Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

  Above the muffled din of hundreds of people filing in and forming tight rows, boisterous music played from an unseen orchestra. The strings sounded eager and triumphant, but the steady pounding of the drums reminded Nico of those blacksmith hammers from a few morns earlier—an unpleasant recollection, making him wish for the ceremony to be over sooner than later.

  The page tapped his arm, then all but pushed him forward. Nico stepped through the curtains. He noted a quickening change in the tempo of the music at the same time he orientated himself in the massive room, and realized in annoyance that he would have to traverse its entire length to reach the raised dais and throne to pay his respects in whatever way they deemed necessary. He hoped there would be another servant there to direct him, for they had given him no instructions at all on that part of the service.

  As Nico walked between the rows of the soldiers, he noted again their rigid precision, just like the day he had arrived in Cormona. He was one of thirty-four then, but was now one of only twenty-two. He wished the other twenty-one were beside him now.

  As he neared the dais, he looked up to see who else was present. There was the stoic Captain Gornada and white-bearded retainer Jacinto, of course, but Nico was pleasantly surprised to see Toby and Leti with them. The prince was grinning from ear to ear, clearly more enthusiastic about the festivities than Nico was. He looked like he could barely stand still, such was the excitement contained inside his lanky body. The princess was decorated once more, just as she had been the first time he had seen her. Her expression was far more reserved than her brother’s, but there was intensity concealed beneath. The relief—if not glee—of her father’s recovery was evident in the carriage of her narrow shoulders and the gleam in those deep brown eyes.

  As startled as he was by the prince and princess, he was even more taken aback to see Anton himself present and already seated. Nico expected the king to be the last one to arrive, befitting his importance as the person of honor. Seeing him now caused Nico to wonder about the man’s injuries. Certainly, it would be understandable if he had difficulty moving about. Perhaps he needed to remain stationary through these proceedings.

  Behind them the huge red and gold banner blazed in the bright lights, just as they had before in Nico’s imagination.

  Upon climbing the three steps to join the royal family on the dais, he looked about for a suitable place to stand. Seeing no openings, he froze in place and fought back a wave of panic, aware that everyone was staring.

  King Anton stood, dispelling one concern. The man turned toward Leti, who reached forward and handed an object to her father. It was a wreath of olive leaves, with which the king stepped toward Nico. “Kneel,” he ordered.

  For the second time in days, comprehension came late. This was not a celebration of the king’s recovery at all. Nico knelt, and felt the wreath placed over his head.

  The trumpets no longer sounded loud and shrill. Rather, their blare seemed to be emanating from within, giving voice to the sudden swelling of unfamiliar, and not altogether comfortable, pride.

  The pounding music reached a crescendo, bowstrings a blur, pounding drums threatening to drown out everything but his thumping heart. Then a signal was given, an allowance for the crowd to finally voice the elation that had been held back these past days, and the music disappeared beneath the roar of hundreds of appreciative Asturians cheering at once.

  During the banquet that followed—an event blessedly restricted to a mere few dozen attendees—Nico limited conversation and wine in equal measures. Both threatened to overwhelm him if he did not remain on constant guard. Asturia was rightfully proud of its wine, and this vintage suited to the regal affair—but even so he sipped sparingly, leaving the more enthusiastic quaffing to others.

  He seemed to be the favorite person of every man and woman present—including those he had never met—and they all wanted to know his opinion on a range of topics, from the abdication of Emperor Eberhart to the sightings of giant animals in the south and the unusual sea storms in the west. He was thankful for the years of etiquette training that allowed him to coast through the function with little more than reflexive wit.

  Unfortunately, the two people he spoke to the least were the ones he most wanted to. Toby and Leti sat together at the opposite end of the same table where Nico sat wedged between Anton and Jacinto. Nico would have liked to trade places with the latter, for the older man appeared to be more than a little annoyed at being displaced from the king’s side.

  The best thing to be said for the current seating was that it allowed Nico to study the princess without being too obvious. He decided that he liked this heavily ornamented version of her, after all. Now that he had seen her for what she was, he was better able to appreciate the extra decoration. It no longer concealed her beauty, only accentuated it. He had come to appreciate her youthful, brash thoughtfulness, as well. She was a good match for Marko, and would make an excellent queen. Of that Nico had no doubt.

  His thoughts were lingering on Leti when he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned to look upon the austere face of Captain Gornada. The soldier’s manner was always so stiffly professional that it took Nico a moment to understand the purpose of the flask he held out. Nico’s eyes darted from man to flask and back again. “It’s a vintage from my family’s holdings,” Gornada began proudly. Then he seemed to lose confidence, clearly entering uncharted waters. “I wonder whether you would share a glass with me, My Prince?”

  “It would be my honor, Captain.” He watched the man pour. They paused, met each other’s eyes, and nodded before drinking. The vintage was excellent, and he nodded again to show his appreciation. This more amiable version of Gornada smiled warmly and faded back into the crowd.

  Nico was still reflecting on the strange gesture when he was pulled from his thoughts by an awareness of many eyes upon him. “I’m sorry,” he was forced to say, “Could you repeat that?”

