Rade chuckles grimly to himself, a habit most veterans of The War seem to share. "What game do I play, boy?"
"You're tryin' to avoid the topic at hand."
"Can you blame me?"
"I can. You caused this. Don't play coy."
He sighs. "You don't even know why I did this."
"No," you reply, "I don't. Please enlighten me, rebel."
There's a pause. Rade stares out into the sky for a moment as his expression hardens. "Do tell, Arthur Hornraven, did your father ever reward you for what you did during that cursed conflict?"
The question catches you off-guard. "Don't deflect my question," you command, tone still neutral and unreadable.
"Don't deflect mine," he replies. You stare into his eyes as he stares into yours, sizing each other up. "I know that poor excuse of a father you had did nothing for you. Don't defend those who deserve nothing."
"Who are you to decide who deserves what, Rade?"
"I'm a man with sense."
"Debatable."
Rade breaks out laughing, then offers you a genuine smile. This quickly fades away as his expression turns hurt. The days of good-natured banter are long over. "You want the damn truth? I know you got nothing because I got nothing."
"Unfortunate," you reply flatly. He sighs.
"You don't understand, do you?"
Next
"No," you admit. "So make me."
Rade places his arms behind his back, gaze averted toward the sky as he slowly drifts to the right, aimlessly. "Want to know why we were the ones fighting that war? Politics. Krorid isn't truly Kantonian. They've been on the edge of separating from their sovereign for years by this point."
You know this to be the case. It was an uncomfortable experience, fighting alongside many men from Krorid who spoke grave ills of Kanton, not knowing you were born there. They spoke of a free Krorid, one without the yoke of Kantonian oppression, even as you bailed them out.
"Get to the point."
Rade pauses in his step and turns to face you. "Very few of Kanton's nobility would dare shed blood for the Kroridians, of all people. I proposed cutting them loose and leaving them to suffer the wrath of the Erisian invaders. Let them taste the freedom they've so dearly wanted."
There's another pause. "But then Sobik offered me… gifts. He knew of my exploits against raiders on the border of the Great Steppe. So he made me a deal. A sum of gold ducats, resolve the land dispute I have with the Duke of Jutrea, and… your sister's hand in marriage."
You raise an eyebrow at his admission. "I doubt she had even bled yet at the start of The War."
"There have been worse things in this life than such a marriage," Rade replies.
You sigh. "And judging by the fact that my sister is not… then… you…" You trail off.
Rade nods. "Nothing."
"Spare me the self-pity," you say. You care not for his petty grievances when you have your own.
Rade shakes his head. "That's not why I did all of this. I did this because I asked one last thing. I asked that those who fought in that war be recognized. Be celebrated. Be given wealth, land, titles… something."
He locks eyes with you. "We fought through hell, and he gives us, nay all of us… nothing."
You pause. He continues. "All of those men that died… were for nothing. Sobik sacrificed us to save one of his foreign holdings and didn't even recognize the dead! We bled and drowned for that fucking crown! And we… got… nothing!"
A tense silence descends upon the two of you. Rade sighs, then speaks up again. "So I ask again, boy, will you join me? Claim what was owed to us? Owed to all of us?"
You are silent and still, lost in thought.
Is that what this is, Rade? you wonder. Is that what this is truly about?
The eyes are the window to the soul, yet looking into the duke's… you cannot tell if he still has one. If he ever had one.
It's an excuse to you, isn't it? The realization makes you grit your teeth. You just want a reason to rebel, and this one is as good as any. You don't care about us. You never did. You just want the crown… and you'll take my sister's maidenhood if it reinforces your claim to power.
You reply, voice devoid of emotion…
Rade sighs. "That's all you have to say, boy? Can't muster anything more than… that?"
"Pray tell, Rade, do you ever get tired of being so petty?"
Rade takes a step closer, but you stand your ground. He says, voice just above a whisper, "Do you not care for the men that died under your command? Do you not care for those that trusted you that are now dead?"
You take a step back, the sudden assault on your responsibility striking a chord. "Don't go there."
"How many died in those jungles, boy? And you would have it all be for naught? All be forgotten, just as you have been, because of the words of one selfish monarch?"
