The five-man squad serving as his escort was not to be lightly dismissed. Every Niotanian had olive skin, but these men were much darker than the usual, silently testifying to how much time they spent on their training. Their black hair had been cropped short, barely finger-length, as most of the career soldiers tended to do. Darius’s eye quickly skimmed over the standard white shirts, baggy tan pants, and armored chest plates. It all looked well worn-in, bordering on shabby. Niotan didn’t have the resources to issue new equipment to her soldiers, he knew that, but this was a little worse than he’d expected.
Everything he saw said that this squad had a great deal of experience fighting and working together. Bound and weaponless as he was, it would take a miracle straight from the gods to get him out of this city alive.
Darius absently cursed the fact that he had been driven so far south. He’d fought from one end of Brindisi to the other, and because of his high status of general, most of the populace knew of him. When he’d left the capital, his first plan had been to head west, toward Askara Bay and get on a ship there. But someone had anticipated that idea and cut him short, forcing him to choose the only other open route. He’d fled south, with every intention of going through Hamms and getting on the first boat that left the main continent. He’d been aboard a caravan going south and working as a guard there to make enough money to pay for a ship’s fair. He’d thought that would give him enough of a credible cover to escape detection, as long as he’d kept his bright blond hair covered, but it hadn’t worked. An overly enthusiastic road guard in the Dakan Pass had caught him before he could quietly sneak away and over Hamms’ border.
In renewed aggravation, he sighed and thought to himself,
I really, really shouldn’t have taken the road south. As dangerous as it was, crossing over the Songhor Mountains probably was a better idea than risking a visit to my former enemies.
His eyes caught a glimpse of the palace roof ahead. So they really
were
taking him straight to the queen, eh? Darius had never been in the city before, so this busy market street had meant nothing to him. But he’d seen the palace before from a distance, so he knew roughly what it looked like. From outside of the city, he had seen the white building sprawling out in every direction over a small hill, the blue roof tiles and the green, extravagant gardens inside of its walls making a picturesque view. Some part of his mind idly wondered if a closer inspection would dash any illusions his imagination had conjured up.
The majority of his attention had only one question: what would the queen do with him?
They turned onto another street and the main gates to the palace abruptly appeared before them. The walls were indeed white, but they were not painted that way, as he’d always suspected. Instead, they were formed from a sparkling white sand that had been hardened into a smooth surface. The blue roof was formed from tiles, no bigger than the size of his spread hand, overlapping each other. His eyes roamed over the guards that stood at intervals along the top of the wall, and the sentries that stood at attention in front of the very massive iron gates. No one looked bored, or like they were simply going through the motions. Was it because of his appearance?
He certainly got many a curious look, but it never lasted for more than a few seconds before the soldiers turned their attention back to what they were doing. The commander in him nodded in approval. Yes, that was the quality of soldier he had fought against for over a year.
The large iron gates did not move, but a smaller version to the left was opened to permit him entrance. His escort did not slow in their pace, so he could only give his surroundings a cursory look. The palace had large, open windows and doors on each of the five levels with little pots of flowers and flowing water fountains in every available space. In this arid land where the sun could bake a man alive, the cool stone of the palace and the openness of it would keep away the worst of the heat. He already felt cooler and he wasn’t even properly inside yet, just under the shading of a connecting roof.
Here, the staff gave him longer looks as he passed. They always flattened their backs to the wall, partially to give the party room to pass through, but as soon as he passed, he could hear whispers in his wake. Darius made a personal bet with himself that the queen would know he was coming before he even entered the throne room.
When he finally did reach the throne room, long minutes later, it did not hold the crowd of curious onlookers that he’d half-expected. Instead, the long room only had a few people standing at the very front, near the dais where the throne sat. The room was lined with tall glass doors on both sides, but no one apparently dared to stand there and try to eavesdrop. Darius’s forehead twitched in a brief frown. A private audience? For what purpose? There were only two other people in the room, and by the look of them, they were the queen’s personal aides.
