Several hours later, he was having dinner with the guild master. The two of them sat alone behind a table. Stephan thought the décor to be too somber, and it was too dark. But the food was quite pleasant, especially after the last few days of cold scarcity.
“Refugees, in central Caytor?” Stephan remarked. Not the best way to start a conversation, he figured, but probably the safest. He needed to hear more from the guild master before he prodded him about Lady Rheanna.
However, the other man did not seem interested in easing up the talk. “The cities of Marlheim, Faldset, and Keybough seem to have been lost. The entire north of our realm is under invasion by some terrible, inconceivable army coming from beyond our borders.” He pointed dramatically. “From farther north.”
“I thought there was only an endless stretch of grassland there,” Stephan said almost childishly.
Sebastian grimaced. “Well, apparently, there is an end to the prairie, and it is home to many hundreds of thousands of people.” His face dropped its sarcastic mask, and he leaned closer, looking worried. “Stephan, the common people like to exaggerate. At first, I thought this was some ploy, maybe by Amalia, to destabilize the realm. Then, I thought these people had lost their homes in a natural disaster, and were maybe hoping the council would offer them help and protection, so they tried to paint their plight in some way we could sympathize. But dear councillor, I have had credible reports from army scouts. There’s some huge force moving against us, and it’s only days away. If you’d arrived a few days later, you might have found the mansion abandoned.”
Days away? Stephan swallowed.
This changed everything.
“You are certain?” he said.
Sebastian drank from his cup, maybe too eagerly. “I only have bad news for you, Councillor.”
Stephan forced himself to cut into the thin, bleeding slice of veal, to chew on the delicious meat. He nibbled on roasted asparagus, pretending this was just a polite evening meeting between two affluent business partners.
“Empress Amalia has made peace with the Parusites,” the guild master added almost casually.
Stephan coughed into his wine. What? The one thing he had tried to prevent had happened. He was too late. All his plans had been spoiled. Ruined.
Now that changed everything.
Sebastian was watching him carefully, his eyes slightly glazed in the weak light. “She has accepted the rule of King Sergei. Athesia is now officially a vassal state of the Parusite realm, under its protection. Amalia will be restored to her rule as a governess—or something.” He waved his hand.
That silly, stubborn girl had signed peace with her enemy? After having held half the Eracian court and half the High Council captive for so many months? After destroying eighteen years of quiet in the realms? After losing Roalas to the Parusite forces? Now she would bend knee?
Incredible.
Sebastian continued, “As you can imagine, I am no longer really needed. I still need to figure out what I ought to do. It was young James who spared my life from the likes of you, and now the boy is dead, so that leaves me without my employer and savior. I owe nothing to Amalia. Especially not now that she’s buried her tongue between Sergei’s butt cheeks.”
The guild master poured himself more wine. The red brimmed over and spilled. “But then, I was never one to betray my business partners, never one to back out of a contract, unlike most of you fellows. So what am I going to do? Become a traitor to Caytor by following this girl? Half the forces left at the mansion have already deserted, gone back to being private armies in the big cities, or who knows what. Well, Amalia is not going to like me now that I have sent her the rest of her folk, but now there’s peace in Athesia, and they can go back to their homes. No need to toll the Caytorean economy over some refugees who are no longer refugees. And we have enough of our own. Too many. I wouldn’t let them stay, you know. If this army comes here, I don’t want to be the one to condemn thousands of innocents to their deaths.”
Stephan listened, his mood darkening. Son of a bitch. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Not just wrong. It had knifed the humiliated, battered good and left it bleeding to death by the side of the road.
“Well, I guess the question of your loyalty is not that difficult to answer,” he said.
“What do you mean, Councillor?”
Stephan tried to force a smile onto his lips. “You have committed yourself to Emperor James. And now that he is dead, to his widow, Lady Rheanna.”
Sebastian did not speak for a while, but Stephan could hear him drinking, the soft gurgle of his throat bobbing with gulps. “That is an interesting assumption. I wonder why you said that.”