  “I asked what you like best about Asturia.”

  More than a few of those around offered suggestions—in case Nico was such a dullard as to need them. The food… No, the wine… No, it was the weather, of course! Laughter before he even opened his mouth; this was an easy crowd to please.

  He did not need long to think, however. “All good answers. But not mine. I say the people.” He believed that should go over well, feeling even more eyes turning his way. Including those from the other end of the table.

  “And why is that?” someone asked.

  Nico thought of his home and upbringing—his time as a second prince, searching for a purpose. “Because they make me feel like I belong.” Somehow, I feel more welcome in Asturia than I ever did at home.

  There were sounds of appreciation, then more clinking of glasses, and he was relieved when the attention finally turned back to private conversations, allowing his brain to relax.

  An hour after returning to his suite with swollen belly and tired mind, Nico had his first real visitor since Renard’s death. There was a polite knocking on the door, and Nico was prepared to send this attendant away with a request to return in the morn. Instead, he opened the door to Leti.

  He invited her in, pleased to see that she had replaced her luxurious outfit from earlier with a far more casual, and comfortable, plain brown dress. It brought out the color in her eyes, however, and Nico mentally debated which version of her he liked better. He came up with the right answer eventually—he liked whichever version smiled, the way she did now.

  “How did I do?” he asked.

  “Wonderfully,” she replied.

  “I was hoping for passable, but I’ll take wonderful.”

  She laughed. “At least two women told me they want to marry you, and that was before they found out you’re a Swordthane.”

  “Interesting… Refresh my memory, how many wives am I allowed to have here?”

  Leti laughed again. “Just one, silly.” She glanced around the room, and Nico was relieved that he had kept it clean. His armor—wiped clean
of the stains of war—hung on a stand, his sword and shield propped nearby. What little else he possessed was stowed in various drawers around the large poster bed in the adjoining chamber.

  “And my brother has a serious case of hero worship,” she chided.

  Nico frowned.

  She inspected his face. “You’re not comfortable with all the attention, are you?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “You need to get used to it. You’re a prince.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Okay, you grump. Let’s talk of other things.”

  They managed a few minutes of pleasant, if somewhat banal, banter before the subject turned to the battle. It was inescapable, always in the background, seemingly never more than a step removed from any other topic.

  “I hear that everyone is afraid in battle. Is that true?” she asked. They were seated together on the immense, pillowed couch. She had kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet onto the cushion between them, her arms wrapped around her knees. She had made herself at home in his suite, and he was glad she felt so relaxed in his presence. Things had improved since the first time they had spoken, when he had royally put foot in mouth.

  Nico considered a moment. “To speak the truth, no. I’ve heard that, too, and perhaps it is so for soldiers. As a commander, however, there were so many other things to worry about. I can’t say I really ever thought about myself.”

  She was uncharacteristically quiet, and he let the silence linger. He was comfortable with her, too, and felt no compulsion to keep speaking just for the sake of noise. Two windows were open, and Nico noticed the darkness outside. A very slight breeze—the very strongest kind that ever affected this region, in his limited experience—wafted into the room. He looked at Leti in her thin dress and saw a shiver.

  He was about to offer a blanket when she suddenly hopped up from the cushions. “Thank you for the talk, My Prince. I need to go,” she said abruptly, nimbly flicking the shoes back onto her feet.

  He stood. “Any time, Leti.”

  She forced a smile, bowed, and was gone, leaving him wondering what caused this abrupt departure. Perhaps he had kept her longer than was allowed by their customs. He hoped she would not hold it against him.

  A knock on the door woke Nico. Immediately thinking of Leti, he hoped she had come back to finish their discussion.

  Then a glance out the windows revealed a sun beginning to rise. It was morn, and the interruption was more likely professional than personal.

  It was a page, summoning him to the throne room. He bade the boy come in to wait on the comfort of the couch, then dressed for the audience.

  He had no idea what the summons was about, but the memories of yesterday’s ceremony were fresh on his mind. Perhaps an official acceptance of marriage and alliance, or at least progress in that direction? Whatever he was expecting, it was not what he found.

  “If there is something you should be telling me, young prince, now is the time to do so.”

  Nico thought the distrust had long been put behind them, but apparently it continued to linger. He was facing the threesome of Anton, Jacinto, and Gornada, and their attitudes today did not seem far removed from those of that very first meeting.

  “If you are driving at something, King Anton, now is the time to tell me.”

  Anton raised an eyebrow. Clearly, the answer was not what he expected, either. “So you have no knowledge—”

  “My King,” interrupted Jacinto. “As I warned you, this summons is hasty. We do not yet know all the facts ourselves.”

  “Yes.” Anton nodded. “I had hoped we could clear up any confusion. That there was a simple explanation. I am no longer sure.”

  Without the slightest idea what was transpiring, Nico remained silent. It was hard not to be offended, however. Only a day earlier he had been cheered in this very chamber.

  “Captain, please escort Hermann’s son back to his quarters.”

  “Yes, My King.” When Nico did not move on his own, Gornada began to guide him by the elbow. Nico examined the soldier’s dour expression, searching for any sign of friendliness. But the man with whom Nico had shared a drink was entirely absent.

