Lucas stopped walking. “Until they figure out how to work the land and use rain to their advantage. Until they gather enough food to sustain them for a march all the way to the Velvet Sea. Then, there will be nothing left to salvage.” He pointed in the other direction, toward the black, silky cloud rising above Ecol, breathed out by its thousand smithies and forges. “The plan should be making Amalia strong and confident so she makes the right decisions. So she trusts you.”
Jarman rubbed his nose, but Lucas carried on, like a tireless plow through black soil. “The Naum people will find the Caytorean winter laughably easy to bear. They will carry on fighting through snow and sleet, and then, the chances of our victory will be even slimmer. For now, they are unsure how to treat these realms. For now, they are indecisive and disorganized and hungry. If we are to beat them, then the whole of the realms must stand together. The key to that is Empress Amalia.”
Jarman wished he had Lucas’s magic so he could whisk himself north and witness the enemy force with his own eyes. But he had not yet earned his tattoos, and he did not expect to earn them anytime soon. But the moment when he might be forced to use magic to cause death might not be that far off into the future. Amalia was the key to this whole affair. He had to stick to that truth.
“So what do you suggest?”
Lucas leaned in toward him. “Remove the human threats around her. Give her breathing space so she can focus on listening to your story and believing it. Help her. Damn the tradition. We are here, in this strange country, already breaking all known rules and customs. One more will not make any difference.”
Jarman started walking. “Yes.” He wasn’t really sure what his answer stood for. But he didn’t have the courage to disagree with Lucas right now.
He found Empress Amalia talking to her new legion commanders, Warlord Xavier standing behind her as if he did not belong among the rest of the officers, his eyes firing off those nervous, erratic blinks. There was a dangerous man, he thought. A threat to the empress. But without him, she would probably lose most of the Caytoreans. Their loyalty was something like the mud at the bottom of a river. You could never really know what it might reveal if stirred.
She had the bearing of a frightened animal, he noticed. Most people would miss the little telltale signs, because they were too focused on seeing Adam’s daughter in her. Exactly for that reason, Jarman saw a whole different truth. Her burden must be terrible. Jarman could almost sympathize, having Armin Wan’der Markssin, the most famous investigator in known history, for his father. Well, luckily, sadly, he had escaped the test of normal life by becoming a wizard. Chance, really, but one that had saved him a lot of frustration and disappointment.
Now he was wondering if he might have harbored these emotions for a long time, kept them growing like pale mushrooms in the dark, ballooning big and damp and smelly. This revenge was the expected thing to do, was it not? Besides, he could not even contemplate the alternative. Calemore taking over the realms. The ancient war all over again.
So why did he stick to pride and protocol? Well, after ten years at the Temple of Justice, the notion of shedding all the known, wise, and familiar, the clean and orderly and logical, terrified him. He had wanted this affair to be precise and quick, he had hoped to remain aloof and uninvolved, but it seemed it would not work that way. He expected trust and sincerity from Amalia, expected her to believe his crazy tales when he would not even tell her his own life’s story.
The people of the realms might be rude, crude, and rather primitive, but they were not stupid. And they could tell a horseshit seller when one came peddling his wares.
“If I may?” he said loudly, stepping close. He knew he was interfering, but at that moment, he could not possibly care any less.
Amalia raised a thin brow, looking suspicious. Behind her shoulder, her chief killer was glaring. When he saw Lucas enter the common room of the inn, his face clenched with hatred. “Yes, Jarman? Can it not wait?”
“It would be advisable if we talked now,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. He had mustered courage to do this almost on a whim, and if he stopped now, he might never find it again. Lucas’s words were ringing in the back of his head.
Amalia picked up a dark-brown block that stood for one of her legions and placed it in a different spot on a map spread on top of a table. “We will continue this later. Dismissed.” The officers filed out. She looked behind her shoulder. “You too, Commander.” Xavier grunted and left.
Slowly, her retinue emptied from the common room of Brotherly Unity. Agatha shuffled out last, waddling ever so slightly, her pregnancy showing now. Amalia waited for Jarman to approach, but he gestured toward the glaring daylight outside. She sniffed, but then she decided to follow him.
“Here to remind me of my promise?” she jibed as they came outside. Her face took on a scowl, but he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t because of the sun.
“Not this time,” he said, somewhat abashed. “A troublesome meeting?”
Amalia looked at him as if wondering if he was just teasing her. “Most definitely so. It turns out my feeble reign has just become feebler. I do not have too many reliable, trustworthy candidates for promotion. Commander Xavier is trying to get his men in top positions. Naturally, the Athesians are mistrustful, and I cannot blame them. After all, I am supposed to be the empress of Athesia, not a bunch of foreign legions.” She sighed, looking weary and almost on the verge of tears. “Why are people so selfish? Even when there’s tragedy looming, they will always first and foremost think about themselves?”
That is how Damian made you, he thought. But then, he was probably championing selfishness like a holy cause. “That is human nature.”
“Screw human nature,” she lashed, suddenly full of fury. “I need help.”
He was almost taken aback by her sincerity. “Yes, you do. You also deserve the truth.”
Her face turned serious. “It’s about Calemore?”