“I do not blame you,” Stephan added, maybe a bit too quickly. “I believe we share the same goal. We are both Caytorean patriots. We want the best for our realm, for our people. We want to uphold the promise of thriving commerce and great cooperation between ourselves and Athesia.”
The guild master snorted. “King Sergei can offer us all that, easily.”
Stephan rubbed his smooth, freshly shaved cheeks. “In that case, make ourselves rich. Well, richer.” He put his own cup down with a loud thud. “Now, tell me the truth. Where is Lady Rheanna? And where do you stand in this mess?”
Stephan was tired. He wanted nothing more than to sleep in a soft, large bed. Well, maybe have his privates fondled by a red-haired girl with big, pearly teeth. But he was riding a horse, jostling his kidneys, Bader and Sebastian at his side, four more cowled, armed men behind them, two of them his.
I heard Sebastian was taken to an empty field in similar circumstances. Otis and Melville expected James to get him killed. Instead, he pardoned the fool, spoiled their plans. Now, he is taking me somewhere, and I might find myself on my knees, bound and begging for my life.
That was unlikely, he reasoned. First, he had two soldiers to protect him. Second, Lord Malcolm would not send him on a suicide mission. Which meant Rheanna was probably somewhere in the vicinity of the mansion, whole and safe and scheming. Sebastian was an ally, most likely.
Autumn’s bite was still weak, and the wind was only refreshing rather than chilling. The narrow path they followed was overgrown with weeds, and the thorny bushes snagged at their horses’ shanks. The animals did not like it, and soon, they slowed down. They were forced to continue on foot.
The moon showed its face only now and then between the clouds, but it gave off enough light to see the world. Stephan guessed they were approaching an old farmstead. He heard a lone frog gargle, there was the sound of running water, a piss trickle really, and then, only the wind, humming in a dozen voices.
“I knew I could not act publicly,” Sebastian spoke, his tone hushed. People tended to respect the night for some reason. “Once I received word from Warlord Xavier about James’s death, I was faced with a very difficult choice. Rebel? How could I?” He spread his hands. “I was surrounded by his men, and they were loyal to him. If I had tried to uphold my own belief, I would have probably ended up dead. So I greeted Lady Rheanna with a smile, I had her locked up, and then told her of my plan. She was mistrustful at first, but then she got convinced it was not a plot to get her heroically killed.”
“What did she promise you?” Stephan pressed.
It was too dark to see the man’s face. “Control of all the guilds in Eybalen.”
Fair enough. A decent price to test one’s loyalty. “Why not Amalia?”
Sebastian crunched weeds with his boots. “There’s something about that girl I do not like. No backbone. No integrity. And I was right. Took her just one or two pitched battles against the Parusites to tuck her tail and yield. You can imagine what happened at the estate once the soldiers heard about that. I almost had bloodshed on my hands. Separated the Athesians and Caytoreans quickly, tried to pacify them with gold and mostly empty promises.”
Not bad, Stephan thought. The guild master had been busy, and quite successfully. Well, his little provisional rule of Pai
n Daye was coming apart, but what with the threat of this invading army, and the alliance between Amalia and Sergei, it did not really matter. They both understood. They had to focus on helping Lady Rheanna.
“I have notified her of your arrival,” Sebastian said. “She agreed to meet with you. Alone.”
Stephan nodded. He waited patiently while one of the guild master’s cronies patted him up and down, searching for hidden knives. “Watch my berries,” he snapped as the man’s gloved hand came too close.
“Clean,” the mercenary growled.
“Good luck, Steph,” Sebastian hissed.
Holding a small lamp that dripped light like honey, he tiptoed over uneven earth and pushed the door to a low shed. Inside, a small group of armed men was waiting for him, several crossbows aimed at his head. The men had woolen masks concealing their faces so he would not know who they were. Clever.
