Chapter 8

Starhaven, Sidor

Edmund stormed down the hall, nearly barreling over the few servants who were too slow to get out of his way in time. Furious didn’t even begin to describe his mood. The full shock of the wyvern message crumpled in his left hand hadn’t settled all the way yet.

It had been a physical blow to him, threatening to destroy so many of his carefully laid plans. He couldn’t fathom how this was even possible. He’d had all of the players watched; carefully tracking their movements to ensure that just this sort of thing didn’t happen.

And yet, here he was.

He only bothered to knock once on the king’s study door before letting himself in. The guards standing on either side made no move to stop him. They could see the look on his face and knew that today was not the day to stand on decorum.

“Have you heard the news?” Edmund demanded as soon as he crossed the threshold, slamming the heavy door behind himself.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Uncle,” Serwyn said, not bothering to look up from the tome lying open in front of him.

Edmund knew it wasn’t the reports on tax revenues he’d asked his nephew to look over and assumed it was some tale of a glorious duel or knightly tournament. Serwyn had been collecting those and had been talking about planning some kind of tournament for his birthday in a few months.

Which was precisely why Edmund had sent over this year’s tax revenues, so his nephew would know just how deeply in debt the kingdom was becoming, and how little it could afford a large tournament.

“The peasant who led the recent revolt was found dead. Murdered,” Edmund said, holding up the still-crumpled message.

This time Serwyn did look up, sliding the book away from him slightly. “Is that so? How ... unfortunate.”

Edmund’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his nephew. There was something in his expression, in his tone.

“This is serious, Serwyn. This man has become incredibly popular among the peasantry and even some of the less loyal barons. His death could become a rallying point for further unrest. If this man becomes a martyr, it could undo all the progress we’ve made in quelling the rebellious attitudes that have not gone away just because the actual fighting has ended. The compromise we reached...”

“You worry too much, Uncle,” Serwyn interrupted, a smile spreading across his face.

“What have you done?”

Serwyn leaned back in his chair, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. “I took care of a problem we should have dealt with long ago, before the peasants managed to force this ridiculous compromise upon us.”

“How? How did you manage to orchestrate this?”

“I didn’t ‘orchestrate’ anything. I am the king. I gave an order to one of my loyal knights who understood the importance of doing his duty and carried out my instructions. Simple as that.”

In an instant, Edmund could see what had happened. Colm had informed him that he had pressing business out of the city and told Edmund that he would be gone for some weeks. At the time, Edmund had been distracted by other things and hadn’t needed the cutthroat for anything, so he had dismissed him with leave.

He would have to have a talk with the man about loyalty and leaving out key details in conversations the next time he saw him.

“Colm,” Edmund said, putting the pieces together. “Why didn’t you inform me of your plans?”

Serwyn’s amusement vanished in a heartbeat, his chair skittering back and almost toppling over as he stood abruptly.

“You forget yourself, Uncle. I am king. You are not. I don’t need your permission to act.”

Edmund took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm.

“I apologize. I just need you to see that this could be an error. You’ve given new life to those still dissatisfied with the outcome of the rebellion. They now have a powerful symbol to rally around. It won’t take long for people to deduce who was behind this. They will blame the crown, knowing it was done on your orders – or mine. We were making progress. People were beginning to forget their grievances. All that headway is now lost.”

Serwyn waved his hand dismissively. “You underestimate me, Uncle. I’ve taken care of it.”

Edmund paused, a sense of dread settling in his stomach. “What do you mean, ‘taken care of it’?”

“In the message you are holding, does it mention finding a letter on his body?”

“It ... does,” Edmund said cautiously. “Although the details are sparse. Only that a letter was found that was highly incriminating and a messenger is bringing it here. Why? What was in it?”

“I believe the people who found the body of this traitor found a letter on him from Baron Thurston. It seems the baron was not particularly pleased with his lackey for not completing the task he was paid for. He might have even accused him of breaking his word when he promised the baron that I would be dead by the end of the year. Although I’m sure it will have to be examined thoroughly, as it will appear to be the middle of an ongoing conversation between the two. I believe this might not be the first letter these two have exchanged.”

