Hadley feigned shock. “Surely you’re not serious?”
Beddy nodded vigorously, her horror apparent. “They’re dining on human flesh as we speak.”
“Who told you this?”
“Would you believe a mummer’s troupe has already performed ‘the most tragic episode in Ardennian history’? I think they were planning on a matinee as well. Down at the promenade.”
“I need to see this,” Hadley said, already threading her way through the stalls. “See you tomorrow, Beddy!”
The promenade was a leafy public district on the wet bank of the Ebbe. There, under the oaks, elms and weeping willow so prevalent in the riverlands, Sporager’s Carnival delighted locals over the spring and summer months. Beyond the carnival grounds, in a comfortable pocket shaded by elegant foliage, amateur theater troupes plied their latest epics on the faded, chipped floor boards of The Round. The promenade was as close to sophistication as the Nook ever got, attracting locals looking to feel “cultured” and Sanctum-types out for a cheap laugh.
Hadley collected a bag of honeyed macadamia nuts from a street vendor and took her time negotiating the milling crowds. It was easy to find The Round - the terraces were spilling over with folks absorbing the latest amateur stage play. Hadley was content to hang back from the throng. A gentle breeze carried the mummers’ voices her way. The violent plot didn’t seem overly complicated. It was traditional for Ardennians to depict orcs in the foulest, most violent manner possible and this troupe was no exception. If anything, they deserved credit for the imaginative - and hideously ugly - costumes they crafted for such masterpieces.
Hadley waited until Duskovy Castle had fallen, and the mummers had taken their giddy bows to hearty applause, before turning to leave. She was curious to know how these actors had received the news so quickly, but it would be difficult to reach the stage through the rapturous throng. Just as she reached the riverbank path, raised voices drew her attention. Two adults and two children had entered the stage and were addressing the crowd directly. Curious, Hadley drifted closer.
“… may have its lighter moments, but there is truth behind the events depicted today. What happened to Baron Duskovy is real. We, the Rufaa family, strongly recommend that all Andrians consider fleeing north while they can. History tells us the orcs will show no mercy.”
The family came together as one, arms across each other’s shoulders.
“All of us have loved ones,” the mother said in a clear, mellifluous voice. “Family is the most precious of gifts. Many of us are starting out for Lakeshore tomorrow. Join us on our flight from Andra. There is nothing to gained by waiting here to die. Thank you for listening to us.”
With that, the “Rufaa family” exited stage left to scattered applause. Some onlookers dispersed quickly, muttering as they went. It was safe to conclude that they’d taken the dire warning at face value. Hadley stifled a surge of anger - this kind of fear-mongering was wholly unnecessary. Not only that, it had the potential to rip Andra apart. An open riot would cost lives and make things easier for the approaching orcish masses. Moving with more purpose now, she pushed her way through the crowd and headed backstage.
“Can I help you?” asked a mummer carrying an orc mask.
“Friend of the Rufaas,” Hadley said instinctively. “They’re expecting me.”
The mummer nodded doubtfully and continued on his way. Hadley found the Rufaa family in one of the back rooms. They looked like any other trader family from the Nook. A little rough, but presentable and earnest.
“Excuse me,” Hadley said from the doorway. “I was wondering if I may introduce myself. Hadley la Berne, from Overlook.”
She drew back her cowl out of courtesy. The father extended his hand and smiled warmly.
“Vincent Rufaa. This is my wife, Shalin, and my children, Lukas and Chandell. Shalin, I believe this is the war survivor everyone is talking about.”
Hadley accepted a firm handshake and took a moment to appraise her new acquaintances. Vincent and the children seemed genuinely delighted to meet her, but there was something guarded about Shalin. Hadley had spent too many years practicing the art of conversation to miss such undercurrents.
“You’re not as sad as I expected,” Chandell said. Hadley did her best to make her smile appear genuine - the child couldn’t have been more than ten years old.
“I’ve landed in a good place,” she said. “The Governor is a good man.”
