Chapter 12

Kenna, River Mark, Sidor

Aldric fastened the final clasp on his travel bag, feeling as if he was forgetting something as he did every time he had to leave home.

He should have done this already. Things had been spiraling out of control for a month, ever since the stupid execution of Thurston. He’d tried to talk Garris down. He’d tried to talk Edmund down. Both were stubborn, refusing to lose face, of being seen to back down.

Garris was determined he’d only accept the abdication of Serwyn and a new ruler installed by the Council of Nobles. Something that Aldric didn’t like, and Edmund would rather see the kingdom burned to the ground rather than support it.

Edmund was determined that he’d only accept Garris’s attaining, and the attaining of all of the other barons who stood with him during his declaration and those that joined his revolution after that.

Revolution. Not much of a revolution. So far, nothing had happened. Just talk and declarations. A lot of chest-thumping.

He hoped they’d be able to keep it at that. But someone had to blink first, and Garris had taken a dangerous step. If Garris backed down before his brother, Edmund would march in and have him thrown in chains. Maybe have his head dropped next to Thurston’s.

Aldric had been trying to nudge Edmund to keep the peace in their correspondence, but his brother was refusing to budge, or even see reason.

“So it’s true,” Alyssa said from behind him, worry in her voice. “You’re planning to leave the city.”

“I have no choice. Things are getting out of hand. I need to do something before the entire kingdom dissolves into chaos.”

“Do you really think you can talk sense into Edmund?”

“I have to believe it’s not too late. I can get Garris to back down if the crown makes some concessions. If I can talk sense into my brother, make him see reason, I might be able to get both sides to step back from the brink.”

“Reason?” Alyssa interrupted. “You’re still holding onto the idea that Edmund can be reasoned with? He had to know it would come to this. He knew how Garris would respond, as did everyone with half a mind for politics, and yet he didn’t let it stop him from taking Thurston.”

“Maybe he did. Probably he did. But I have to try.”

“I know you feel like you do, but ... he has always hated you and with how quickly things are coming apart, I worry what he might do.”

“Hate is a strong word, Alyssa. We’ve had our differences, but...”

“But nothing. Aldric, you know what your brother is and that he’s always had issues with you. Don’t let your stubborn pride cause you to do something foolish,” she pleaded. “Think of some other way. I don’t care what, send someone in your stead, send a letter, arrange a meeting somewhere safer, but please, don’t go to Starhaven. If you do, I fear you will never come back.”

Aldric could see the fear in her eyes. Closer to terror. She believed this with every part of her being, that much was certain. And maybe she had a point.

This had been too bold of a move for Edmund. She’d said he must have seen it coming, but if he had, he would have found another way to deal with it. Edmund wasn’t one for open confrontation.

No, a better explanation was that his brother felt forced into doing it. He must be seeing threats everywhere for him to be pushed that far. Which would make him unpredictable, enough maybe to do something truly stupid.

No, maybe going to Starhaven wasn’t the best idea.

“Very well,” he said, having thought it through while looking into his wife’s face, remembering what he had to lose. “I won’t go to Starhaven.”

Relief washed over Alyssa’s face. “Do you know what you might do instead?”

“Yes. I’ll send Edmund a request for a peace summit, somewhere neutral, closer to our own lands where I’m not at a disadvantage. Where I’ll be safe. Will that satisfy you?”

Alyssa nodded, a small smile finally replacing the frown.

“Yes,” she said, embracing him tightly. “Thank you for listening to me.”

Aldric returned her embrace, kissing her gently.

Now, he had to hope that Edmund still retained enough sense to meet with him.

Valemonde, Lynese

Isolde had been waiting half the day, pacing in the courtyard just outside the hallway that led to her father’s audience chamber. She was nervous. She’d known she was treading the fine line of treason, and her father would almost certainly not approve, but she also knew that if they continued on as they had been, it would mean the end of her people.