"Stop it."
"Is this why there's no passion in that blackened heart of yours? While my heart burns with the righteous fury of a thousand unavenged deaths, yours shrivels with the decay of grief, madness… and death."
There's a crack in the void. The place where the bad thoughts go. It chinks, a small piece chipping loose and falling into the intangible. And the pain is white hot. You must lash out. You must ease the pain by inflicting it upon someone. Anyone.
The only thing that you can think of that would hurt Rade is…
A low blow. A scummy blow. But he hurt you. He scorched you with his words, and by whatever force guides the world, you won't let him get away unscathed.
Rade's face flickers with sorrow and then anger. Voice still low, he says, "Cadarn would be proud of me. He would see my righteous revolution and stand behind me."
"Would he, Rade? Don't go into denial. Would he really support you starting another war over a petty crown in a country that he hates?" Your words are filled with venom.
"Cadarn died… to save his people. I will fight to free my own."
"Don't try to pretend you care. You're doing this for your own gain, Rade, not for the good of our veterans."
Rade chuckles, low and grim. "You know nothing, boy."
"So prove me wrong." You take a step toward him. "My sister has the crown. She's a compassionate woman. If you want compensation for the dead, then end this siege. End this war. Keep more from dying. Show me that you care."
He is silent for several moments. Eventually, he speaks.
"I will not abandon what I've worked so hard for."
And you know this marks the end of negotiations.
And with that, you spin on your heel. Your fists are clenched, Rade's comments still burning away your charred soul. So you repress, push back down, and move on. As you always have.
As you approach Aurora, the last hope Kanton had for a peaceful resolution is snuffed out.
Next
-Three and a Half Months after Belos's Sally-
The numbers bounce around in your skull.
Dead.
Wounded.
Sick.
Dying.
Food.
Money.
Soldiers.
Days, weeks, months… all dedicated to seemingly pointless spreads of numbers. You're good at numbers. You know how to manage, how to administrate. But the constant, grinding wheels of bureaucracy powderize what ambition and drive you have left.
Powderize it and toss it into the void. Feeding it. Growing it.
God, I need a drink.
Next
The Huntsman's Respite is closed, not that you'd go to it regardless. You've seen enough of the misery in the streets of Wrido. You've had enough of men coughing up pieces of their own lungs for one lifetime.
So you move through the palace, set on the royal wine stores. Maybe this could be counted as stealing.
You're sure Elya would forgive you for this transgression.
If she would… do something. She's spent practically all of her days as queen in her room, possibly too scared or too stricken with sorrow to lead. You've basically been running the country with Darin, Obren, and Velinor at your side.
And it leaves you so exhausted.
Pushing open the door of the wine cellar, you lick your lips in anticipation. A fine wine would do well to ease your pains. But as the door swings open and you step through, a sight stops you dead in your tracks.
She raises a half-empty mug of wine in your direction.
"Evening, bastard."
Next
Mira is sitting against the wall, a mug of wine in her hand as she watches you enter. She has forsaken the fancy dresses she normally wears for a ratty, presumably older apron, clearly stained with wine and sweat.
You awkwardly ignore her presence, swiping a mug from the shelf and moving to one of the barrels that line the walls. You open the tap, allowing some of the liquid to pour into the mug. You take a sniff.
Sour.
But you've drunk worse wine on worse occasions with worse company.
The drunken husk of your so-called "mother" motions for you to come over to her. "Sit with an old woman, will you?"
You take a small sip of your wine, cringing at the taste as you walk toward her sitting form. You wrinkle your nose. She smells worse than the wine itself. "Sit," she insists, and you do.
Sitting next to the woman, you suddenly take great interest in the wall, not knowing how to act around this version of Mira. She sighs contentedly, taking another long swig from the drink.
Finally, with the silence becoming unbearable, you say…
Mira breaks out into a cackling laugh, the noise unnatural from this woman's throat. "Do I? Heh… must've gotten used to it by now."
She sniffs the air, then hangs her head with a sigh. "I can't smell nothing but the… wine on me breath."
Another pause descends, the two of you just sitting and drinking. You feel the burn of the wine. The sour taste. The dreaded smell.
