The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) (72 page)

The prince-heir was silent for a moment. “So soon,” he said after a while. “I thought babies took longer.”

Gerald arched his brows. “I don’t know. Have you thought of a name?”

Vlad relaxed a little. “Maybe Sergei, like my own father. Or maybe Pyotr.”

Gerald approached and lifted the book from the small reading table. It was a volume on maritime laws, an odd choice to be found in the library of a landlocked city like Roalas. But then, he had asked his soldiers to bring Vlad some books.
Some
probably meant an arm’s span from the nearest shelf they could find.

“Would you like to see your son one day, Your Highness?”

Vlad said nothing.

Gerald was not sure what the boy was thinking. Sometimes, he was as tough as old wood, unbending and hard beyond his measure of years. And sometimes, he was just a lost, confused child.

“I will promise safe conduct for your family here, twice a year. They will not be harmed. But you must cooperate.”

“You would force me to write another letter?” the boy braved.

Gerald shook his head. “I want you to acknowledge Amalia’s rule over Athesia. In a public speech.”

Vlad bristled. “That would be treason. How can you suggest something like that?”

Gerald grimaced. “I am merely trying to stop the bloodshed. Eighteen and a half years ago, your grandfather joined a war that had nothing to do with him. He lost. Your father will make the same mistake again. He will ruin your realm. Think of the people. It’s your responsibility as the future king to protect them. The battle your grandfather waged was one of religion. This has nothing to do with faith. If anyone ought to be offended by Amalia’s rule, it’s our two other neighbors. They lost land and people to Athesia. Parus stands unharmed. Save for national pride.” He shrugged. “But you’re above that, aren’t you?”

Gerald pointed outside, toward the rain-washed world that obscured all detail. “Is this a personal vengeance or a territorial conquest? Or both? If King Sergei is seeking our destruction, the only thing he will find is grief and pain. If he wishes to expand his wealth, we can work out lucrative business deals through peaceful negotiations. If it makes it any easier to accept these terms, think of Athesia as a Parusite protectorate.”

Vlad did not speak for a long time. “If you want peace, let me go,” he said at last.

The commander smiled. “If your father wants peace, he will lift the siege.”

“Roalas will fall.” Vlad gloated quietly. “You are frightened. Else, you would not be talking to me now.”

Gerald sighed. “Negotiations are best done from a position of strength. You’d better remember that, young man. I will leave you to your books. Think of my suggestion. You could be the first great Parus leader since Pyotr.”

He left.

It was time to meet with the Eracian count. But he would not let him see Amalia just yet. He had to make sure what this man wanted before he saw the empress. And before she saw him.

He had asked Theo and Luke to accompany him. They waited in one of the smaller studies for their guest. When he entered, escorted by a single guard, he gave them all pause. He was a wild man, dressed richly, with a smooth walk and the calm manners of the noble born.

Bart took his gloves off and nodded curtly. “Bartholomew, Count of Barrin, at your service.”

They shook hands. Gerald spilled his share of titles, briefly introduced Theo, and then offered Luke’s identity as a trusted consultant. “I hope your journey was pleasant.” At Gerald’s barely perceptible nod, the guard left the study and closed the door behind him.

The count blinked meaningfully. “The travel across Eracia was pleasant enough. But then I had to spend three months with the Parusites. Morning and evening prayers become boring after a while. But if you meant that ring of rubble your enemies call the Inferno, we only saw a few grubby thieves, but they did not accost us.”

Gerald smiled briefly, but his mind was racing like a rabid squirrel. “We call it the Inferno, too. Such names cannot be stopped by siege lines.”
Three months?

Theodore shook his head in confusion and voiced what all of them were thinking. “Sir, you said three months?”

Bart nodded. “More or less.”

The old man and the commander exchanged glances. This meant the count had left Eracia long before the Night of Surprises. He had probably never seen Amalia’s proposal. What was the meaning of this visit?

“Why are you here, sir?”

Bart seemed confused, so he stalled. On the table before him, his hosts had arranged a modest meal, platters of smoked bacon, black bread, and cups of steaming hot wine. He pointed at one of the cups and flicked his fingers. A servant waiting in the corner approached, lifted the cup, and handed it to the count. The man retreated to his station. He was one of Luke’s soldiers; Gerald could not afford common help to overhear this conversation.

The count sniffed the wine. “I’m here to discuss the safe return of the Eracian dignitaries unlawfully seized against their will at the funeral ceremony of your late emperor.”

Theodore wanted to mention Amalia’s letter, but Gerald stopped him. There was no reason divulging unnecessary information. “Your men are safe. They are well fed and treated. They might be bored, but they have their Caytorean neighbors to banter with and discuss cultural differences.”

Bart tsked. “You left a horde of councillors and Eracian nobles together for half a year, with nothing else to do but talk with one another? That’s bad. Who knows what kind of business deals and plots they might have negotiated. Now, forgive my question, but should I not be having this conversation with Empress Amalia?”

“The empress is very busy. She will see you later today. Or tomorrow.”

“My time is limited, Commander. I am already sorely delayed as it is, thanks to my Parusite hosts. Besides, they could decide to attack this city any moment, and I’d like myself and all of the Eracian host gone before that.”

“What would you offer in return for their release?” Theodore asked.

