The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) (19 page)

“I see,” Sergei said, trying to keep his voice calm. “How long have you known this?”

“Two days, Your Highness. My source wanted to be sure before he passed the information to me.”

Sergei pushed himself up. The elegant chair slid back, screeching. “So, you would betray her?” he asked dangerously. “Why?”

Mayor Benedict seemed to be taken by surprise. “I do not understand.”

Sergei approached him. “She was your empress until a few short months ago. Today, you are selling her to me. Why?”

The man’s shoulders twitched with stress. “I have sworn fealty to you, Your Highness. It is my duty as a Parusite citizen to do that. It would be treason otherwise.”

“As a concerned citizen, you could have made one of your aides come over and report this. You could have tipped off any soldier, any guardsman. Instead, you chose to deliver the information yourself. That’s a very peculiar choice.” Sergei stood just an inch from the mayor. “I do not find your attitude reassuring.”

Benedict swallowed. “Your Highness.”

Sergei rallied on. “Most people in this city bent their knee because that’s what’s expected of them. They want to continue their lives, feed their children. I can understand why Theodore would take this stance. But you? I do not see you putting yourself out for the sake of Roalas. Your loyalty is nothing more than a formality. I am aware of that. I do not expect your love or sympathy. It’s not even the matter of trust. It’s about dignity.”

He flicked his head toward Theo. “Where’s Genrik?”

“The high scribe is in the library, Your Highness,” the adviser said.

“Get him. I want him to write down the details of this meeting. It has to be recorded.”

Lord Benedict waited, uncertain.

“Mayor, I find your act distasteful, dishonorable.” And then, he went back around the table and sat down, the armrests pressing into his sides. And waited. Time stretched. Lord Benedict remained standing, silent, fidgeting ever so slightly. Genrik arrived at his leisure, looking surprised and intrigued, his golden stylus swishing like a champion’s sword.

“The lord mayor has personally informed me of the suspected whereabouts of Empress Amalia inside the city. A company of soldiers will be dispatched to apprehend her. Meanwhile, I am relieving Lord Mayor Benedict of his duty.”

The man paled. “Your Highness, please.”

“Be gone.” Sergei waved. Walking like a defeated man, the former mayor retreated.

“Do you wish to nominate anyone else?” Theo inquired. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Princess Sasha may not like your decree. She has found the mayor to be useful when it comes to running the city’s stores, collecting taxes, and finishing up the siege repairs. She will probably be vexed.”

Sergei snapped his neck toward the chief adviser. “I am well aware of that. I also happen to be the king of this realm.” Lady Lisa was right. He had been hiding behind Sasha, trying to avoid the pain of his bad decisions, but he understood that making none would be even worse. He had started this whole affair, and he had to finish it. For the sake of the people of the realms. That was his duty as a king. That was his sacrifice.

“Your Highness,” the man agreed with his well-oiled pragmatism.

He could not let Sasha lead Athesia. Not yet. He did not relish that fight, but it had to be done.

“No nomination, for now. I will need to think about it. I understand you will manage to keep this city running.”

Sergei tapped the armrest, his mind racing. His mind went back to the history books about Pyotr.
You only get the consequences, only the hard facts. And you grow up thinking that you can lead with cold, mechanical precision. Until you lose a loved one, and your world shatters. How many times has Pyotr wept for his friends and brothers-in-arms? How many times was he forced to make a hard choice between two evils?

“May I ask a question?” Theo said, politely intruding into his blurred line of sight.

Sergei bristled. “What?”

“Why did you decide to relieve the mayor of his post?”

The king frowned. “I do not need sycophants.” Theo nodded thoughtfully. Sergei realized there was more than he was saying. “Speak your mind.”

The adviser cleared his throat. “I was thinking about Empress Amalia, about her decisions at the beginning of the war. She was surrounded by honest men, but she chose to ignore them. You are surrounded by men bound by fear and duty, but you listen well. My love is for this city, and few people will truly understand me, but I feel you might be deserving of this place. There was only one other ruler in my time who I felt truly honored to serve.”

Sergei did not need telling who it had been. “Thank you,” he murmured. He tried to gather his thoughts. He flicked his finger at his lieutenant of the guard. “Borya, get three squads of men to find that woman. I want crossbowmen and riders in the nearby streets. I want a dozen footpads hired to watch the rooftops. Get a squad of Red Caps, too, and no locals. See it done quickly and quietly.”

The armored man saluted and left.

Sergei scanned the court room. He did not belong here. This city was a trap of misery and tragedy. This place was the
tombstone of all those who came to own it. But he could not leave, because he was bound by his duty to the people. The gods demanded another sacrifice from him.
If this place has any love left for the gods
, he thought sourly.

His eyes passed over Theo, Matvey, Genrik, the silent soldiers. No judgment there, only dutiful obedience. Well, he could wish for more, but that was not going to solve his problems. If he wanted their devotion, he would have to give everything. And he was not quite sure if he were brave enough to do that. Lady Lisa’s words nagged at the back of his mind.

Courage, in small doses.

CHAPTER 14

W
ith every passing moment, Bart felt his desperation rise.

“We ought to send a delegate to examine the situation,” Duke Norris was saying.

At the far end of the table, Bart groaned. A delegate? To examine the situation? What was there to examine? Eracia had been split in two by an invading army; people were being killed by the thousands. The army was left without leadership; the garrisons waited for someone to take charge and tell them what to do. It was utterly obvious.

Count Derrick slapped the tabletop gently, drawing attention to himself. “I shall go.”

