“He has only done what he is told,” Lord Thanos said calmly. He gave a slight nod in Xander’s direction as apology for the bluntness of his speech. “He can no more leave a soldier’s service while you live than any other orphan destined for the sword, regardless of whether he wears that silver chain or not.”
“If you’re opposed to the motion—”
“I’m only giving you the public’s opinion of such a law,” Lord Thanos said quickly, “Your Majesty.”
“Thanos,” King Philip started. He laughed heartily, “Thanos of Anapos, the sword in my hand, everybody. Unfortunately for me the sword cuts both ways.”
Thanos spread his hands and gave a tilted smile as if to say ‘you know me so well.’ The King laughed again and lofted his goblet once more. All at the table partook in the gesture save Roselyn, who suddenly had a bout of uneasiness in her belly. Politics were often where she wanted to be. It was a man’s affair and she had never wished to follow the stigma promised her because of her gender. Tonight, however, the whole discussion swam in her head. She took a few bites of bread in an attempt at resolving the conflict in her belly.
“It’s settled then?” Philip asked.
However reluctantly, all the noblemen at the table inclined their heads in his favor. Patrick did not at first but only because he was looking at Roselyn with concern. When he became aware that the eyes of the table all resided on him, he gave a tight smile and a nod to his father-in-law.
“What of the women, husband?” Queen Isabelle, who had been sitting in silence throughout the whole conversation, spoke up. “The female orphans?”
“They will continue to be distributed out as before,” the king replied with a casual shrug. “Scullions, maids, tavern wenches… wherever they’re needed. Though we may wish to increase the amount of them we send to work the kitchens. More soldiers mean more mouths to feed.”
“That would be appropriate,” Glauco said. He folded his arms across his silvery silken tunic. He lacked the armor that Thanos wore but made up for it in a grim appearance. He had hung his blue cloak on a rack upon entering the dining hall, and waited until all the women were seated before he had taken his own, but despite his gentlemanly ways there was a harshness in his icy blue eyes.
King Philip swiveled to Xander who sat in silence. “Pardon me, my boy. You did not come here to hear of new laws drafted and the like. As always you are welcome to a chamber in the castle before you take your leave to Triton.”
“What shall I tell Sir Aldous regarding the lost men and vessels, Your Majesty?” Xander inquired as he stood.
“Men are still arriving on Triton weekly, I assume,” King Philip replied. “Those men will be replaced soon but not by men of Phorcys. That isle is too critical to leave with a garrison of few men.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Xander said with a bow to the king. He turned to the nobility at the other end of the table and bowed to them as well. “Gentlemen.”
Roselyn suddenly had an idea. It struck her like a force to the head and she raised her hand quickly to stop Xander from leaving. “Excuse me,” she started, and all eyes turned to her. “You were once at Patrick’s side for the exchange of tax money, correct?” The question was aimed at Xander. He nodded.
“Roselyn, what is your point? The man was about to take his leave,” King Philip reprimanded his daughter.
“Forgive me, Father,” Roselyn bowed her head but continued to speak. “I have an idea that might make you happy, and Xander’s presence here sort of inspired it in that I was just remembering that he was once a lowly watchman told to guard my husband on his previous duties.”
Xander stiffened at the obvious slight to his station. “I’m glad I inspire ideas in you, Princess. Please, proceed.”
With a look towards her father for a sign of approval, Roselyn continued. “The taxes that we charged our people were given to Gaia, yes? So, now that we won’t have to surrender them I think it would be only fitting to lower the tax rate by at least one third for all citizens.”
Silence overcame Roselyn as she awaited the response from the room full of powerful men. Her mother was smiling slightly, without making eye contact with her. Her father cleared his throat and Roselyn and the other men looked at him expectantly.
“That was a very brazen suggestion, my daughter.” He spoke evenly, looking at her directly. “I feel that that would be a brilliant move. Well done.”