One of them, wearing a simple black tunic, jabbed his finger toward another door. Stephan nodded and walked over. The door did not open. He waited until he heard a bolt slide back in its groove, and the door creaked to expose a black, narrow passage. There was an odd smell coming from inside, sort of female perfume and mold.
He found Lady Rheanna seated on a comfortable sofa, reading a book under the light of several expensive silver lamps. There was a black curtain hiding a small window behind her. A servant was pouring a second glass of wine, for him, he presumed, and another masked guard waited in the corner of the chamber, his sword drawn.
“Welcome, Councillor,” she greeted.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said in return. Or was it early morning now?
She stood up, and he was instantly reminded of her luscious appeal. The upheaval of recent months had not marred her beauty in any way. Lady Rheanna looked well fed and rested, serene, composed, in charge of the situation.
“I hope you will not begrudge my hospitality,” she said, sounding rather amused. “Sit down.”
There was a simple chair for him. He sat down, all too aware of the soldier with the unsheathed blade standing just behind him. The servant handed him the glass of wine. He had drunk too much already, he figured, so he sipped politely, not expecting to be poisoned. Hoping.
“Thank you for your time,” he began.
“My father notified me of your pending arrival,” she said. “This is the only reason why you are here. Tell me, why are you here?”
Stephan put the glass down. “Well, I am not so sure anymore. When I left Eybalen, I came here to try to help you assert your legitimate place as the empress of Athesia, foil any attempt by Amalia to make peace with Parus, and work toward a bright, prosperous future for Caytor, as promised by your late husband. Now, things have changed.”
She nodded. “Yes, they have. So, I will ask again, why are you here?”
“I presume your claim to the Athesian throne is no longer relevant? And that we ought to focus on fighting this new threat in the north?” He was waiting for some kind of response from her, but her face betrayed no emotion.
“Wrong on both accounts, Councillor Stephan. My claim will remain as long as it can serve a purpose in any future negotiations with Parus. The only question is, will the High Council offer its full, unreserved backing? Then, regarding this army invading our realm, I am not a military strategist. There is little I can do about it.”
He was taken aback. Well, it had been a long time since he had talked to Rheanna. He had forgotten how sharp she could be. I should have kept that in mind after meeting her father. Well, she needed him. She needed allies at the council.
“I would like to offer my help,” he chirped miserably.
“Why do you think I need any help, including yours?”
“I have dealt with Empress Amalia before,” he suggested.
“Amalia is irrelevant now. We must focus on King Sergei.” Lady Rheanna almost looked disappointed in him. He did not dare raise any other, more delicate topic. Fuck, he was tired, he wanted to sleep, he had had too much wine, and he had been given no chance to ponder over all these ugly developments infecting his realm. But to back down now would mean admitting defeat.
I need a miracle, he thought.
But his mind would not offer any.
“Is that all, Councillor? You came all the way from Eybalen for this?”
“Please.” She was hiding in some smelly barn, and yet, it was he who felt miserable. You are doing it wrong, he thought inanely and, in his head, pictured two young male dogs trying to outhump one another.
Lady Rheanna waited. If she were bluffing, she concealed her desperation perfectly. Then, almost too casually, she picked up her book. Stephan tried not to stare at her breasts, molded under that tight dress. He tried to fire up wisdom inside his brain, tried to think of some business brilliance that would save him an embarrassing failure and a long ride home.
Start at the end, he reasoned desperately. What do I want? How do I get it? What gets me the best advantage in this situation? What has changed in the last years and worked? What hasn’t?
He had always known the answer, really. In the past two decades, Caytor had seen itself humiliated by the Feorans, then by Adam, then more recently by the Oth Danesh, and now finally by Parus proper. Trade had always been the lifeblood of the council, and it had striven to maximize its profits. That was all that mattered, and the rest was just politics. His own position and influence had not changed much in that time, not before, not during, and not even after his captivity. His ascent was impervious to the mundane events, it seemed, and it didn’t care much for human kings and emperors, for their rise and fall. He had earned a few coins betting with his friends, but not much more than that.
