Chapter 21

Valemonde, Lynese Isolde Montborne walked into her father’s office, her head held high despite the tension she could feel from the guards outside the lavishly carved doors, who were always a good barometer of how her father was feeling at that moment.

As was often the case when she was called before him, her father sat behind his ornate desk, his rotund frame sinking into the plush velvet of his chair. He was angry at her. She could plainly see that from the way his eyes followed her as she made her way across the wide expanse of floor to stop in front of him, his near-permanent scowl somehow etched even deeper than normal.

“You summoned me, Father?” Isolde asked, keeping her voice steady and clear, to make sure he knew she wasn’t afraid of him.

She took it a step further, clasping her hands before her, the picture of composed elegance in her flowing gown of emerald silk.

“I certainly did,” her father said, fixing her with a piercing stare.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Warning the Sidorians about our plans. Do you have any idea the damage you could have caused? Do you deny your treachery?”

“I deny nothing. I know exactly what I did. I put a stop to your monstrous scheme.”

“Monstrous?” Baudric scoffed. “This is war, you idiot child. Infecting the enemy with the Elder Curse would have crippled their army, brought them to their knees. And you nearly ruined it all with your meddling.”

“It was an act of pure evil. Spreading a plague, using our own people as carriers? Have you no conscience? What if there was a true outbreak, here on our soil? How many thousands would you condemn to death?”

Baudric slammed his fist on the desk, causing Isolde to flinch despite herself.

“As many as I have to, damn you. I am trying to win a war! Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”

“The greater good? Tell that to the soldiers lying in the hospital, their bodies ravaged by the curse. Tell that to their families who have to watch them wither away.”

“Soldiers die in war, Isolde. It is an unfortunate reality. I would think you, of all people, would understand that, given your penchant for playing nursemaid in the infirmary.

“You insolent girl! I am the emperor and I will not be lectured by my own daughter. Especially one who commits treason by sending warnings to our enemy! People occupying our land!”

“It’s not treason to stop an atrocity. I did what I believed was right. What was necessary.”

“It’s treason to spy for Sidorian scum. To snoop around like the little mouse you are, looking for secrets you can reveal. How did you even learn what was happening?”

“I’m not spying for anyone. You yourself said I spend too much time in the hospitals, helping the Disciples administer to the sick. I learned about it from the victims themselves. From our own loyal soldiers. They told me how you had them take the infected; transport them all the way from Varencia, and leave them in one of our own villages, to spread the sickness to everyone there.”

“I should have you hanged for this.”

“Then do it, Father. Hang me for the crime of defending our people from your cruelty. See how well that plays out for you.”

“You dare threaten me?” Baudric growled, rising from his chair.

It’s not a threat, it’s a warning,” Isolde replied evenly. “The people are already tired of this endless war, the lives lost, the suffering inflicted. There has been talk of unrest in the countryside. If I’ve heard of it, so have you. How do you think they will react when they learn their beloved princess was executed for trying to protect them?”

“What?”

You underestimate my standing among the people, Father. They know me; they trust me. I’ve spent countless hours among them, caring for the sick, comforting the grieving, listening to their fears and hopes. All they know of you is that you send men to take their sons for the armies, sons who far too often never return home. If you were to execute me, your own daughter, for trying to protect our people, how would they react? Would they see a just king upholding the law, or a tyrant lashing out at those who dare to question him?”

“You delude yourself.”

“Do I? Send your thugs around; have them listen to what the people are really saying. I think they are tired, Father. Tired of war, of suffering, of loss. They are desperate for a leader who cares for their well-being, who values their lives over political gains. If you’re so certain that the people will back you, no matter what, then sacrifice me. See what happens to your empire then!”

Baudric jabbed a meaty finger at his daughter and said, “You forget yourself, Daughter. I am the Emperor of Lynese. My word is law. You dare threaten me?”

“I threaten you with nothing. I only tell you the truth, unlike the yes men you surround yourself with. Is the mighty emperor afraid to hear what his people really think of him?”

