Royal Exile (34 page)

‘I suspect Valya is not as dimmed by love as some might think. I believe she is a realist and I know she is a survivor. She is happy to take her advantages wherever she can find them; if she weren’t, she would never have come looking for me in the first place.’

‘She looked for you?’

‘Oh yes. She hunted me down, fearlessly entered the Steppes alone. Dirty, bedraggled, with no weapons, little food, and a half dead mare beneath her, she came to offer her hand in marriage with the promise that the Set could be taken if I worked with her.’

‘Princess Valya masterminded your campaign?’ Freath asked, clearly unable to hide his astonishment.

‘Entirely. She understands the west. Your king should never have misjudged or shamed her the way he did. She has taught me plenty. We knew when and where to strike because of her; and it was Valya who advised us to hold Penraven until last. My inclination would have been to take Penraven first, driving the rest of the realms to capitulate once their leader fell. But Valya said Brennus was so arrogant, always so sure of his mighty Valisar reign, that if we struck hard into Cremond and Dregon, effectively cutting off any flight, other than via ship, we would have the Valisars cornered.’

‘She was right, sire,’ Freath replied with just the right amount of admiration to impress Loethar.

‘My mother doesn’t credit Valya with much sense, although I’m sure you’ve already worked that out, Freath. It seems you have the measure of all of us.’

Freath nodded graciously. ‘My role has always been one of diplomacy, my lord. And now my role is to protect you as best I can using the same skills in diplomacy, politics and —’

‘Cunning?’

Freath gave a short, mirthless smile. ‘I was going to say knowledge, sire, but perhaps knowledge allows one to be forewarned and therefore cunning.’

Loethar mentally applauded the man. Slippery, indeed. He would be a real asset. ‘Anyway, I need a wedding organised. I want all the Set involved.’

‘Very good, sire,’ Freath replied, although Loethar heard understandable apprehension in the man’s voice.

‘But before the marriage takes place we have something far less palatable for the people to cope with.’

‘Really? Do you think the people of the Set have not already seen enough to turn their stomachs, sire?’

Loethar laughed at the aide’s dry humour. ‘I want to be absolutely sure I have their attention, Freath. I actually came in here hoping to find someone who could help me with census records.’

‘Census? Really? Why?’

‘I want to quickly assemble the names of every child born approximately a dozen years ago.’

Freath frowned and blew out his cheeks but Loethar was not fooled. He knew the man was already leaping to the right conclusion. ‘It is very important that the people throughout the region understand that I will not tolerate any rebellion. I plan to quash it before it begins.’

‘My lord, fear not. I am utterly convinced the people are still in such shock — their royals are dead, their armies decimated, their realms fully defeated. Many have fled to lands far away. Where do you suppose rebellion will spring from?’

‘From the lad we allowed to slip through our fingers,’ Loethar growled, flinging the book he was holding across the room, startling Piven and making Freath flinch.

The aide wisely waited until Loethar’s anger had cooled again. ‘Leonel is too young, too cowardly, and too inexperienced to even think of rebellion.’

‘But people will rally to him, Freath, and you know that. The boy is Valisar. The name is enough. I vowed to destroy all who come from the Valisar seed. I am sparing the halfwit because he is not of the blood but perhaps I should destroy him as well.’

‘No need,’ Freath answered calmly. ‘I still believe his humiliation is worth far more to you. Ask Princess Valya. It will turn everyone’s stomachs to see the Valisars’ act of charity paraded about on a leash.’

‘I do believe you’re right in this.’

‘So you intend to round up all the boys of like age to the prince, am I right?’

‘No. I intend to slaughter them.’

Freath paused only a heartbeat before starting to clap. ‘Oh, sire, that is a plan worthy of any king,’ he said, his tone filled with admiration. ‘But surely the threat is enough. The people will yield the boy quickly.’

Loethar walked over and picked up the book he’d hurled, studied the corner that he’d damaged. Making a soft sound of admonishment, he replied, ‘I don’t think so. I think they need to see their sons’ blood running through the villages to truly understand how determined I am to have Prince Leonel in my possession or dead at my feet. So take me to Father Briar now, Freath.’

‘I can fetch him for you, sire, if you wish to remain —’

‘No, let us walk. I want to tell you what I’m going to do should the first pass of killings not deliver the prince.’