Finally, the last audience of the day left, looking annoyed and frightened, which meant they had not gotten what they wanted. Probably more food. That’s all anyone was thinking about these days. Even here in the palace, they’d had to go on strict rations, although they were still much better than those given to the average man or woman in the capital.

Her father was still sitting on his throne at the end of the long audience chamber, looking tired and weak. As much as she hated her father sometimes, it still pained her to see him like this, slumped down in his chair, a sickly pallor replacing his once ruddy complexion on his now slightly loose hanging skin.

“What is it, Isolde?” he asked when he noticed her, not even bothering to keep the annoyance from his voice. “I tire of your constant prattling.”

She knew she irked him. It wasn’t intentional, but she always believed in speaking her mind, even when others found it uncomfortable.

“Father, I don’t mean to trouble you, but I’m deeply concerned for our people. I’ve taken a tour of the city and the people are starving.”

“Thank you for your keen insight into my empire. I promise you I have noticed.”

“I know. I wasn’t trying to say you hadn’t. I was just ... I have a plan that could end this siege. It’s not ideal, but it is better than dying, shriveled and starving.”

“And what could you possibly suggest that my advisors and generals haven’t already considered?”

“I’ve been in contact with the commander of the Sidorian army,” Isolde said, standing tall, keeping her back straight, prepared for the anger she knew was coming.

Her father didn’t disappoint, jumping to his feet, his torpor forgotten.

“You’ve done what?”

“I knew you would disapprove, but something must be done. Surely, even you can see that we’re losing this war. The Sidorians need only wait for starvation to claim us all. Then they’ll simply walk in and take the city from our corpses. You are too proud to negotiate a way out of this, so I did it myself.”

“Do you know why I haven’t negotiated? Because what’s the point? While I’m happy to see you’ve finally begun to pay attention to strategy enough to understand the Sidorian position, you seem to have missed the outcome of it. If all the Sidorians have to do is wait us out and if we don’t have the men gathered to break their siege, then what do we have to negotiate with short of giving them my kingdom to command and my head to put on the block?”

“But Father...” Isolde began.

“No! You’ve overstepped, Isolde, and accomplished nothing for your insolence.”

“I have not accomplished nothing, Father. The Sidorians offered terms that do not include handing over the empire or your head. I spent time with their commander while I was held prisoner. I found him to be an honorable man. He desires peace just as I do. All he wants to do is to return home. Which is why he has agreed to terms that would allow the Sidorians to end this war, while you remain on your throne.”

It was clear from Baudric’s expression that he had not expected that to be her answer.

He sat back down on his throne, but was more engaged now, staring at her hard as he said, “And what does this reasonable Sidorian want in return? I will not rule as their puppet, a vassal of the Sidorians.”

“They do not ask for you to be a vassal. The empire would remain free to determine its own future and rule as we always have. They ask only three things. First, that you agree to no longer meddle in their affairs within their sphere of influence, including inciting the Alchmara.”

Her father chuckled darkly and said, “As much as it pains me to limit myself, I think I can agree to that, if it means keeping my head.”

Isolde frowned. “You know I can hear your mockery.”

“What is this honorable commander’s next request?” Baudric asked, waving off her comment.

“The second request is a payment of reparations to cover the expenses incurred in the war.”

“How much?” he snapped, his laughter gone now that the demand covered something he actually cared about.

Money.

“I cannot say definitively yet,” Isolde admitted carefully, “but it will be worth paying if it means preserving your empire.”

“Not if it is enough to bring down my empire,” he muttered.

“Grumbling will get us nowhere, Father. I am confident that he will be reasonable.”

He said something else she could not make out, but he did not argue.

“And what is the third condition?”

Isolde hesitated for a moment before revealing the last term. “They want all of Rendalia Province.”

Baudric shot up from his seat again, the anger returning. “What?!”

“Father...” Isolde said.

“Do not try and tell me how I should react! That is absurd!”