The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) (15 page)

After the unsuccessful attempt with Rheanna, they tried a younger, less powerful woman called Margot. She was not quite a commoner, but she was a minor clerk in one of the trade companies. James definitely felt more at ease talking to her, even though he knew her pristine composure was fake. Despite his best efforts, he warmed up to her. She was warm nourishment to the coldness of his soul. If anything, she reminded him how lonely he really was. He desperately needed someone to talk to, even if she were a manipulator used to control him.

But they dashed his hopes soon enough. Otis came and informed him that an emperor, a man of his status, should not spend that much time with people like Margot. He should instead enjoy the company of more stately ladies. And then James was confused. He started to doubt his own judgment. Perhaps Margot had not been a ruse, just an innocent woman. But there were no innocent people at the estate. And maybe they wanted him to think she was harmless enough so that he might lower his guard around her. Or maybe not.

James was almost convinced this was the case, because he did see Margot a few more times. Sometimes, it was a casual encounter. Sometimes he sought her out, ignoring Otis, because she was fun to talk to. But then, she was gone forever, spirited away. She might have been just a simple girl, but she also might have been a part of a greater plan to control him. He never learned the truth.

Soon enough, he was totally out of his depth. He could not really be sure anything happening around him was real. He missed his former simple life. He missed Celeste.

Rheanna returned to stalk him, slowly, gently, persistently. She was present at the meetings, and she watched him spar. She sat at the table during the long, protracted evening meals, never more than three chairs away, sometimes only one seat separating them, usually opposite him so he could stare at her and talk to her.

She seemed to have realized he did not like her sweet perfume and switched to a lighter, fruit-like fragrance. As days wound on, she would increase the amount of physical contact she had with him. At first, those were light, innocent touches, a brush of her fingertips against his shoulder, a breath of air too close. They grew in number and intensity. James did not know how to defend himself. But she did drive him crazy. Her touch was like fire. Sometimes, he would sit through the dinner fully erect, in an uncomfortable position that did not reveal the bulge in his pants. He felt ashamed. Worst of all, he did not quite know what to do.

Within a month and a half, he was drowning in his new life. He just hoped he would remain true to his belief when the time came to prove it.

CHAPTER 10

A
malia was nervous. She just hoped no one noticed it. Sharing her private office were Theodore, Gerald, Roalas’s mayor, Lord Benedict, Commander Nicholas of the Fourth Legion, and Luke, the Head of the Secret Guard. The empress-mother had been invited, too, but she had politely declined. Whether she felt she would be imposing her will or feared others would think her daughter incapable of ruling on her own, Amalia could not say.

“This is bad news, Amalia,” Theodore droned in his impassive voice.

The news were dire, indeed. Someone had declared himself the true emperor of Athesia, some man named James who claimed Adam was his father. He had sent a letter that explained it all, including his firm yet polite demand that she step down, along with a magical proof of blood that justified his birthright. Amalia called her would-be half brother James the Impostor.

But that had just been the start. With one false emperor born, new ones swarmed across Caytor like locusts. There were four other claimants, one man a sad, lunatic joke, another a pathetic farce, two others serious, powerful, ambitious men with large private armies and lots of capital to influence the mood in the realm. One of those, named Vere, resided in the capital and was hoarding attention and gold to his side. The other one was lurking in the coastal city of Shurbalen.

It was madness.

Worst of all, if the blood proof was genuine, she suddenly had a brother. A half brother. But, her father had never mentioned him or his mother.

Amalia felt this situation was her fault. She had created a political vacuum that wanted to fill itself, and filled it had. She had left the hostage situation frozen for too long. Her edge had been blunted, the advantage of surprise and cunning eroded. Instead of placating her, the Eracians and Caytoreans had stalled. There was still no official response from the High Council of Trade to Stephan’s letter, but the councillors seemed divided on the subject. It was all a matter of gain. And now, the pretenders to the throne were offering even more generous deals than Stephan.

Most likely, it was all a trick. The Caytoreans seemed to have called her bluff, suspecting she would not willingly start a war. After all, the long, snaking convoys of trade flowing between the two realms were proof enough Amalia was only ruffling her feathers. But they could not let her insult go unanswered. In return, they had invented this impostor. It was their counterattack to her not-so-political initiative.

“You let our men go, and we might bury this man James,”
they hinted.
“You can offer so much more than he can. You are the empress. He’s only an ambitious upstart.”

Well, they were facing serious competition on that subject, with councillors taking sides supporting their favorite pretenders. She hoped their plans would backfire. But it still left her with the matter of how she should respond to their disdain.

There was only one way she could handle this. She could not be soft. She could not relent. She had to show the world she was Adam’s daughter. They had to respect her. If she backed down, there would be no end to threats, no end to blackmail.

Theodore gestured, a sweeping motion of his arm. “You can still amend the situation, Amalia. Make your own concession. You will yank the mat from under their feet. If you offer a generous long-term trade agreement favoring Caytor, you will have dealt a serious blow to any opposition against you. Not through a proxy like Councillor Stephan. Send a trusted envoy of your own. Otherwise, they see you as a dangerous, unstable ruler who wishes to undo the achievements of the last eighteen years of peace. However, if you prove them wrong, they will find it much harder to stir the flames of rebellion. No one wants a war. But you may force their hand. And if you win the Caytoreans over, the Eracians will follow suit. They will not want to be left out.”

