

  His sword? The only thing Degarius prized. Even if it wasn’t Assaea, was only an antique dedicated to a long-forgotten Thiabault, it was a family treasure. By devoting all his talent and determination to becoming the best swordsman, Degarius had earned the right to carry it. But like any good officer, he kept stone-faced despite his thoughts.

  “Come,” Lerouge said impatiently to Fassal, “I ask very little when I offer to give my only daughter, provided you can make her love you.” His eyes glistened, as if it pained him to speak of his daughter’s fate.

  Fassal’s brief yet beseeching glance—for a beautiful bride of his own choosing and five superbly trained Acadian divisions all for the price of Thiabault’s old sword—left Degarius in no doubt of his obligation. He pledged his life in service to Sarapost. What was his sword? Not Assaea. It was only something of sentimental value, and he’d be damned if anyone thought him sentimental.

  With the same unthinking numbness of action and
reaction in battle, he stood, drew his sword and laid it upon the table over the intelligence report. His right hand went to his chest, to the Valor in Service medal. Without his sword his hand felt oddly disconnected from his body, as if he’d lost it along with the blade.

  The king wrapped his stout fingers around the hilt. “Chane will appreciate adding this piece to our collection.”

  At those fat fingers touching his sword, disgust boiled inside Degarius. And though he had never met Chane Lerouge, he immediately disliked him because the prince would have the one thing most precious to Degarius—without even a fight.

  GRACE

  Lady Martise’s house

  Jesquin and Miss Gallivere, each posted to a side of the window, peeked from around the drapery into Lady Martise’s front courtyard. The coach and escorts that were to take them to Ramblewood Manor were in the drive; they only waited on the gentlemen. While all Jesquin had spoken of these last days was one of the Sarapostan gentlemen, all Arvana had thought of was the other.

  Though just as curious and impatient as the girls, Arvana kept to the couch. She was to chaperone. Last night, Lady Martise had been called to a friend’s bedside. As much as Lady Martise was disappointed in missing the outing, she could not bear to have it postponed on her account. Hera Solace must go in her place. The plans were complete: the Household Guards would escort them; lunch would be served at the manor house; boxed refreshments would suffice for the return journey. Arvana gladly accepted the assignment. Though she couldn’t rejoice in the grave illness of Lady Martise’s friend, she was thankful of the chance to see Captain Degarius.

  “There they are.” Jesquin ducked fully behind the drapery. “Oh, Esmay, it’s good of you to come. Don’t you find Captain Degarius frightening?”

  Miss Gallivere still peered from the window. “He looks like a frightful barbarian, but he’s a frightfully rich barbarian.”

  The girls laughed. How could they laugh at such a man’s expense? Arvana had never liked Miss Gallivere. It stemmed from how the young lady flirted with Chane at Summercrest. Arvana rationally knew she shouldn’t hold it against her. Miss Gallivere had no idea of what had been between them. Now, however, the dislike seemed vindicated, and Arvana doubly wished the princess’s friendship with the girl would cool.

  “They’re at the door. Quick!” Miss Gallivere said and the girls raced from the window and dropped onto the couch. Though they sat with their hands demurely folded in their laps, their cheeks glowed.

  The doorman led the gentlemen in and gave their names.

  Jesquin, unable to feign artful calm for long, popped from the couch. The prince’s countenance was equally eager. The captain kissed Miss Gallivere’s hand and the lady curtsied smartly to him.

  After the four exchanged their greetings, the princess finally turned to Arvana. “This is my tutor, Hera Solace. She’s to come with us. Auntie Martise is with an old friend who took a turn for the worse during the night.”

  Instead of a coat, Captain Degarius wore a black officer’s cape pinned with his medals. He removed his hat and bowed. Upon seeing no flicker of recognition on his face, a strange ache throbbed in Arvana’s chest. Oh Ari, she told herself, whether the man remembers you or not has no bearing on your mission.

  “I know you, Hera Solace.” Prince Fassal was wagging his finger at her. “At the Provincial Meeting you looked at Degarius’s sword. Degarius,” he called to the captain who’d already turned away, “here is the scholar.”

  The captain obligingly looked over his glasses.

  It was as if his gaze sent a breath of blazing fire across Arvana’s face. “I...” She began without knowing what to say, but Miss Gallivere slipped her arm around the captain’s and drew him to the door.

  “Yes, let’s go!” Jesquin skipped to Prince Fassal.

  Arvana followed the couples, her steps neither as eager nor as quick. She despaired she would have no chance of telling the captain his sword’s true name or learning anything of his character except what kind of beau he was to Miss Gallivere.

  Ramblewood Manor

  With one languid hand, Miss Gallivere held a damp washcloth over her eyes. The other dangled over the edge of the couch upon which she laid.

  “What more can we do?” Jesquin asked Arvana as much as Miss Gallivere.

  “Go on without me.” With her dangling hand, Miss Gallivere motioned them away.