Upon the dais lounged a woman that he had never met but certainly knew. Queen Tresea of Niotan was every bit as beautiful as rumor made her out to be. Her long, dark hair draped artfully along one shoulder, setting off unusually pale skin. She did not possess the cute, dainty look that Brindisi preferred, but instead had very striking, angular features. She wore the deep purple of royalty, although in this heat her long dress had no sleeves and she wore a simple belt around her waist instead of any connecting fur robe. Her dark eyes watched him intently as he was dragged to within a few feet of her and shoved down to his knees.
Darius felt like the year of running had finally caught up with him. Paranoid tension had kept him going so long that when it disappeared, he felt only exhaustion. Muscles he hadn’t known were rigid began to unlock, and his body sagged. The coolness of the stone floor seeped into aching legs, offering relief. For the first time in memory, his mind didn’t spin in mad circles, constantly weighing and suspecting everything around him. It felt…peaceful…in his own mind. He had known this day would come. No man could escape the entire might of the Sovran forever. He just found it humorous that it was an enemy of the Sovran that had caught him instead.
Bound, kneeling before a queen whom he had hounded for a straight year, he should have been anxious. Or at least a little worried. Instead, a strange sense of relief filled him. It was over. His mad escape from Brindisi’s justice was over.
“That is a very calm expression on your face, General Darius Bresalier,” she observed. Her tone was idle, but her eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s. “Are you not worried?”
“I knew what the punishment would be, Your Most High Majesty,” he answered respectfully. “I have had a year to resign myself to my fate. I cannot complain.”
She gave a low, musical hum of approval. “Well said. I have heard many reports on what you did but never once did I believe I could have the
full
tale.” She leaned forward, causing the silk pillows behind her to slide in every direction. “Kingslayer, tell me. Why did you kill your king?”
She had a reputation for seeking amusement in every way possible. Darius had no doubt that she asked simply to satisfy her curiosity. But he was tired. Also hungry, sunburned, and filthy after weeks on the road, but mostly tired. Tired of recounting that night in his head, tired of hearing that question posed around him, tired of everything. He shook his head wearily. “What does it matter? I killed him. Choose whatever version of the story that you like best and believe in that.”
Tresea raised a finger and wagged it chidingly. “That will not do, General. I want the
truth
. I want your story of events. Will you not tell it to me?” When he didn’t respond, she looked at him more carefully. “Or is it something that you feel you cannot tell?”
That…hit closer to the truth than she probably expected. He could not meet her eyes as he responded, “It’s very personal, Your Most High Majesty.”
“I see.” For a long moment, she regarded him in silence. “Guards, take him to a holding room and make sure that he is properly bathed and fed. Oh, and get him some proper clothing as well.”
…What? Darius jerked his head back up. “Your Most High Majesty, are you not going to execute me? Or turn me over to Brindisi?” She could use him as quite the bargaining chip if she wanted to.
She blinked at him in surprise, as if neither thought had ever crossed her mind. “And lose one of the most skilled, talented generals that this world has seen? Heaven forbid! No, I am sure that we can put your talents to better use.”
Which meant…what? Did she plan to use him? How? He could see no way to be useful to her.
“Besides,” she said offhandedly as she stood, turning away. “Amusing things are not allowed to escape me. Off with you.”
Darius was half-jerked back to his feet and forcefully turned around before he could even try to question that last statement. He followed along as they took him back into the hallway, mind in a daze. Not killed? Not bargained away like a piece of dead meat?
What by the gods did she intend to do with him then?!
~~~
For two days that question weighed on his mind.