“I believe he is,” Vincent said amiably. “Today’s news must have put him in a difficult position.”
“He’s addressing that as we speak,” Hadley replied, hating how she sounded like a politician. “If I may ask - how did you receive the news so quickly?”
Though she tried to disguise it, Shalin squeezed her husband’s arm.
“I know someone,” she said quietly, effectively stopping the conversation dead. Hadley made a point of holding Shalin’s gaze. Vincent cleared his throat.
“Duskovy’s dispatch rider is Shalin’s brother,” he said.
Hadley nodded her understanding. “No doubt he was tired after such a long ride.”
“He usually checks in at our house to water his horse and make himself presentable for the Governor,” Shalin said.
There was no hint of remonstration or anger toward her husband, which suggested a tight-knit relationship. Hadley was immediately on her guard, knowing how protective such families could be.
“That’s fine, he did nothing wrong,” Hadley said in a placating tone, but the exchange had already become awkward. “If you please, one more question - what inspired you to deliver your message this afternoon?”
This time there was a direct glance between husband and wife.
“Civic duty,” Vincent said confidently. “We’ve lived in Andra all our lives. We love it, warts and all. But the way Relton described the orcish attack made my skin crawl. We can’t win this one, milady. If we stay, thousands will die.”
Hadley nodded, deploying every one of her active listening techniques.
“No one understands your concern more than me,” Hadley said, using her recent loss to her advantage. “But I would caution against premature decisions. We still don’t know whether the invaders plan to lay siege to Andra.”
Shalin ejected a scornful laugh.
“They’re coming, milady. Sure as the nose on your face. I have three brothers in Duskovy’s garrison. When the survivors arrive, I’ll be taking them all with me.”
And there it was. Hadley had teased the first nugget of defiance from this glowering, intense woman. Vincent lay a casual arm around her, but the signal was obvious. It wouldn’t do to cause a scene.
“Again, I understand completely,” Hadley said, preparing to withdraw. “I would simply ask that you defer your judgment until there is news from above.”
Hadley made straight for Overlook to see Ballist, stopping only to pick up fresh bread and marigold jam from the kitchens. “Doing the rounds” up and down Baler’s Hill usually made her ravenous. Ballist was writing at his polished mahogany desk. Karla was nowhere to be seen. The Governor’s quarters were expansive, befitting his station. An entire wing was dedicated to private drawing rooms, balconies, even a small ballroom. Of course, she hadn’t seen the master bedroom. Yet.
“How was the tide?” Ballist asked.
Hadley smiled - his question was always the same. It was a reference to the ebb and flow of humanity on the hill beneath him. His hill. Hadley liked to deliver succinct reports. Like most men in positions of significant power, Ballist had little time for small talk.
“Duskovy’s dispatch rider has a loose tongue,” Hadley said. “Worse, his sister is zealously spreading panic.”
Ballist frowned, lowering his quill. His nose for trouble was exquisite.
“Do we have a problem?”
“I think so,” Hadley replied, feeling anxious all of a sudden. Up till now she’d never had cause to burden Ballist with anything serious. “The Rufaa family is galv
anizing locals on the Promenade. Hundreds will have left already.”
“I see.”
Hadley remained silent while Ballist processed the situation.
“Do they know anything we don’t?” he asked at length.
“Only an unverified account of orcish magic, milord.”
Ballist grunted - that was precisely what he didn’t want to hear.
“A pity magic isn’t the everyday phenomenon it used to be,” he mused. “No doubt this family will pop up again.”
“Highly likely, milord,” Hadley said. “I recommend the city guard be notified, but I’ll lead the investigation.”
Ballist’s gaze lingered on his protege.
“Exactly when did you murder your way into my life, Hadley?”
“Three weeks, two days, seven hours ago,” she replied.
“Seems like a lifetime.”