19

Genrie eyed the approaching unlikely pair. One glided ahead, head held high, the other lumbered behind, head hung.

‘I can’t remember your name,’ Valya said to her, ‘but this is Belush. He is now my servant.’

Genrie’s gaze slipped from the vile woman to the hulking terror of a man who surely belonged in the barracks. ‘You wish him to sleep nearby?’

‘The emperor would likely wish him chained to the wall but I am a merciful person. I was raised in the west and we do not chain our servants, do we?’

All sorts of responses sprang to mind but Genrie gave the answer Valya wanted to hear. ‘No, of course not. Can I make up the anteroom for Belush?’

‘No, you may not,’ Valya snapped. Taking a slow breath, she continued. ‘Give him anything you wish him to carry and have my things brought over close to Legate De Vis’s former chambers.’

Genrie made the mistake of hesitating, raising her eyebrows in query.

‘Now!’ the woman snarled. ‘How dare you not curtsey and act immediately upon my words.’

‘Forgive me. It’s just that we were given instructions by the emperor to accommodate you in the chambers we’ve already settled you into.’

‘Well, unsettle me and do as I say,’ Valya enunciated as though she were talking to an imbecile. ‘The emperor — just for your information — has barely an hour ago proposed marriage to me. Do you think he wants to be separated from me? I need to be close for all his needs. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ Genrie said, noticing the blood spattered on the woman’s riding garb.

‘Good. And he will do precisely as you say,’ she said, pointing to Belush, ‘or he knows his entire precious Greens will be punished on his behalf.’

‘I didn’t ask you to spare my life,’ the man growled.

‘And I didn’t spare it for any other reason than my own amusement,’ she replied. ‘You are my slave now, Belush…my toy, and as I promised myself when you were doing your best to humiliate me, I am going to make you pay every waking moment of your days.’ She turned to Genrie. ‘Show him the way to my former quarters. And then have a bath drawn for me — in my new chambers. Don’t fill it with that essence of goat or whatever you’ve palmed off onto me. I can smell the oil of miramel up here so take a look in your former queen’s rooms. She has no use for it now. Make sure it’s poured into my bath generously. And wipe that defiance from your gaze or I’ll have you gutted. And since it’s now public, from now on you call me by my true title, princess.’

Genrie lowered her eyes and heard rather than saw Valya stomp away, her boot heels loud against the stone stairs. Finally she looked at Belush. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to speak but her words were out before she could stop them. ‘We are enemies, yet we are bonded by our singular hatred for Valya, I’m sure.’

He stared at her and for a few heartstopping moments she thought she’d read the warrior wrong. Finally he replied, ‘I shall see her dead as soon as it is politically possible and I shall dance on her bones before I scatter them to the six winds.’

Genrie felt a flare of satisfaction burn brightly for just the shortest but sweetest of times. She knew that the enmity between her and Belush could not stifle their shared hatred. Perhaps here was their first ally in the enemy camp.

‘Follow me, Belush,’ she said softly.

They found Father Briar after a long search and much to Freath’s growing anxiety precisely where he’d hoped he would not be.

‘Father Briar!’ he called, hoping his fear did not sound as alarming in his voice as it felt inside his mind.

The priest turned from where he was buckling down a cartload of goods beneath a canopy. Upon catching sight of Loethar Briar instantly looked terrified — downright guilty, in fact — as far as Freath was concerned. The priest must have a Vested hidden somewhere under the goods.

‘Emperor Loethar, this is Father Briar, no doubt about to take a load of no longer needed produce to the needy.’ Freath hoped his tone could urge Briar to agree, to do something other than look so very mortified, so hideously culpable.

‘Father Briar,’ Loethar said, nodding politely. ‘You’re a difficult man to pin down.’

Briar’s glance flicked conspiratorially to Freath before settling back on the emperor’s calm gaze. His chins began to wobble and Freath, against his own inclinations, closed his eyes with silent despair.

When Briar remained silent, Freath pulled himself together. ‘Forgive him, sire. I think Father Briar is disarmed by your arrival,’ he tried, begging Briar with his eyes to answer for himself.

‘Surely Father Briar has a tongue in his head and can speak for himself, Freath?’ Loethar admonished.

Once again the priest hesitated, once again glancing Freath’s way.