  “Gornada, we fought together. Can you tell me what is happening?”

  The man frowned. “Prince, I have no animus for you, but you know I can’t do that.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  The frown deepened. “Yes.”

  The morn’s disturbing events had been so sudden and surreal that they seemed almost imaginary by the time Nico received a visitor that afternoon. He was becoming a popular man. This visit, however, was expected.

  “You sent for me, Commander?” Lima asked.

  “Yes. Come in.”

  Nico had been surprised not to find her in the battlefield hospital the day before. After a brief panic and check with an attendant, he learned with relief that she had recovered sufficiently to rejoin the others in the barracks. Since then he had given much thought to a way to keep her in his command. Swordsmanship was critical to a fighting unit, but so were morale and loyalty, and Nico did not want to casually discard any of the three.

  She stood at attention, calmly awaiting his command, as if determined not to allow the missing arm to have the slightest effect on posture or attitude.

  “Can you read and write?” he asked.

  She hesitated before nodding. “Aye.”

  He pretended not to notice the pause. “Good. Get better if you need to. You’re my new aide. You have no problem with that, I presume?”

  This time there was no hesitation. “Nay, Commander.”

  “I want you to report to me at dawn every morn and sunset every night. You’ll be my voice at times, in places I cannot go myself, so get used to being assertive.”

  “Aye, Commander.”

  He was not confident about this decision, but the grin blossoming on her face momentarily made him feel better about it. This arrangement would do for now. Once back in Akenberg, he could think about a replacement should that become necessary.

  Nico was about to dismiss her, but first had one more nagging doubt. “Keep your eyes and ears open if you would, Private. I don’t know for what… Just let me know if something comes up that you think I should hear of.”

  “Do you mean like how there is a Swordthane here, a man in the Royal Guard named Zenza, who the whispers say hates you?”

  She now had Nico’s full attention. If only I had spoken to her yesterday…

  “Or how the Asturians have been spending a lot more time than usual picking through the supplies of the rebels, and asking many of the prisoners unusual questions?”

  “What questions? What are they looking for?”

  She shook her head. “We don’t know. But we’re uneasy.”

  And now he was, too. Nico nodded. “That is all, for now. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

  Lima saluted and turned away.

  Unsure what else to do, Nico continued his rounds as if not a suspect for some heinous crime of which he was completely ignorant. The routine included seeing the remaining wounded in the field hospital, followed by checking in at the barracks. He called his three corporals—Mickens, Ezra, and Manus—and ordered them to take sensible precautions. No excess drinking or fraternizing with the Asturians until further notice, and getting those remaining wounded from the field hospital and back into the barracks as soon as they could safely move.

  Manus suggested that two soldiers accompany the commander from now on. Nico rejected that suggestion, then another by Mickens that two guards be posted in chambers. Nico was not yet ready to provoke the Asturians by disrespecting them or violating their rules.

  Nevertheless, he was uneasy when another knock came at his door in the early eve, just after supper. Distracted, once again assuming it was a servant coming to take away the remnants—marinated mushrooms and roasted pork that he had barely touched—he was again pleasantly surprised to see Leti.

  “I�
�m relieved to see you,” he said, holding the door wider for her to come in. He wanted to mention how hurriedly she had left the eve before, but did not want to provoke one of her complicated mood swings, so instead simply added, “Nice to see one of the friendly faces for a change.”

  She turned around quickly, despite his gesture to sit. “What do you mean?”

  “I wish I knew.” He took a seat for himself, leaving it up to her whether or not to join him. “Your father still doesn’t trust me, it seems.”

  “That’s absurd,” she said, sitting down a respectable distance from him.

  “I agree. I don’t know… Maybe it’s more Jacinto than your father.”

  “Ah, that makes more sense.” She looked thoughtful. “Lord Jacinto lost his lands to Akenberg years ago, before I was born.”

  “Lost his lands to Akenberg?”

  “Yes, in the north.” She stared. “Do you not know how Akenberg stole our land, before Eberhart ended such things?” Nico shook his head. “What do they teach you Akenbergers up there?” she asked, shaking her head. “Yes, the southwest of your kingdom used to be the northwest of ours. Lambina—you call it Lambon. Shortly after father became king, when he was still fighting a rival in the south. Your father Hermann used the opportunity to seize Lambina on the pretext that it was rightfully Akenberg territory.”

  Nico felt a compulsion to defend his family’s behavior. “Is it?”

  “Probably, if you look back far enough. Nearly all of these lands belonged to someone else at some point. We used to only be Four Kingdoms, you know, so the ownership of everything has changed again and again.”

  “We used to be Four Kingdoms?”

  “Yes, Silly. Didn’t your tutors teach you this?”

  Nico shrugged. “Probably. But I never paid much attention.”

  “Too wrapped up in your swords,” she said with a giggle. “Anyway, I wonder if old Jacinto still harbors some resentment.”

  “Of course he does,” Nico said. He wished he had known this earlier. He would have tried to mitigate the damage, somehow.