Suddenly, Mira speaks up, voice abruptly serious. "Arthur Hornraven? Do you hate me?"
Mira nods at this, a distant look on her face. She says, "How could you not? I maimed you. I permanently destroyed your life… and for what?" She downs another sip. "Revenge?" Another cackle leaves her lips. "Revenge just left both of us in shambles."
"I won't forgive you for what you did to me."
"I know," she says. "I'm glad. I don't deserve forgiveness. I feel…" And then she trails off.
Mira takes another swig, but the mug is now empty, and she hurls it across the room in a sudden fit of anger. You go tense, your free hand drifting for the blade tucked in your boot. She turns to you and just… stares at you. Her eyes run across your body, taking you in as if for the first time.
She sighs and goes back to staring at the wall. "I was once a beautiful woman, did you know that?"
"Can't say I did."
"Well… look at me now," the disgraced widow says, disgust in her voice. "My husband is dead. One of my sons is dead. The other disinherited by my dead husband. The one who…" Mira closes her eyes, a single tear running down her face. "And now… my daughter sits on the throne. And all she does is weep in her room all day. The only one with sense…"
She turns to face you again. "…is the object of my condensed hatred. The one who represents all that I lost." She chuckles. "You, Arthur Hornraven, are the only damn man in this house with any bleeding sense."
You don't know how to respond to that. But she doesn't give you the opportunity. "Did you know… that I used to do this every night, once? That every night, I drank my sorrows to the void, prayin' for the Good Lord to bring me from this place…"
She swallows hard. "Or strike me dead."
"I know," Mira affirms.
You don't respond.
"But it doesn't matter. Not anymore, at least." She lets out a long, drawn-out sigh.
She then asks, eyes still distant, "There were days… months even… when I could convince myself that I did love this family. Even you. With the tender sight… of a child on my breast… so vulnerable… yet so full of life… I could convince myself that I loved this family. I loved my husband."
Her whole body shakes as she grits her teeth. "Until he came back drunk… reeking of sex and ale."
You discreetly scoot across the floor, putting distance between you and the ranting woman.
"Did… did you know I had a love once? His name was… bloody hell… it doesn't matter anymore." She swallows hard again. "We were planning to run away. Find a place to settle down, you know? Get married, by and by?"
"But I was too afraid. I left that man, the one with actual passion for me. And then I was sent… sent far, far away from good Loston… to be here."
She takes a deep breath. "Sobik wed me. He took the vows. Chastity and purity in the marital bed. And then… want to know what he did… on our anniversary?"
You give her no response, but she continues anyway.
"He went and fathered you."
Next
Silence. She hangs her head low once more. But this admission gives you an idea.
Seeing the forwardness of a drunken Mira, you decide to ask a question that has been contained within you for so long. "So why'd you give me seven years?"
Mira lets out another bout of howling laughter. You flinch, uncomfortable. "I stuffed cotton beneath my dresses. I stayed in… months… pretending to be ill with pregnancy. And when the 'birth' came, want to know what Good King Sobik did? He took the nurses in, paid them off… and well… soon after, their bodies lied 'neath the soil."
A sigh. A sigh from a tired woman. "When I held you in my arms… some days, I could lie enough. Some days, when I faked love for you out of… the sick love I thought I had for your father… I could convince myself that I did love you."
"And other nights? Well… other nights I stood above that cradle, looking down upon the very embodiment of the destruction of my life… and I wanted to strangle that child. I wanted to kill it." She says this so naturally, as if the child she admitted to wishing to kill wasn't sitting beside her.
Mira sighs. "The best day of my life… want to know what it was?" No response. She continues anyway. "'Twas… after your siblings were born. After I drank myself half to hell, I went to your father… and I told him I'd kill myself if he made me keep your secret. I told him I'd shout slander of his name… his kingdom… his prowess."
"And he agreed. And in that same… drunken fury… I went to your room… and…" She trails off.
But you know what happened next.
She shakily stands up, a pair of tears running down her face. You make no motion to stand, still lost in thought. Mira goes for the door stumbling in her drunken state. She throws the door open and turns back to you. "Don't speak of this… to anyone," she says, and then adds, almost as an afterthought, "bastard."