Ballist’s pupils had dilated a fraction, conveying what a thousand words couldn’t. Hadley had already made love to him, but those encounters had been abrupt, animalistic affairs. If she wasn’t mistaken, the look on his face was somewhat different this time.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand. He lead her down a plush corridor spilling into the largest bedroom Hadley had ever seen. She barely had time to note the startlingly intricate stain-glass windows and high, conical ceiling before Ballist was upon her, unfastening her buttons slowly and deliberately. Her breath quickened as he peeled away her bodice and lifted the linen shift over her head. Her heavy breasts fell free, allowing Ballist to bury his head in them. She bit her tongue as he licked at her nipples hungrily. Savoring the sensation of his skin, she pressed his head against her. When he rose for air, Ballist did something he hadn’t yet done during their trysts - meet her eyes.
“You are utterly beautiful, Hadley. Utterly beautiful.”
Hadley didn’t reply - to speak would’ve diluted Ballist’s surrender. Instead, she tore at the black tunic he’d been wearing since the funeral. The Governor sat naked on the edge of his four-poster bed, his left eye twitching uncontrollably. She’d never noticed that before - Ballist usually had an iron-grip over very gesture, every tic, every emotion. Before her sat a heavy, middle-aged man stripped to the bone.
“So are you,” she found herself saying, a tear sliding down her cheek.
Ballist’s face folded into a scowl.
“You dare mock me?” he said, gripping her arms. Hadley placed a placating hand on his forehead, over jugular veins that pumped furiously. She’d often imagined how this moment would play out, but she never entertained the notion that she’d be so invested, so emotional.
Hadley didn’t need to explain herself. Ballist, whom she would now call Sandor, could see the rawness in her eyes. It seemed to startle him. After all, he wasn’t so vain to think that women were drawn to his physical attributes. Hadley saw in Sandor Ballist an almost heroic conviction. For her, the Governor’s physical frailty was something to nurture, not recoil from.
Now that Sandor was truly vulnerable, it was time to strengthen their bond, not toss it away on a cheap thrill. Hadley stayed in her lover’s lap for the better part of an hour, savoring his smell, his taste, his feel. Ballist himself was like a penitent pilgrim in the presence of a Goddess. He closed his eyes for long periods, simply content to bask under Hadley’s languid, ethereal sun. Possessed by an intimacy neither had experienced before, she straddled him on an impossibly wide satin sea. She rode him hard, thrilled by the lazy ripples of pleasure between her legs. Her climax was glorious, triggering more than one orgasm before she stopped shaking. Having spent his seed at the same time, Sandor peered up at her in complete and utter reverence.
Whatever had passed between them couldn’t be ruined by words or even memories. It had been a heightened experience, beyond the physical in so many ways. Hadley settled into Sandor’s arms and drifted off into the sweetest sleep imaginable.
The Governor was perusing an official-looking parchment when Hadley drifted back to the world. She propped herself up, giving him a good look at her breasts. Their pseudo-religious moment had passed - now it was time for brevity. Sandor smiled and passed her the document.
“Royal missive,” he said. “Aurora left it with me.”
Realizing she’d finally reached the innermost sanctum of Andrian power, Hadley scanned the brutally succinct document. Governor Ballist was to hold the line. Hold Andra against orcish invasion. There would be no reinforcements. No cavalry on the hill. King Rosten’s strategy appeared to hinge upon slowing the orcs down.
“What has the King got up his sleeve?” she asked at length.
“Good question,” Sandor replied. “Something I’ve been pondering for days. Whatever his plan is, it is of little import to us now.”
Letting a comfortable silence settle, Hadley chewed over the implications of the missive. If events at Duskovy Castle were any indication, Ballist faced an impossible task. Still, there were lessons to be learned from the earlier capitulation, and the Baron’s forces were due to arrive any day now. Their numbers would bolster the defensive ranks.
“How often has Andra been sacked?” she asked. “We should start thinking about potential troop placements.”
Ballist smiled and rolled from the bed. He poured two glasses of oranthe, a local lime liqueur. Hadley wasn’t a keen drinker but found the tart shot surprisingly refreshing.