The vibe in the room erupted into relief and excitement, or maybe it was just Roselyn’s own feelings that overcame her and made it seem as so. She felt amazing pride that her idea was accepted by these important men, and she looked to her husband for his reaction. He was smiling hugely, obviously equally as proud of her as she of herself. Without consciously meaning to she also looked at Xander, because she was being honest in that his presence had a hand in formulating this concept. He too was smiling, and seemed to be stifling his pride in her as well. For the first time in many months she felt positive feelings towards her former lover, and it made her happy to have a reason to let go of an unproductive grudge.
“I’m a little embarrassed I did not come up with the notion myself,” the king said. “Roselyn must be inheriting all my good ideas before I even have them. Gentlemen, I assume you will put this into action immediately. I feel this will truly go a long way in boosting morale within our nation.”
The men murmured in agreement and Xander nodded. “I shall pass on the word in Triton, Majesty.”
“That would be helpful, now I do believe you are dismissed for the evening, unless someone else has any groundbreaking suggestions for the table.” Philip looked around expectantly with a hint of humor in his eyes.
Everyone smiled and Xander once again bid the crowd farewell. He gave a special nod and smile to Roselyn. I suppose we can be cordial, and I can tell he is pleased with me. This feels much better than bitter feuding, she thought as she smiled back at him and watched him take his leave.
The rest of the evening was short. Everyone finished their meals and dispersed, but not before congratulating Roselyn on her proposal. It was the perfect public relations move and she had thought of it all by herself. Perhaps there was a place for her in the politics of Thalassa after all. From this moment forward, she vowed never to second guess her actions in matters of the state.
*
After dinner Patrick suggested that they take a walk in the garden to aid in Roselyn’s digestion. Heartburn came on fast and strong for her these days, and walking usually helped. The night was slightly chilly, and Roselyn wrapped her silk shawl tighter around her shoulders with a shiver.
Her gowns had become considerably less intricate since she had grown bigger in the stomach area. Roselyn was grateful for the lessening of the layers she was required to wear underneath her skirts, however losing the corset was undoubtedly her favorite part of the recent change in attire. She still had to wear stockings, a long-sleeved linen shift, and a kirtle under the main gown, but all of this was monumentally less restricting than her usual attire. That evening it seemed that the garments of an expectant mother were also noticeably less warm. “I should have brought my cloak tonight, it seems,” she stated, making conversation.
“Shall I ask someone to fetch it for you?” Without waiting for an answer, Patrick raised a hand behind him and motioned with his fingers. Within seconds Theodore came running forth, awaiting his command. Patrick gave him the order and turned to continue walking with his wife.
“Thank you,” Roselyn said, already feeling warmer. It was amazing how much her personality had changed in the last few months. She had previously been so cold, heartless, and selfish, especially when she was dealing with Xander. Now, she felt more loving and sincere than she could remember. She did not know if it had to do with Patrick’s good qualities making an impression on her or just the maturing that she imagined happened when you are an expectant mother. Whatever it was she welcomed it.
The only thing that kept her from being a completely rehabilitated person w
as the fact that she was still harboring the secret about her child. This deception was unforgivable and she would do anything she could to keep it hidden forever. She suddenly remembered a promise that Daemyn had once made. “I’ll take it to my grave…”
Donovan
Donovan did well to guard his thoughts once again in the admiral’s presence. Ultan, commander of Tartarus’ troops and navy, drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at the dark-featured man across from him. His mind ceased attempting to penetrate what appeared to be blankness in Donovan’s brain.
Ultan inhaled deeply. “You won a grand victory, yesterday.”
“That I did,” Donovan acknowledged with a grin, “for Gaia, of course.”
“I want you to know that your victory is not diminished by having to surrender spoils,” Ultan said delicately as if coaxing a child to give up a toy.
Donovan snorted derision. “The spoils are rightfully mine. I command a hundred men now, and only sixty can fit on my vessel. I simply ask for the other one.”
“All spoils go to Gaia before they go to you, you know that,” Ultan replied.
“Yet other captains have two ships in their control,” Donovan argued calmly.
“Men who have fought and bled for Gaia much longer than you have,” Ultan said with the same cool tones. He looked over the scowling captain before him and rolled his eyes. “It’s evident you have won enough spoils as it is.”