Jarman looked past her shoulder. He could see that half Sirtai walking past near one of the other houses. He was seeing that man too often. But then, magic followed Adam’s children, it seemed. There was him, the White Witch, that dead man Rob…
“The threat is real,” he told her.
“I know,” she said simply. “I know.”
He took a deep sigh. He wished she would confess all the little details of what she knew about the gods and goddesses and their affairs, what her father may have taught her during his reign. However, it was his time to shrive.
“Once I tell you what I have on my mind, you will probably think I’ve gone mad. But it’s the reason why I’m here. The reason why Lucas and I have come to the realms.”
There was no emotion on her face as she watched him, trying to decide whether he was trying to deceive her. “Go on.” She had once hinted at his personal motives. Now she deserved to know them.
Jarman was uncomfortable with the attention all around him, men and women stealing glimpses at their empress and her alien robed adviser. Even the guards, who pretended to be focusing on watching the crowd and looking for dangers, seemed as if they were trying to intrude on his confession. Or maybe it was his imagination. Or cowardice.
He opened his mouth and spoke of the day his third mother died.
No one came nearby or dared interrupt, it seemed. People kept their distance, as if they sensed they would be putting themselves at risk if they stepped into the bubble of truth wrapped around Amalia and him. When he finished, he felt weak, exhausted, relieved.
Silence.
“Calemore does not care about your war against King Sergei or your feud with Lady Rheanna. They are meaningless, trifling events of the last two decades. He had planned his return for thousands of years. I believe your father tried to stop him, but he misinterpreted the signs. Emperor Adam made a decision twenty years too early. He tried to forge peace across the realms, but his timing was wrong.” He was quite uncomfortable with Amalia’s blank, passive expression and her unm
oving lips.
More silence.
“I think we must—” He gushed more words into the void.
Amalia raised a finger. “Let me think, please.”
He rolled back on his heels, feeling giddy, hopeful beyond hope. But he was betting so much on the minute chance this girl would be able to grasp the enormity of history and magic and his own dreams. If she didn’t, then he would have truly failed. There would be nothing more left. Or maybe her desire to survive this war would overcome her lack of trust, he mused.
She was tapping her upper lip with her knuckle, breathing against it, thinking. He could see fear and indecision wrestling across her face. Despite her young age, there was a twinkle of old, hard wisdom in her eyes. She knew more than she let show. Perhaps she understood the situation better than he could even imagine.
“I thought being my father’s child would be enough,” she said, almost whispered. “I thought I could do just what my father did. Act like him, be like him. But it didn’t work. Now that I finally understand the lessons he taught me, I am all alone in this struggle. You’re like some terrible villain from a tale, come to haunt me. And you have your own bloody price.” She paused, thinking again. “I do not know why my late half brother decided to accept your proposal, but he must have had his own reasons. Maybe he thought he could manipulate you in return. Or control you. Until you told me the story of your mother, Inessa, I had thought you were just trying to bend my will to your wishes, like the Caytoreans and Eracians tried in my father’s time. I still find the story quite incredulous.” She licked her lips. “But I cannot allow my own pride to defeat me. I understand why my father never responded with war to all the threats and assassination attempts and all the mockery. He fought for a greater cause, and it wasn’t weakness.”
Amalia almost smiled. It startled him.
“Perhaps there’s truth in your words. Perhaps I am a beggar, and I must accept your alms. I will. For the peace and unity that my father fought for.” She looked like she wanted to say something else, but she closed her mouth hard.
“My apology would be meaningless,” Jarman said. “What matters is that we work together. You will get your own goals; I will get mine. Through selfless acts of sacrifice.” You will shed your pride, young empress, and maybe your ambitions, and I will forget about Sirtai tradition and my own calling.
That was a fair bargain, he thought.
“So we fight against this divine creature,” she said, “while taking care of our own agendas, is that it?”
Jarman had expected shame to blush his cheeks, but there was none. “You get your father’s desire; I get my father’s desire.”
Amalia looked around as if only now she fully noticed they were standing in front of the inn, talking, ignoring the world, clerks and soldiers and men of craft drifting past on an endless journey of chores and duties. As if she was seeing her weak, fragmented realm for the first time.
“You would have me surrender to King Sergei,” she said, repeating his old demands. In the past, she would have been furious and defiant. Now there was a resigned, sorrowful look on her face, as if she felt she could have avoided so much pain if only she had consented earlier. Living surrounded by enemies, with no real friends to confide in and trust, robbed one of all that fury, Jarman noted.
He nodded slowly. “Yes. There’s no other way. I’m sorry.”
Amalia opened and closed her fist. “I guess my reign was doomed the moment the White Witch stole the bloodstaff from me. It is only now that I fully realize my downfall.”
“I will help you,” he insisted. “No more lies. I will lend magic to aid your cause. And you will help me. Lucas and I will make sure you do not fall prey to assassination plots and treachery at your own court. We will remove your foes and rivals. We will give you the peace of mind you need to rule the land, to strike a just agreement with King Sergei. In turn, I ask you keep true to your father’s vision. We must defeat Calemore.”