  A headache could never have been more providential, Arvana thought as the party filed outside to the porch. She would have a chance to speak to the captain. Prince Fassal and Jesquin would surely wish to walk together, leaving Captain Degarius to her.

  Once outside, however, Jesquin said, “Someone must stay with Miss Gallivere. It is my duty.”

  If Jesquin stayed, they all would stay. Before Arvana could reply, Prince Fassal took Jesquin’s hands and said, “You’re all kindness, but Miss Gallivere is under the care of an able servant. What can you do for her? I heard her tell you to go on without her. Won’t she feel even more wretched thinking her headache has spoiled your pleasure? If in her place, comfortable and well tended, what would you want?”

  “I would want the others to carry on,” Jesquin said but then turned to Arvana. “Hera, what is the right thing to do?”

  “If your presence would bring her any comfort, I would urge you to stay. As that is not the case, and it is only a headache, Prince Fassal is right. Miss Gallivere would feel worse thinking she’s altered your plans.”

  “Well then.” Fassal extended his elbow to the princess, and they descended the steps.

  Arvana wove her fingers together. Please Maker, he must come. Her hope soared as Captain Degarius’s footsteps sounded behind her.

  Then they stopped.

  She glanced over her shoulder. His elbows perched on his knees, he sat on the top step. Her shoulders sank. Of course, he was Miss Gallivere’s escort and a gentleman; he would stay. And she could not. She had to chaperone the princess. The Household Guards waiting at the carriage would certainly see if she neglected her duty. She would be dispelled from tutoring and sent back to Solace at the very moment her mission might come to fruition.

  She quickened her pace to catch the couple when the prince turned around and with surprise, noted her. He spoke to Jesquin and then ran past Arvana to the porch where he exchanged words with the captain. Captain Degarius looked warily toward Arvana and the princess and shook his head, but Prince Fassal thrust an adamant fist to his hip and the captain rose. As they neared, she overheard the prince say, “Just a short way. Otherwise, we’ll not have a moment together.” So that was the reason the prince had fetched the captain—to gain a bit of privacy.

  “Hera, you’ll forgive Degarius,” Fassal said when they reached her and the princess. “He’s spent too long on the frontier. Certainly, you must not walk alone.” As if suddenly realizing it sounded like he was inflicting a rustic on her, he added, “You’ll find him surprisingly learned. No one knows more about the weather. Now, let’s head to that stand of wood. We’ll tour the garden later. Perhaps Miss Gallivere will be recovered enough to join us.”

  Though Arvana knew she should rejoice the captain had been delivered to her, a part of her wished him away if it was such a trial being separated from Miss Gallivere.

  Fassal linked arms with Jesquin. In a few brisk steps, they were out of earshot.

  Arvana clasped her hands behind her back. If the captain walked any slower, the prince and Jesquin would be halfway back to Acadia by the time they got to the woods. As it were, they were fifty paces ahead. “Captain, I must at least keep them within sight. It’s my duty.”

  With his chin tucked to his chest, his brimmed hat obscured the top of his face. “Should I stay a pace ahead or behind? I thought Solacians...men and women...”

  Arvana forgave him a little for his obvious unwillingness to walk with her. Of course, he felt awkward. In the street, people gawked at her; a Solacian in public was a rare sight. “In Solace, the women and men usually sta
y to their separate sides of the valley. When we meet, we keep our gazes down. In public that is hardly possible and is not a rule. But I imagine at the moment we look to be perfect Solacians.” Simultaneously, they glanced to each other. She wanted to die from embarrassment. He locked his gaze back on the ground, and she turned her head completely to the opposite side. They had just entered the woods. She plucked a thick, narrow leaf from a rhododendron and rubbed it between her fingers for something, anything, to do other than look at him.

  He laughed uneasily. “No one would mistake me for a Solacian.”

  “Perhaps not. The uniform is all wrong.”

  “I’m afraid more than the uniform is wrong. Our professions couldn’t be more different.”

  “Except for the discipline, obedience, and subjection of self to the vocation.” Arvana didn’t know where the words came from or how they could have made sense.

  “That is the extent of our likenesses. Our ends are different.”

  “Peace?”

  “Not all soldiers have peace as their goal. There are as many warmongers in our ranks as those who fight from a sense of justice and for the protection of their people.”

  “You have peace as your goal.”

  “I like to think so...but...what I meant...what I do, have done...our ends must surely be different.”

  His voice was blithe, but his words had a hollow sound at their centers. Dear Maker, did he think himself beyond mercy? “You bear a special burden. You take upon yourself the worst of sins, the taking of life, so that others may live in peace. It’s far more of a sacrifice than I’ve made. For this there must be a special grace.”

  “Is that Solacian dogma?”

  Not exactly. How could she respond? How could she dare say that her unworthy heart intuited the Maker’s will? Yet, how could it not be so? “Some things one just knows to be true.”

  “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”

  Despite her vow not to look at him, she desperately wanted the smallest knowledge of what expression he made the comment with, but the path narrowed and he fell back to let her walk first.