Donovan quickly checked any scathing thoughts about his superior who suddenly filled with questions quicker than a vase fills in a hurricane. The captain rolled his own eyes as if that dismissed wild allegations and took his leave. He shook Ultan’s hand and left the blandly decorated office to go back out to Tartarus’ streets. A hand stopped him and he turned to find the admiral again.
“I apologize for refusing you in such a way,” Ultan explained. “There are just rules, you know. Niv’s regulations in wartime are a little different than normal. I’ll tell you what though. You supply me with a pound and a half of gold, and you can command that newest ship in addition to your own.”
Donovan narrowed his dark blue eyes. “And what makes you think I have that kind of coin?”
“Speculation,” Ultan answered. “Some tell me your services are for hire in the area of…”
“I’ve heard the rumors,” Donovan said. His heart was racing but he fought to keep his mind collected before the admiral. “That does not mean they’re true. Fools talk.”
“Some fools need to be silenced,” Ultan agreed. Donovan betrayed nothing but the admiral continued, “If you were to do me a favor I might drop down that vessel’s price to a pound.”
“Still too high, even if I did do that kind of work,” Donovan said curtly. He turned to leave.
“Lucas, son of Lucian.” The words were spoken in a hushed voice. “He has two friends who help him influence the people, and he means to replace Tristan on the High Council.”
“What’s that to me?” Donovan asked. His back was still turned and he could feel the agitation building in his superior officer at the insolence. He smiled.
“They live in Tartarus,” Ultan explained. “And anyone who figured out how to make these fools stop talking would find me very grateful.”
“Good to know,” Donovan replied. He strode from the admiral’s manor.
So my reputation is spreading beyond the slums, Donovan pondered with annoyance as he tromped the muddy streets of his hometown. He was careful to lift the hem of his cloak from being dragged in the muck, for it would be a shame if the well-made wool was spattered again. It took a while to get used to taking care of his clothing, but it was made easier with each purchase the captain made. He looked more and more regal with each turn of the moon. Nicolette’s payment had only begun his ascension.
The former footpad had joined Gaia’s military in Tartarus just as soon as Thalassa went to war with the mainland. He was more than exemplary in the training practices and so had attained a High Guard rank in a month, equivalent to Thalassa’s Watchman status. Since then he had contributed greatly to three sea skirmishes, the first one helping to boost him up to lieutenant. He had the command of his own vessel but that rank was short-lived. The second skirmish had left his captain dead with none but Donovan to fill the void and the command of a hundred men. The third skirmish had been just the day before now, when Donovan took over one vessel and then was able to even attack another straggler on the way back to Tartarus. The two Thalassan vessels had fallen quickly but Donovan lacked the manpower to tow home both prizes. He heaped all the corpses on the smaller of the two and threw all armor, weapons, purses, and jewelry on the other. Then, using all the gunpowder he could find among the Thalassan vessel, the captain blew a hole in the side of the small Thalassan ship and sent it to the ocean floor.
These days Donovan dressed in his same old leather cuirass, but nearly everything else was different. His trousers and tunic beneath his brown leather armor were made of black linen, spun thin and soft to the touch. At his side in its scabbard was a shortsword made in Vulcan, with an iron crossguard and pommel, ash for the handle, but folded steel made up its blade. To look at the weapon while it was sheathed revealed nothing, but seeing it pulled free revealed the make and money gone into such a fine sword. The rest of his ensemble consisted of high black boots, polished every night by a servant in Donovan’s household, and a cloak of green that was a dark forest color because of its leather lining. He had a gold ring on one hand and a silver one studded with jade stones on the other. He looked like more than a captain, and people knew that.
Donovan walked slowly down the path leading him to a pair of vast oak doors. He opened them with his mind and strode through to find a pair of servants who moved swiftly to take his cloak and boots. A kitchen scullion waited at the entrance to the dining room with a shy smile but Donovan passed by her to find his sitting room with the hearth lit and one of his high guards seated before the flames. The man was named Seth, more of a lackey than a friend, but in his whole adult life he was the closest Donovan had to someone he could trust. Plus, he was ruthless and his ambitions always lay a step behind Donovan’s own. There’s nothing better in the assassin’s world.