“Enough!” Baudric roared, slamming his hand on the desk again. “I will not stand here and be lectured by an insolent child. I have tolerated your defiance thus far because you are my daughter, but even my patience has limits.”

“Then do what you must, Father,” she said, glaring back at him with equal intensity.

“Get out,” Baudric seethed, his voice trembling with fury. “Get out of my sight before I do something we will both regret. Go back to your hospital and let this be the last time I hear your name from my ministers. If you interfere again, you will regret it.”

Isolde curtsied, giving him a small, defiant smile.

“As you wish, Your Majesty. But remember my words. The people are watching.”

With that, she turned and left the room, her head held high and her pace even. The guards stepped aside hastily as she passed, trying hard not to look at her or her father.

As the doors closed behind her, Isolde let out a shaky breath, her legs going suddenly wobbly as the adrenaline from the confrontation wore off. She knew she had just crossed a dangerous line. Her father’s temper was legendary, and she had openly defied him, threatened him even.

But she could not bring herself to regret what she did. The lives of her people were at stake. She could not stand by and watch as they were sacrificed for her father’s ambition.

Starhaven, Sidor King Serwyn glared at Edmund from behind his massive carved desk, his pale blue eyes blazing with anger. The young king’s jaw clenched as he slammed his fist on the polished surface.

“You told me the rebels had been nearly decimated! That they were pushed back to the Shatterstone Mountains!” Serwyn shouted. “And now I hear reports of a whole series of new attacks in the heart of your duchy!”

Edmund stood rigidly before his nephew, his face an impassive mask hiding his frustration. He had worked tirelessly these past weeks to repair their relationship and regain his influence over the boy. The idea that all his careful maneuvering could be undone by a handful of rebels killing a few bailiffs, which wasn’t exactly what he’d call a ‘series of attacks,’ was galling.

“Your Majesty, I assure you I had reliable information that--” Edmund began, but Serwyn cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Reliable? Ha! Your ‘reliable’ information has proven to be nothing but horse shit! I have lords and ladies demanding protection at court. Demanding justice. What am I to tell them? That my own uncle, the mighty Duke of Kingsheart, had ‘reliable reports’?”

“No, you tell them that the kingdom won’t stand for rebellion and is taking the matter seriously. That’s what we face here, Serwyn. Rebellion. Not upheaval or unrest. That is what we should be concerned about ... not the fears of a few court nobles. These rebels were nothing more than a ragtag band of peasants a few months ago. Poorly armed, poorly trained, and with no real leadership to speak of. Suddenly, they have recovered the losses they suffered in Lindenwood and rearmed themselves. Someone is supporting them, someone with resources and a vested interest in seeing your rule challenged. This is what concerns me. Not the rebels, but the people who must be behind them.”

“And who exactly do you suspect, Uncle? Surely not the Lynese; they have their hands full with our armies at their doorstep.”

“No, not the Lynese,” Edmund agreed. “I believe we must look closer to home. To the very lords and ladies now crying out for protection and justice.”

“The barons? I thought that the goal of the edicts was to undermine their power, bleed them of gold and wealth, and sap their influence. I believe that is how you put it to me. Now you’re telling me that, somehow, instead of struggling with their angered subjects, they have the resources to fund a rebellion against the crown in secret?”

“My King, as I counseled you when we first discussed these measures, the process of consolidating power is not a simple or swift one. The barons have long enjoyed their privileges and influence. Did you truly believe they would surrender them without a fight?”

“Then perhaps it’s time we stopped playing games and simply arrested the lot of them. Or are you going to once again tell me ‘that’s not an option.’”

“If only politics were so simple, Your Majesty,” Edmund said, splaying his hands out in an apologetic gesture. “The barons are not a monolith. Some may indeed be working against you, but others remain loyal. To move against them all would be to risk alienating even those who support you.”

“Then what do you suggest, Uncle? That we do nothing while these rebels eat away at my kingdom, piece by piece?”