All of that was just the usual share of Caytorean economy.
Now, there was a new, unexpected element, and it was the army from the north.
“I presume a large number of councillors has fled from the razed northern cities?”
Rheanna flicked her delicate wrists. “Dozens. Master Sebastian is entertaining them in the mansion.”
Stephan rose from his miserable chair. “They will have left all of their assets behind, save maybe some personal belongings. But if they have any large funds, they must be kept in banks, like yours, so they will be at the mercy of their creditors and people like…your father. I presume these men and women will need strong financing to get back on their feet. They will need willing sponsors who will take the risk of supporting destitute councillors, left without their businesses, their farms and workshops, and their manpower.”
Lady Rheanna smacked her lips softly. “I see.”
“This is a great opportunity for those who seek to improve their standing with the council. I believe my journey to Pain Daye has not been in vain, my lady. With your money and my charm and wit, we could change the landscape of Caytor in the coming years. We will leave the matter of combat to those who understand it, of course.”
“Then it’s just the matter of influence to you, Councillor?”
Stephan inclined his head. He had everything, really. There was little else he could want. “My initial plans were somewhat different.” He stepped closer, and he could smell her. She wafted a pleasant scent, as if she did not spend her days inside a tiny barn. Maybe she did take morning strolls, pretending to be a farm maid.
Rheanna seemed slightly uncomfortable with him looming above her, so she stood up, her lithe body emanating warm energy that enticed his libido. “If I grasp your plan correctly, I will have gone from being the prospective empress to a merciless leech, doing my best to make a handful of councillors left without a home become forever indebted to you. In turn, you will do your best to make me popular with the High Council.”
“More or less,” he agreed. I had bigger plans, but Amalia and some unstoppable army have spoiled it for me. Still, I’m not one to weep over sour milk. “Meanwhile, we will ask King Sergei for military assistance. From what little I have heard, our private armies cannot stand up to this threat. We will ask him for help
, and you will kindly drop any claim to Athesia. We might iron out a few favorable trade deals.”
I will be the architect of future peace and economy for Caytor, he thought, mind hopping into the distant future like a wild rabbit. We might not be a society of one ruler, but there’s no reason why the council ought not to favor one man more than all the others.
Not what he had intended, not at all. Not in the least. A total disaster. And yet, this might be the best opportunity for his realm in a long time. For the moment, he did not want to think what might happen when the northern force swept farther south. They would have to flee Pain Daye with the rest of them, but the road to Eybalen was long. Hopefully long enough to forge lucrative business deals that his destitute partners would not be able to refuse.
“I believe you can come out of your hiding, my lady,” he said. “The council is split on what it should do, but the latest developments will convince them of our common goal. You are a valuable asset, and you will help me restore peace and honor to our land.”
She smiled. “Your delusion is quite commendable, Councillor, but it is about the best thing we have right now.”
“So you agree?” Stephan probed gingerly.
Rheanna extended her hand. “Yes, Councillor.” Her composure cracked a tiny bit. She might not be desperate, but she was close. “I will accept your offer.”
He wanted to know what kind of thoughts whirled inside her pretty head, but it did not matter now. He clasped her soft fingers, savoring the touch. I must be mad, he figured. There is some giant fucking army coming to destroy the realm, and I relish fine talk and the dreams of humiliating bankrupted partners even more. Ah, the small delights in life.
When he left the barn, it was dawn already. He felt mildly nauseated, as if he had drowned in cheap wine. But it did not matter. He had a lot of work to do. Make sure Lady Rheanna was escorted safely back to the capital. Bring all those other councillors along and start enslaving their souls. For the first time in so many years, he had a vision, a clear vision of unity in the council. The realm was in much greater peril than ever before, but this was the precise moment to prove he could succeed where so many others had failed. To restore Caytorean pride.
The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) Page 33