“Ismael,” Donovan beckoned to the servant standing with his head bowed in the hallway.
Donovan seated himself just before the hearth and Ismael moved behind him with a razor and a hot towel. Seth’s eyes widened as he watched his captain allow a subservient man prepare to shave the stubble on his face.
“He’s from the Eastern Lands,” Donovan informed his high guardsman mentally. Seth’s dark eyes flicked from his captain’s face to the servant’s as he realized telepathy was not among the barber’s talents. “None of his people can. The whole lot of them is even more savage than Thalassans.”
“Why do we not just ship over all the fools?” Seth inquired. “Seems like even less Gaians would have to work then. We could have tens of thousands of these bastards here doing everything.”
“That land has proved difficult to govern. Shipping that many of them here would only bring the trouble of keeping them all in line as well,” Donovan explained. The Eastern Lands actually referred to a vast island hundreds of miles to the east of Gaia. A trip there would take over a week, and with little spoils to bring back from the barbarians it was simply not worth it. Donovan winced as the razor bit into his neck for an instant. Ismael prostrated himself before his master and received a sharp backhand. After the blow he rose and set back to work shaving Donovan’s cheeks. “Besides, Thalassa has what we need. It has what we want.”
“Gold,” Seth announced verbally. He grinned to show that two of his teeth were coated in the shining metal.
“Aye,” Donovan confirmed. His blue eyes glanced at the servant just finishing up his shave. “His people trade in ivory and some stones, but nothing great.”
“I’ve sold the hull’s contents this morning,” Seth declared suddenly. He stretched back in the cushioned chair and crossed his mudd
y boots on the fresh rushes of Donovan’s floor. The captain scowled but his soldier did nothing to correct the error. He was a formidable man himself, albeit in a different way. Where Donovan was thickly muscled and slender for a man his height, Seth was wired muscle corded around a small frame. He was only about five and a half feet tall but bore scars on his face and forearms to show that he had experienced his share of trouble. Most of that trouble on the orders of the bigger man across from him.
Donovan waved Ismael away and patted his own face dry with the towel. “How much did we earn?”
“Between the two Thalassan vessels there was almost four hundred silvers found in purses and holds,” Seth said mildly. “We sold sixty-seven coats of mail but they were nearly all shabby; gray things of cheap iron.”
Donovan chuckled drily to see that not all the mail was cheap. Seth was wearing a new mail habergeon made of the lighter grey iron, harder than the softness found on most coats and with a sheen that almost spoke of silver. “How much did the armor fetch?”
Seth cleared his throat. There was a bit of apprehension there. “The smithy at the dock offered the best price in town. Even still we could only get ten gold coins for the whole lot.”
“You wouldn’t be trying to cheat me now, would you?” Donovan inquired but there was no need. He could tell the man spoke the truth. Regardless, it usually cost a soldier a gold piece for a simple mail coat, even the poorer quality ones. Ten pieces for sixty-seven coats was disgraceful, but it just displayed the quickness in which these prices were dropping in war. Gaia had won several small skirmishes over the Thalassans, and to be sure the islanders had won a share as well, but the flood of iron going back to the mainland left each item less needed than before.
“Some of the armor was damaged, so maybe that also helped to lower that price,” Seth suggested.
Donovan clenched his eyes shut. “Metal is metal.”
“The weapons fetched even less,” Seth said with a shrug. They had returned with a slew of spears, axes, swords, pistols, and a few rifles, but Donovan knew the firearms would be hard to sell. They were barbarous weapons, and their projectiles flew too quickly from their barrels for even the most talented of Gaians to mentally guide to a target. Those would be broken apart and their iron melted down, but in Tartarus he would be lucky to even receive a silver piece for a pistol. Seth continued drily, “Five pieces of gold from the same smithy. We also received a handful of silvers for the wine, ale, and food on board. Those ratty Thalassan clothes were good for nothing but burning. Overall, we got just over a pound of gold.”
Severance (The Sovereign Book 1) Page 26