Far from the prison cell he expected, his guards instead shoved him into a holding room in the very back of the palace. The stone walls were thick, the windows so narrow that he could barely stick an arm outside, and the door had an impressive stoutness to it. Even with an axe in hand it would have taken him some time to break through it. But even though the room could obviously serve as a prison cell, it didn’t have the right look for one. In fact, it looked more like a hastily converted storeroom. A simple bed had been shoved into one corner—not a pallet, but an actual bed with a wooden frame—and a wash basin in the other, though some cautious person had tied a simple chain around the basin’s handle to prevent it from being used as a weapon.
They only took him out of the room once, in the afternoon of the first day, and even then he didn’t go far. They showed him to a public bath and gave him just enough time to scrub the dirt and sweat away. Then they shoved fresh clothes into his hands, allowed him to dress, and dragged him straight back to the room. The clothes were even nice ones—the loose fitting black pants, crisp white shirt and belted sash had never seen use.
A pretty, very young maid came in three times a day to deliver meals and take away the old dishes. She acted skittish around him, although he did not do anything to intimidate her. But it could be that she knew whom she waited on. Or it could just be his looks. After so many years of being a soldier, his skin had the same darkness as a Niotan’s, but he had the blond hair and ice blue eyes of Arape, his home country. Arape had been a part of the Brindisi Sovran for so many generations that most people had forgotten it once existed as an independent nation. Anyone with fair coloring was “Brindisi” and that was that. No one from Brindisi would be welcomed here.
The room didn’t have the size he needed to truly train, but he found a way to work around the cramped area and do a full set of stretches and exercises. He partially did it out of a sense of routine—he’d been training his entire life. It just didn’t
feel
right if he didn’t train. But he partially did it to ease the boredom as well. Aside from sleeping and eating, he didn’t have anything else to do.
Except worry.
His treatment here was unexpected. It could almost be on the level of hosting a political prisoner—almost. Darius didn’t really have a political mind—his deviousness lay in other areas—so he didn’t know what to make of all of this. Queen Tresea clearly expected something from him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what. A handy military advisor, perhaps? He couldn’t think of anything else.
His mind toyed around with the idea for those two days, looking at it from every angle. If she truly asked him to be a military advisor for her country, would he accept?
Darius had been serving in the Brindisi military since he was fourteen. The third son of a merchant family, he’d known early in life that if he wanted to eat, he’d best find an occupation early on. His family simply couldn’t afford to feed their seven children. Becoming a military man had been the simplest option available to him at the time. Looking back, he realized he actually had missed a few other trades, but he didn’t regret the choice. Fighting and strategy suited him perfectly. He’d been serving Brindisi for a decade and a half, now. And yet…he’d never felt particularly loyal to it. Protecting Brindisi had been a way to protect Arape, that was all. Any affection he’d had for the Sovran had quickly dissolved once he’d risen to the rank of general and been invited to the court. Seeing court politics in action had sickened and wearied him. Trading good men’s lives to keep
those
men and women in power…the balance didn’t even out, in his mind.
He’d kept serving after that simply because he’d sworn to do so. But that oath lay invalid now, as Prince—now King Baros—had released him of it before ordering him to run. But where did that leave him? If Queen Tresea demanded an oath of loyalty from him, he could certainly give it. But did he even want to?
Did it even matter what he wanted?
His thoughts spun round and round without any resolution until the afternoon of the second day.
He could hear the lock rattling as someone inserted the key and unlocked it. Only it was hours yet until the girl with his evening meal should arrive. Suddenly alert, Darius swung off his bed and gained his feet, eyes facing the doorway. Guards to take him somewhere? Someone else?
The very
last
thing that he anticipated was for Queen Tresea to glide through the doorway.
After a split second of frozen surprise, reflex took over. He glued his arms to his side and gave her a deep bow. “Your Most High Majesty, you honor me.”
“My, how proper.” Her voice held the smoothness of a veteran politician, with no hint of what she really felt. “Please rise, General.”
He did so cautiously, eyes studying her as intently as she studied him. She did not wear the purple of royalty today, but instead the amethyst blue of her nation. Aside from that, nothing from her appearance had changed since he’d last seen her.