Bart snorted. “Offer? Well, nothing. They have been taken against their wishes. By letting them go free, you would restore things to what they ought to be between our two realms. Of course, I cannot guarantee anyone in Eracia will ever trust Athesia or take kindly to any future trade agreement, but if you are willing to offer concessions and favorable deals, and maybe a formal apology, this sorry incident could be forgotten.”

“Please, have a seat, sir,” Gerald said.

They all sat down. Bart sipped his wine carefully. Luke took a chunk of bread and piled it with bacon strips. His bite crunched loudly in the room full of people trying to outsmart one another with ponderous silence.

Gerald broke it first. “Empress Amalia merely wishes formal recognition of her rule.”

“And why does she think the legitimacy of her rule was ever in jeopardy? Was there any indication that Monarch Leopold might have chosen to cancel trade with your realm? Or claim Athesia for his own?”

Gerald hated arguing in favor of Amalia’s rash, foolish act when he opposed it himself, but he was here representing the realm. His own feelings were irrelevant. “To put it bluntly, sir, we have sufficient reasons to believe that both Eracia and Caytor sought to undo Emperor Adam’s conquest. If any slight was ever done, it was even before the emperor’s body was interred into the ground.”

“So it goes back to pride,” Bart agreed. “I would hate to see almost two decades of peace and successful commerce go to waste over trifles. We all made our mistakes. Now, let’s amend them. Let the Eracians go, and things will go back to normal. Somar will endorse Empress Amalia’s rule and support it. We might require some small adjustments to our existing agreements, but it ought to work.” He need not mention the adjustments would harm Caytor.

Gerald liked the suggestion. It was the most convenient way out of this mess. The Eracians would simply ignore the abductions. Everyone would pretend nothing had happened. They could all save face. And perhaps prevent another terrible war that would claim even more innocent lives.

“Perhaps there is no reason to meet with the empress,” Bart added. “She has such a skilled negotiator in you, Commander. Please tell me, are you an Eracian by origin?”

“I’m Athesian,” Gerald snapped defensively.

“Sure, but your father, Commander?”

“My father was born in Eracia,” he offered carefully. He said nothing of his own birth.

Bart closed his eyes and nodded. “You are too practical to be a Caytorean.” He chuckled. “May I see the hostages? Just to make sure they are well, as you say?”

Gerald shook his head. “That will not be possible.”

Bart nodded, as if he had known that would be the answer all along. “I will take your word for it,” he offered graciously, smiling through that hedgehog of a beard.

Commander Gerald felt himself dangerously quickly liking this easygoing Eracian. The man might be noble, but he had long removed the parsnip from his arse. Gerald burned to talk to this man, but asking any question would be an admission of weakness. He could not let the man know how little informed they really were.

Bart gestured dramatically. “Roalas is quite isolated, it seems,” he stated, as if reading Gerald’s mind. “Most of Athesia is under the Parusite occupation. There are still some pockets of rebellion in the north, and a whole lot of banditry. But this empire was never big to begin with. You would do well to reconcile with the monarch.”

Gerald ignored the mockery and matched all the bits and pieces to the ones he had heard from Luke’s spies and infiltrators. The nation had practically become a besieged city-state. It would all be decided here, it seemed. He did not miss the fact Bart had just reiterated his offer.

“Interesting,” he said quietly.

The count stood up. They all did the same. “I will require quarters to rest and wash up while I wait for Her Highness. Could you please arrange those?”

“They have already been provided for you, sir.”

Bart frowned. “I could not help noticing, but you seemed surprised to find me here in Roalas so early. Is there anything else I need to know? I’m here on official business as the monarch’s representative. It would make my life easier if I knew all the little aspects of this affair.”

Gerald licked his lips. “Nothing else, sir.”

“Oh, Commander, one last thing?”

“Yes?”

“Your Parusite enemies are not going to pack and leave just because you’ve taken the king’s son. King Sergei is a hard man. So whatever plans you have, you’d better hurry. The way I see it, I’m your only hope now. You’d better not squander me.”

Gerald kept his face blank as best as he could. “Thank you.”

Bart moved toward the door, then waited for the servant to open it. “I must return to the camp tomorrow. Please make sure you tell me everything you want or need, because I don’t know when I’ll have another chance to visit your city. If ever.”

This was the third time the man had repeated his generous warning. Was he trying to help? Or was he being desperate? Maybe the count was trying to throw them off-balance. But all he radiated was sharp, stubborn honesty.

“I will remember that, sir. Thank you.” They shook hands.

Gerald looked at Luke and Theo. Nothing needed to be said. They all agreed. Now, the hard part was ahead. Convincing Amalia.

CHAPTER 45

C
aptain Nolan pointed south. “They’ve gone this way.”

James shook his head. “No. Come closer.” He beckoned the twenty-odd men behind him. They spread in a semicircle for another lecture on tracking. “The tracks split here. So which way do we go? Northeast, you have a single file of riders, following one another. Notice how they try to keep near bushes and trees so they leave less of a trail? Now, here, it’s a mess. The hoofprints are wild, and you have several men riding abreast. This gives you an illusion the main body went here. But my guess is this is only a handful of horsemen, with heavily loaded animals, to fool us into thinking they are many.”

All around, his officers and followers nodded appreciatively.

They were playing a game. Two companies of Xavier’s best soldiers were the prey. James led a force of hunters, four hundred strong. The Wolves against the Deer and Rabbits. Those were the names of their units. His men were taking their identity seriously; a stuffed wolf’s head, weathering the rain rather well, adorned the banner pole Timothy was loyally lugging about. No flag, though.