The door shuts, leaving you in too-silent silence.
Next
-Four Months after Belos's Sally-
The city is gripped by feverish celebration.
Early one morning, the rebel camp was abuzz with activity. They packed their supplies, gathered their wounded, buried their dead, and marched away. It took several hours for them to return to the road.
But they are finally, finally lifting the siege.
It should be a cause for celebration. You, however, cannot share in the joy of the peasantry.
Now that the siege is lifted, you need to move. The winter is still young, and the city is already on the verge of starvation. You cannot leave your army here. They have better odds of survival in the snows.
Your best bet is to haul southwest and link up with old allies before Rade manages to.
You're sitting with Darin and your sister at a table in the war room. Elya sits across from you, her expression grim. "We need to march out now? We just barely survived…"
You reply, "It's the best option we have. Either we stay here, starve, and allow Rade to enlist the Kroridians, or we leave and reach them first."
"I haven't even been coronated officially," your sister replies. "We should at least crown me first."
Darin interjects, "It'd be awful early for that, Yer Majesty."
You nod in agreement. "Half of Kanton's nobility has just been cut down outside our walls. We don't even know who the hell we're supposed to summon. And most of them are dealing with their own succession problems. Nobody would show up. And it would take too much time—time we do not have."
Elya pauses, considering your words. Then she sighs in defeat. "All right. Fine." Her amber eyes flick to meet your own.
"When are we leaving?"
Next
You hesitate. "We?"
"Of course, we. You weren't planning on leaving me behind, were you?"
"Elya… it's going to be very, very dangerous."
"No more dangerous than leaving me here to starve with the garrison. Besides, if you're gonna meet with the Kroridians, then the ruler of Kanton should be there to negotiate."
Darin nods in agreement and glances over at you. "It'd be good for our cause, too. If the queen went with her army instead of cowering in her city." He hesitates, then turns to Elya. "No offense, Yer Majesty."
She waves a dismissive hand. "None taken."
You know they're correct. Taking Elya with you might actually prove safer, considering it lets you keep an eye on her. It allows Elya to build her reputation, and it allows you to have greater legitimacy when negotiating with Krorid.
You sigh deeply and meet Elya's gaze.
"We leave in three hours."
Next
------
As Vedran watches the massive camp of rebel soldiers slowly pack up and march away from the walls, he doesn't share in the same jubilee of the peasantry. Instead, he's left with a stinging feeling of disappointment.
Weeks ago, he had sent his message. A day later, he got one in return. An arrow had been launched back over the walls, loosed from a lone longbowman from three hundred yards away in the dark of night.
But watching his hope of salvation leave… Vedran feels powerless. But he knows—he hopes—that soon, his power will be restored. The rebel column is moving slowly. There's still time for the meeting.
The far south gatehouse is opened by his sympathizers, as planned. His destination is over a thousand yards away. Impossible to do swiftly on foot.
But there's a horse left in front of the gates. As was planned.
Vedran hoists himself atop the horse and sets out for the destination. The cold mid-winter air whips across his face, stinging but calming at the same time. It helps suppress the rage building inside.
Next
It isn't long before Vedran reaches his destination. A single, tall, imposing warrior stands, flanked by two bodyguards. Behind them, a set of three horses stay carefully positioned behind a snow mound, keeping them from Wrido's sight.
Vedran pulls back on his horse's reins, bringing the beast to a stop. He then slides off, landing in the now shin-deep snow. He approaches the one in the center with the long, black hair blowing with the wind.
The Butcher raises a hand for Vedran to shake, which the disgraced prince does without hesitation. Rade clears his throat and asks, voice full of authority, "Why have you contacted me, prince?"
Vedran clears his own throat. "You've surely gotten my message about the state of my family, yes?"
"I have. Dreadful business, friend, getting pushed away for your sister like that."
Vedran cringes at these words. Anger still flows through his veins.
But he takes a deep breath. He knows what he has to do.
The prince speaks the words that he knows will seal his fate, along with the fate of the whole kingdom.
"I would like to make a deal."
Next Chapter