“Do you care about us as people?” she asked suddenly. “Do you even care that the realms bleed? Or are you just obsessed with having your vengeance?”
I never consider it much, he wanted to say. He wanted to say something else, but that would be a lie. No. He could not do that. So he just kept his mouth shut, affirming her judgment.
She snorted. “Wizard, you’re my best chance, I guess. My duty is to this nation. As its empress, I must save lives from destruction. I must ensure the children will have a future. Let’s just hope the Parusite king shares the same notion of responsibility.”
Jarman extended his hand. That was what he was supposed to do, wasn’t it, this strange handshake custom? “Lucas will deliver a peace proposal to both the king and Princess Sasha.”
Amalia slipped her cold, soft fingers into his grasp and wobbled his wrist. “One thing, Jarman. I will bow to this Parusite king, but I will not accept any injustice against my own people. There will be no retribution, no suffering. The Athesians must be treated fairly. Or I will fight to the death.”
Jarman realized he had committed himself to the idea of unity in the realms. Now he was wondering if he could really make peace between the nations. Would King Sergei forget his own vendetta? There was a tricky question. So far, he had shown promising restraint with the subjugated population, but would he be willing to extend the same mercy to Amalia? Stop his successful campaign, forget all about the ruin of his father’s reign?
Within just a few weeks or months, the Naum army would sweep the land. It would be too late then. He had to forge an alliance now. He wished he could have more confidence in his goal, but all he had was the sterile experience from the temple, and his own dreams. That would have to do, it seemed.
“You will have a just peace. And respect.”
Amalia let go of his hand. “That is all I ever wanted,” she said.
CHAPTER 11
Stephan had not so much as stepped over the threshold of the establishment when a squad of pretty girls rushed to meet him, taking his coat and gloves, his new hat, offering drinks from a silver tray. The House of Gentlemanly Pleasure spoke of carnal delights, from its garish red and gilt paint and decorations to its muted ambiance and perfumed air, but sex was probably the last item on the menu.
Patrons came to the house to talk.
Stephan weaved his way through a wall of soft, young flesh, ignoring the charm and the smiles and gentle strokes against his forearm or shoulder. Like any man, he liked the female attention, liked the arousing sensation throbbing in his loins.
He had a regular spot in the establishment, a quiet, partitioned space all to himself and whoever he deigned to bring along. You could be the richest person in Eybalen, but if you did not have a personal invitation from an existing member, you would never get into the House of Gentlemanly Pleasure.
His companion for the evening was already enjoying the free delicacies of the house, slouched like a slug, already drunk. Ever since his captivity, Adrian had taken to some heavy drinking, not relenting even after safely returning home. He was slurping expensive wine as if it were water. Such a disservice, Stephan thought, because that wine could buy the apprenticeship of some common lad in the city. The invitation card rested on the table in front of him, Stephan’s name etched into the soft metal.
The councillor saw him and raised a pudgy, unsteady hand in greeting. The other was clasped firmly round a glass, sloshing red. “Stephan,” he called, too loudly.
Stephan grimaced, trying to twist the expression into a smile. The girls at his shoulder followed him like a shadow, eyes fixed on him, waiting for his instructions, his whims. The house owner was a strict master. If you were a fool, you would mistake the dutiful adoration for a chance to grope a handful. But if you did that, you would never see the interior of the House of Gentlemanly Pleasure again. If you wanted to fuck, you went to a brothel.
“Adrian,” he greeted in return, sitting down on plush velvet. The fabric hissed under his buttocks. “I see you are sampling the wines.”
The drunkard pointed emphatically, philosophically. “Let me tell you. It’s not as simple as it looks. Some of these wines taste almost identical.”
Stephan looked at a lovely servant. He wondered where one might find a girl this beautiful. He did not remember seeing them anywhere on the streets, nor in any shop, nor even in the city villas. “Any vintage will do, thanks. Some chives and olives, too, please.”
She nodded and retreated, swaying with precision. Stephan recalled his captivity at Roalas. All in all, it had turned out to be a fruitful endeavor. He had met a lot of people, earned new friends and enemies, slept his way through both the Eracian and Caytorean delegations, and almost made himself the savior of the realms. Well, at least he had built character.
“How are things going, friend?” he asked Adrian, who seemed to be kissing and licking the rim of a new, full glass.
Adrian put the wine down, untouched. “Things are going in all directions,” he said wisely.
Stephan crossed his hands, waiting. Adrian was a drunkard, but he was also a very well-informed councillor with friends in almost every sector of commerce. In the past, he used to be a sour, distant person, and other councillors and merchants had often avoided him unless they had to trade with him. Now, back in Eybalen, he had cast away his somber mood but retained the drinking. For some reason, people liked him better that way. For an even stranger reason, they mistook his new relaxed character for charm. Maybe they considered him harmless or found it funny to spill their secrets to his turgid mind. Maybe they thought they could swindle him, wheedle him out of his gold. For now, Adrian seemed to be winning, having gained quite a following without giving anything in return.
Stephan knew trying to be nice and polite with Adrian would get him nowhere. So he had adopted a different tactic. He had given Adrian access to the house.
The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) Page 11