“Would you believe,” Sandor said after downing his glass, “that Andra has never fallen. The town was in its infancy during the Great Wars, hardly worth worrying about. Since Ardennia’s establishment, it has been allowed to grow without interference of any kind. In theory, Baler’s Hill poses a significant challenge for an invading enemy. You have the Sanctum wall, you have the choke points of Sanctum itself, then you have Overlook.”
Sandor met Hadley’s eyes. She found them incredibly soulful and wanted to dive into them all over again.
“If we follow our instructions to the letter,” the Governor continued, “we should be able to hold the enemy for several weeks.”
“Your wife was right, you know,” Hadley said, taking a calculated risk. “The best Andrian bodies and minds should use the rest of the populace as a shield.”
To her immense relief, Sandor erupted into a hearty chuckle.
“Yes, my dear, of course she was right,” he said. “Rosten will need our best people to assist with the defense of Lakeshore. My wife has lost the art of timing. An open withdrawal would, as you pointed out, send the place into a frenzy. The orcs would waltz through the chaos. No …”
The Governor set his jaw and ground his teeth for several moments.
“I have thoughts on how we could deploy the garrison, but I would hear the Baron’s detailed account first.”
Hadley shifted so that the quilt once again slipped from her body.
“No sign of him yet,” she said with a playful smile. “Put down the glass. Sandor.”
That night, as Hadley sat at her vanity and prepared for bed, Karla knocked softly on the door.
“I think it’s time we talked,” she said, her face hard like icebound stone.
Hadley smiled inwardly. She’d been wondering when the outbound wife would make her move. Pinning Hadley in her chamber attire gave Karla power, however minor, however fleeting. She sat on the edge of Hadley’s bed - another considered move.
“How can I help, Karla?” Hadley asked, determined to torment her with niceties to the bitter end. Karla’s gaze could only be described as one of exasperation.
“You don’t need to pretend, child. I know what you are and why you’re here. You must have me pegged as a complete fool.”
“I do not,” Hadley said honestly. “I’ve never thought that.”
Perhaps sensing Hadley’s conviction, Karla’s flint-hard manner softened a little.
“I knew this day would come. Sandor is very much a creation of his late father, but he is shaped by his muse. He must be inspired if he is to perform at his best. Our task is fleeting by ne
cessity.”
The older woman paused, her eyes welling with tears.
“I thought I’d have one, maybe two more years with Sandor.”
Hadley sat next to Karla and draped an arm over her shoulder.
“I’ve enjoyed my time with Sandor,” she said. “But to suggest that we’ve acted improperly -”
“Oh, spare me the act,” Karla barked, shrugging Hadley’s arm free and standing over her. “I knew my husband was lost as soon as you walked into Aurora’s reception.”
Karla looked Hadley up and down with an assessing eye.
“You have a full figure, a brain that works,” she said bitterly. “Throw in naked, near-obscene ambition. Quite the combination.”
Hadley opened her mouth to protest but Karla waved her away.
“Don’t think for a moment that other women are blind to it. I considered having you killed. My predecessor almost certainly would have. But I happen to love Sandor and I wish him every happiness.”
Hadley stood opposite Karla so they were on an even footing.
“Then what?” she said, letting her facade drop. “You know it’s only a matter of time.”
“Cardinal Plage, a good friend of mine, is writing an annulment as we speak,” Karla said. “I will be traveling for Lakeshore on the morrow.”
“Your family estate lies in the Silvertree district,” Hadley said. “No doubt you will find sanctuary there.”
“It is a solid holding,” Karla returned, her manner cold and businesslike once more. “Estates south of Andra are so terribly provincial.”
Hadley squeezed out a smile with difficulty. Karla might have been a woman vanquished, but there was plenty of venom left in her.
“I expect I’ll be in Lakeshore by the fall,” Hadley said, letting anger get the better of her. “If you like, I can provide you with regular updates from the palace.”
Karla nodded grimly, acknowledging Hadley’s verbal prowess.
“Sandor is vulnerable,” she said. “But then, you probably know that already. Look after him.”
“I will, Karla.”
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