“I find it surprising that Baron Thurston put something so incriminating in writing, let alone sent it to a peasant. That seems rather uncharacteristic of him,” Edmund said, and then paused, another thought hitting him. “How do you know about it already? I didn’t think Colm had returned to the capital yet.”

“I know because I wrote the letter, Uncle,” Serwyn said with a wolfish smile. “Wrote it and made sure it would be found on his body.”

Serwyn wasn’t half as clever as he thought he was. It did not take much of a leap to figure out why Serwyn would do such a thing.

“This is a dangerous game you are playing, Serwyn. The peasants may be fooled, but the barons? They’ll see through this charade, or at least enough of them will.”

“Let them,” Serwyn scoffed. “I will no longer allow the barons to dictate the path of our kingdom. This letter gives us the pretext we need to start dealing with the traitors once and for all.”

Serwyn thought he was very clever. It was written all over his face, a proud child looking to an elder for validation for what he had done.

“The last time the peasants revolted, the barons remained neutral. But this? This could push them into open rebellion.”

“Let them. If it brings all of the rats into the open, then it will have accomplished all that I wanted and more.”

Edmund just stared at his nephew, mouth agape. He had bitten off more than he could chew, that was certain. Edmund could see there was no talking to him about this. He had been waiting patiently to show Edmund how smart he was and now that his plot was laid bare; he would dig his heels in.

This was going to destroy everything Edmund had worked toward. That much was certain.

Soriveau, Lynese

William stood by the wide window of the keep’s main study, staring down at the tidy streets of Soriveau below. The village’s ostentatious display of wealth seemed almost obscene compared to much of the rest of the country he’d seen. Even the ports of Talabot and Cestralion were more business than beauty.

This keep was a good example, with its large windows and finery; it was more a palace than a defensive structure, which is probably why it fell so easily.

Starhaven’s palace was fine, to be sure, but it was also practical. Both a defensive structure at the heart of the city, a last stronghold for the kingdom, and a practical one, dedicated to the running of a continent. Most days, it was filled with petitioners from the city, both the highborns from the upper rings and the poor from the peasants’ quarter at the bottom. William had been raised as a noble, but he hadn’t been shielded from the existence of commoners. The people who lived here were insulated from the lowborn and probably had no knowledge that the poor who grew their crops and fought their wars even existed.

It made him hate the Lynesians all the more. Their viceroys and nobles, at least the ones he’d met and cowed, had been soft men. Men more focused on their own comforts and needs than the needs of their people.

That actually wasn’t completely fair, William thought. Not all the nobles had been so disconnected. He’d had several more conversations with the Princess Isolde and while they had all been contentious, given her need to turn every conversation into a battle of wills, they had also been enlightening. She cared for her people and listened to them. It set her apart from the other nobles in this ancient-forsaken country.

William was considering if he should go to see her again when the door opened behind him. He had guards on his door and assumed it was one of his aides, who he was expecting with updates from the previous night’s patrols.

“Your Highness,” the person said.

“Baron Pembroke!” William exclaimed, turning around, surprised to see the older man. “What are you doing here? I thought your men were still on the western plains clearing out those last few settlements along the line.”

“Guards, leave us,” Pembroke ordered the two guards who’d come in with him.

Pembroke was one of the highest barons in the land and second only to William in command of the armies in Lynese. They didn’t have to be told twice, shutting the door behind them.

“What’s happened?” William asked, concerned at the baron’s very serious tone.

“I received a wyvern from your uncle. One I felt needed to be delivered in person.”

William knew what that meant. Ever since the revelation that Aldric had supported and funded the peasants’ revolt, they hadn’t spoken about it much. Partly because Sidor was a long way away and William had enough to focus on here, in winning the war. But also because the topic felt dangerous. While his men were very supportive of him and his uncle, what Aldric had done was treason. Worse, it was treason against his own nephew.