Bart scanned the room. One of King Sergei’s, loaned to the war council. A table surrounded by fools. They had squandered a year of their lives in uncertainty, not knowing if the next day they woke up would be their last, and Bart could not blame them for that. But he could blame them for ignoring the reality now they were free again.

Next to Duke Vincent sat Duke Norris and Margrave Sydney. They both had land west of Somar, so there was a real threat their estates had been overrun by the nomads, their families captured or killed. However, if they were worried, they did not show it. Either brave or ignorant or uncaring.

Count Thomas was looking bored, staring at his nails, probably lamenting the fact his personal maid had been returned to Eracia, along with all the other commoners, while he had been detained in Roalas, his poor nails uncared for. Then, there was Count Daryl, the only person Bart could claim he didn’t outright dislike, only he was too busy dozing off. Even back at court, Daryl was known for too much drinking and then snoring through meetings. Then some more fools, Countess Silvia, Count Derrick of Elfast, every one of them too busy with their own petty little concerns.

All of them were somehow above him in status.

There were many other Eracian nobles and a handful of merchants housed in the Imperial Manse, but they were not members of the Privy Council, so they had not been invited to these war meetings. That was a small consolation, a very small one.

“We could not possibly spare you, my lord,” Countess Silvia said almost amicably. “We ought to send a lower-ranking adviser.”
Someone we
can
spare to lose
, her shrewd eyes added.

Bart knew his place in the council was his father’s fault, who had meddled too much in Monarch Wolfgang’s affairs, trying to exercise his influence through money where class would not permit him. Eventually, Wolfgang had pushed him as far as he had dared. The son Leopold had all too gladly continued the tradition, using the Barrin family as his gold mine, without any favors returned.

If I had been more of a man, I would have changed that
, Bart thought, feeling wise in retrospect. But then, if he had really been wise, he would never have married Sonya. Still, there was no point complaining. He had to make sure the bad situation did not get any worse. And from what he was hearing, his comrades intended to make it so. Days went by without any
meaningful decision, autumn approached, while the nomads held Somar.

If Eracia ever recovered, it would have to change, he felt. The old system could no longer work. Favor could not be the coinage of success. Merit should be. Merit and hard work and real achievements. Eracia would have to adapt, shed its last remnants of gangrenous traditions. Which meant that people like Dukes Vincent and Norris, and the likes of Silvia and Thomas, even his wife, if she were still alive, would be retired to obscurity.

Through the spring and summer, Bart had desperately tried to rally some kind of unity among the Eracians, to get them to think and act together. But whatever he proposed, it was smothered like a baby lamb in the crushing grip of a snake.

He had tried to get support with the lower-ranking dignitaries. Most of them were opportunists and had joined the journey to Emperor Adam’s funeral out of greed. They had expected to milk favorable deals from the young empress, bully her into submission and cooperation before she could assess her bearings. They had hoped to outwit the Caytoreans, gain better trade agreements, lower taxes, more carts. As one, their response was lukewarm, lethargic. Not that they minded defending the realm, not at all. It was just best done without their involvement.

Next, he had tried convincing the merchants, with as little success. People were worried, they fretted about their families and their assets, but no one wanted to be the tragic hero at the head of the liberating column heading back home. When you lived by the coin, life became more matter-of-fact.

Almost exasperated, Bart turned to the members of the Privy Council again and again, trying new angles, new motives, trying to exploit their weakness and ambitions, trying to use
their own sons and daughters as the bargaining chip. Selfishness remained their undefeated bastion.

Duke Vincent gritted his teeth. “There must be no talking! Somar must be freed at all costs.”

Bart wanted to agree with the old man. But that meant empowering him even more. He was a hard, stubborn man who would never listen to anyone’s advice. Worse than Leopold, even. Bart could not imagine the duke leading the army to any glory—if he ever got as far as rallying troops behind him.

Once again, Eracia needed someone like Adam.
An obscure officer with a black heart and little to lose
.

The council members squirmed, uncomfortable with the old man’s suicidal plans. Still, it was all just an act. It had almost become a ritual, the duke clamoring for action, the council politely evading any solid stance, day after day. So much imagination was lost in lies instead of trying to come up with a solution to stanch the gaping, bleeding wound in Eracia’s side.

Oh, he had a solution. But they would not listen to him.

You pay for your father’s mistakes as much as you pay for your own
, he thought sourly. He was forced to listen to fools making decisions about the fate of his realm. No, it was
all
his fault. He had worked so hard to save them.

“My lord,” Norris began, using his most patient tone, “we cannot afford to risk another defeat. We must make sure that our armies still stand and that they fight for the realm. Going to Eracia would be a dangerous business. Our lives would be put at risk again. For the sake of the nation, we must not allow ourselves to fall captive again or get ourselves killed. Our duty is to lead.”

Not one of these people cared about their families as much as they cared about themselves, he knew. But you did not remain on Leopold’s Privy Council for being nice and
sentimental, unless you were its lowliest member, the one everyone could mock. Well, it was not hard imagining what Sonya would have done if he were held hostage somewhere. She would cut her losses, mourn as long as custom required, and then find herself another victim.

Duke Vincent’s son had defected twenty years ago. The man cared nothing about life. All he had was elderly honor, the best kind to see thousands of young men to the grave. Norris had a wife and children at his own estate, but his eyes were dry and bright. Twice widowed, Sydney seemed rather pragmatic about the whole scheme. He had heard Silvia had fucked a handful of councillors during her stay in the city.
How come she and Sonya weren’t best friends
, he wondered. Derrick’s family was safe. Elfast was protected by the length and width of the Barrin county.