‘Are you scared of me, Father Briar?’

The man nodded.

‘Hmmm,’ Loethar murmured. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.’ He looked over at the cart, moved closer to it. ‘What have you got under here, Father?’

Freath held his breath.

‘It’s stale food mainly, my lord,’ the priest stammered.

‘Stale, eh?’

Briar mercifully found his voice. He nodded. ‘Mainly bread, though also some greens, fruit, old cheeses, that sort of thing. People are starving, my lord. I am trying to offer families some respite now that the fighting is done. There are children who need feeding.’ He glanced over to where the young Valisar, on his leash, skipped toward them. ‘Not all are as fortunate as Piven,’ he added.

‘What does that mean?’ Loethar said, absently lifting the corner of the canopy.

Freath felt fear race up his spine. He deliberately tripped Piven, who fell down loudly, his wail strange and mournful. ‘I’m so sorry for the noise, my lord,’ he said, reaching down to lift the youngster back to his feet.

Loethar frowned. ‘That’s the first sound I’ve heard him make. I forget how silent he truly is.’

‘Nevertheless he is blessed by your favour,’ Briar said.

‘That was not my intention, Father Briar.’

‘If you mean that it humiliates our people to see the Valisar child as nothing more than a pet dog, you are right, highness.’ He hesitated, then, much to Freath’s astonishment, continued. ‘But don’t ignore the effect that not killing him may have, er… highness.’

Loethar looked at Freath, equally bemused. At least the cart was forgotten for the time being, Freath thought. But what was in Briar’s head to goad the barbarian king like this?

Briar seemed to have found his voice fully. ‘And although you didn’t mean for this effect, my lord, it cannot be a bad thing. The realms are in turmoil. The emotional state of the people is at the lowest ebb. Perhaps this small mercy of yours will give them hope. Perhaps this food should go out to the needy under your name?’ Freath couldn’t believe it when Father Briar actually shrugged nonchalantly. ‘We have no royalty to challenge you, sire. Your rule has to start somewhere and it doesn’t necessarily have to continue with bloodshed. It could start with mercy.’ He looked up, finally raising his eyes to Loethar’s.

Freath couldn’t breathe.

‘It could,’ Loethar replied softly and Freath sensed the barbarian had not entirely rejected the priest’s counsel. ‘But first we need to impress upon these same people my terms.’

‘Which are?’

‘No Valisars.’

‘But Piven —’

‘Piven is not Valisar by blood, Father Briar,’ Freath censured. ‘He could not wear the crown even if he were of sound mind.’ His stern look warned the priest to rein in his personal thoughts.

‘Who are Piven’s parents, do we know?’ Loethar suddenly asked.

‘They were not even from Penraven, as I understand it, my lord. Isn’t that right, Master Freath?’

‘Indeed. They lived in Barronel.’

‘And how did this adoption come about?’ Loethar gestured for Father Briar to hook up the mule to the cart. ‘Carry on.’

Freath let out a silent breath of relief. ‘The queen was passing through Barronel on a goodwill visit to the royals of that realm. She was grieving over the loss of yet another baby — a son, this time dying at the moment of birth — and obviously every child she saw tugged at her heartstrings. But Piven won her attention because she learned his parents had drowned in an accident during a flash flood. He had no other living relatives, and was barely a day or so old. She offered to take him from the woman who was caring for him alongside eight other children.’

‘I didn’t think any royal cared that much. There is plenty of suffering around them. To single out one peasant child seems rather extraordinary.’

‘I agree. I think it was hypocritical,’ Freath said, suddenly realising he must have sounded too admiring. ‘And selfish too. Iselda was thinking purely of her own hurt when she offered Piven a home.’

‘If she was as uncaring as you make out, Freath, I would have thought she’d have adopted a healthy child, not this strange creature.’

Freath shrugged. ‘Iselda was conniving. She cared very much about presenting the right image even if she didn’t live up to that image in real life.’ He glanced over at Briar, who nodded to say he was ready. ‘You see, my lord, in the same way that you hope to mock the Valisars using Piven, I think they mocked their people through him. He was a symbol of their caring and yet people like me were made to suffer right under their noses.’ He spat, refused to even meet Father Briar’s gaze. ‘Piven made them look every inch the generous royals. He was a showpiece of their magnanimity.’