Amalia huffed angrily. “They will perceive this as a surrender. Anyone with a desire to change reality will merely produce some long-lost heir, and I will have to negotiate favorable deals. Eracia may suddenly decide they want special treatment, too. What happens when they close the border or stage some incident?”

Theodore scratched his balding head. What did she think? That having abducted half the world’s hobnobbers would have made Eracians and Caytoreans shit their pants? But this girl was Adam’s child, so he had to tread carefully.

“Amalia, dear, it’s not so simple. You should forget the past insults and jibes, even the murder attempts. They are irrelevant now. Your reign has just begun. You have proven your point. It’s time to move on to the next step.”

Forget?
she thought sourly. She would never forget. Amalia clearly remembered the summer, not three years ago. Testing her father’s resolve, the mostly Eracian population had staged a small revolt in the rural areas of Pain Mave in the north, with peasants rising in rebellion against the emperor, demanding food and justice and no taxes. The winter had been harsh, the crop meager, a perfect opportunity for trouble. They called it the Ha’ Potato Revolt.

When the Seventh Legion had ridden into the region, the prospect of a violent uprising against her father had withered and died quickly. Any lesser man would have rounded the gang leaders and had them hanged in village squares as a warning, maybe even torched a place for good measure. But not her dad.

He had done just the opposite; he had invited the village elders and mayors to Roalas with a promise not to hurt them. And then, he held a long, tiring session in the capital, where he listened to their pleas and doubts and complaints. When they were done, he told them he would look into their problems, and if found them just and true, he would compensate them. But then, he also warned them that if they ever again rose against him, he would massacre their entire villages, to the last soul.

Amalia had stood by her father as he dealt justice. He had not singled out the Eracians. But he made sure that trade agreements and road taxes were adjusted when needed. Fair, stern, and always one step ahead of his foes.

She had no next step. She had to think.

The Caytoreans were playing a tricky game. She was not really sure what they wanted. They were trying to save face. They were trying to make her soften her demands, negotiate more favorable deals. The impostors were probably a bargaining chip against her abductions. But she could not yield. She would be dictating the rules of the game, not they.

Amalia looked at the bloodstaff when Theo interrupted her line of thought. “You’re not making any friends, Amalia,” the old man chided, unafraid. “You can still release the hostages. It’s not too late.”

She could still undo some of the damage…But Amalia ignored the old man. The Eracians had not responded to threats well, either. The monarch was furious. He felt personally insulted. His mistrust over the funeral ceremony seemed to have been justified. Amalia had never quite thought how things would have played out if Leopold had come. Then again, if he had, his symbolic gesture would have been a formal recognition of her birthright, and they could have negotiated a future peace, and then, she would not have taken any hostages in the first place.

There were rumors of Eracians mobilizing for war. Even though their army was weak, their pride was strong. It did not bode well for the future of their two realms. Birds flew, riders came with news and gossip, and bards sangs of Leopold’s wrath in Somar.

Amalia stared at her advisers. What did they think of her? How did they perceive her actions? Did they think she was a fool, an irrational child? She wondered what her father would have done. He had always seemed so wise and calm. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if her decision may not have been rash. After all, for almost twenty years, her father had done nothing to change the reality of the realms. And it seemed to have worked. Perhaps that was the key to the success of his reign.

Captain Gerald was looking at her intently. When she met his eyes, he averted them quickly.

Theodore persisted, like an aching tooth. “You should heed Councillor Stephan and turn his generous offer in your favor. The High Council of Trade may have countered with that pretender, but you still have the strategic advantage. Both our realms will profit. It does not matter that the Caytoreans get a fat slice if we can assure their support for your reign. Your father has forged Athesia in blood. You need not do that again.”

“I know what my father did,” she snapped.

“Then do the wise thing. Mend the wounds with Caytor. It’s the simplest thing. With Caytor at your side, Eracia will follow suit. Caytor has both a much stronger army and more powerful trade.”

Amalia did not answer. She turned toward Commander Nicholas, abruptly changing the subject. “Commander, are your forces ready?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” An entire legion had been detached from the city defenses and marched under the veil of night toward the Caytorean border. If negotiations crumbled and the Caytoreans persisted in their power games, she was going to invade. Her force was going to drive deep into enemy territory and hunt down the impostors. The Fourth was one of the more experienced units in the Athesian force, with almost a quarter of its men veterans from old times. They knew about bloodshed and wartime tactics better than any other regiment in Athesia. Commander Nicholas would ride out tomorrow and join them.

On his side of the small office, Gerald was listening and thinking, trying to come to terms with the young lady whom he had sworn to protect to his grave. In the past few days, he had been privy to numerous private meetings where matters of war, trade, and pride were discussed. As the man in charge of Roalas’s well-being, Amalia felt it necessary that he knew about every little detail. The long hours of arguing had given him a good opportunity to assess the situation.