Crystal Crowned [ARC] (27 page)

“What are you two talking about?” Fritz reminded them both that he was still there.

Vhalla and Elecia shared an uncertain look. “Fritz—” they started at the same time.

“Fritz,” Vhalla took the lead. This was her responsibility now. She was the one who had dredged it up, she would be the one who would handle it. “Jax is owned by the crown as a punishment for a crime.”

Fritz didn’t seem shocked, but his expression told her clearly that this was the first time he was hearing it put so simply.

“But the crime, however heinous it seems on the surface, isn’t what it appears. He’s innocent.”

“Not quite,” Elecia interjected with a heavy sigh. “He did kill the lord—”

“But, given the circumstances—”

“I understand that.” Elecia held up a hand, indicating that she now had the floor, and Vhalla would wait to speak. “But that fact remains. And while that murder may have been in the defense of another, he killed the lord’s wife and other child in cold blood.”

Vhalla wouldn’t quite have described Jax’s blood as
cold
. “But only because they knew what was happening.”

“Even still,” Elecia shook her head. “It’s all a gray area mess. When his betrothed ran into the fire, his emotions were too far gone to stop the flames. He’s not as guilty as he makes himself sound, I’ll grant you that, but he’s not innocent either.”

“Did he—does he—feel sorry for it?” Fritz asked.

“Somewhat,” Elecia conceded.

“Why does he lie about it?” Vhalla quickly corrected herself, “Or tell half-truths.”

“To save her memory.” Elecia looked out the window, avoiding eye-contact for what may have been the first time in her life. The woman’s voice was soft, almost gentle, contemplative. “He loved her deeply, and he would rather endure people scorning him than try to clear his name at the cost of letting the world know how she had been violated. And the only one who knows the real truth of what happened that night is Jax; he’s the only one alive to tell the tale. The rest of us who know certainly won’t violate his trust by doing so.”

“Do you believe him?” Fritz stole the words out of Vhalla’s mouth.

“I do.” Elecia returned physically and mentally to the group. “When I first found out, I went to Aldrik, who pointed me to Erion. He told me how Jax had hand-picked through the char for her bones, carrying them in a box along with his confession, begging for a proper Rite of Sunset.”

“What would you do if you were me?” Vhalla outright asked Elecia. She didn’t bother explaining herself further because she knew she didn’t really need to; Elecia’s expression told her as much. The woman was smart; she knew full well the power and nobility that Vhalla was marrying into.

“I am not you, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia said after a long second of contemplation. “I have grown up in a world of rules and regulations. I have been taught what can and cannot be done from the moment I could speak my first word.

“You, you are not so chained. And so you see the world with eyes that I could never have. You have hopes that no one else would allow themselves to even dream of.” Elecia gave the tiniest of smirks. “Forgive me, but I wish not to sway your actions in this matter. I want to see what you will do. I want to know what kind of Empress you will be.”

I want to know what kind of Empress you will be.

The words repeated, again and again, in Vhalla’s mind the closer the wedding neared. She would be Empress. There was no more denying, dodging, or burying the fact under obligation. Her calendar soon became filled with as many wedding planning details as it was with audiences and war councils, and it drove her mad.

At least with the audiences, Vhalla could smile through the necessities knowing that she was working toward strengthening their army. When it came to picking one fabric or another for a dress, Vhalla couldn’t care less. She felt as though it did nothing but take her away from actually being useful.

It put Vhalla on edge, and her annoyed, frayed nerves didn’t do anyone any favors.

“What do you mean, we can’t do anything?” She couldn’t stop the words, just like she couldn’t keep herself from glaring at the map before her.

The continent was covered in multi-colored figures, each representing civilians, military, Victor’s forces, and just about every other factor that could be an influence in the happenings of the world. It reminded her of all the times she had mentally thought of nobility as a game. Well, now the pieces were spread out before her.

“It simply doesn’t make sense,” a lord answered. Vhalla had forgotten his name already, and she could imagine quite a few colorful titles to fill in the blank.

“We are to just ignore them? To forfeit? That is no small portion of the East. Victor’s hold will go from a quarter to nearly half.”

“But they are just farmers; they don’t offer anything with regards to military strength or stalling the false king’s army. They are already lost,” a different major remarked, almost casually. It wasn’t until her sharp inhale and cold stare that he realized where he had just placed his foot.

“Forgive me, major.” Vhalla tried to keep her voice even. She did not want to sound like a petulant child, but a noble lady. “They are certainly
not
just farmers.”

“Lady Yarl, I did not mean to offend you or any of your noble kin.” He gave a small bow of his head.

Vhalla wanted none of it. His fake sincerity was as valuable to her as coal in the face of diamonds.

“Very well. Lord Ophain,” Vhalla began boldly, pointing to the West’s border with the South. “If I understand your major’s logic correctly, then these towns should be considered lost.”

“M-my lady!” the major balked.

“They are just some mining towns, no?” Vhalla knew the West’s terrain by now like the back of her hand. She could possibly list more cities and towns than even some of the nobles in the room. So she continued, not letting her rhetorical question hang too long. “Do they offer anything to our military strength?” The twenty or so nobles around the table were silent. “Then let us pull back any defense that is currently there.”

“That is the West!” Another joined the conversation with his impassioned declaration. “The West protects its own. I will not stand for this.”

“And neither will I.” Vhalla silenced the murmurings of the table, her words quick as a whip. “It’s easier if it is not your own kin; I understand that truth.” Vhalla paused, staring at the map for a long hard moment. “But the real truth is this.”

She plucked a quill from an inkwell and began to cross out and scribble over the lines on the map between the East, West, South, and North. Vhalla triumphantly retuned the writing instrument to its place. She smiled briefly at the map that the majority of the room now considered ruined.

“These are your kin.” She motioned to the whole continent. Vhalla looked at the assembled lords and ladies, most of which were twice her age and possibly had three times her experience on the field. Almost all had olive-hued skin and darker Northern tones. She had to speak to her audience and make them understand. “Each of you are part of this Empire. I witnessed every person in this room kneel before our Emperor and swear your lives and your futures to his hand. He is not
your
Western King, but
our
Emperor. Your brothers and sisters are here in the West as much as they are in the South, East, and North. If you truly believe that the West looks after its own, then that should extend to all those under the light of Solaris.”

Vhalla glanced at Aldrik from the corners of her eyes. He’d let her lead through the majority of the exchange, as he had done when it came to anything involving the East. But his expression was difficult to read.

“I want to assure you that I understand the sacrifices war can, and will, demand of those engaged in the bloody business. I know that not everyone can be saved.” Vhalla tapped on the map. “But I will not stand by and allow lives to be written off carelessly—no matter where those lives are—because it is more convenient when it is not a place that you were born into.”

“Bleeding heart Easterner,” someone mumbled.

“Out,” Aldrik snapped suddenly. Given the fiery stare he was giving one particular major, Vhalla suspected he knew the source of the insult.

“My Emperor, I—”

“Out.” Aldrik’s voice took on a dangerous quiet that Vhalla knew well. “I will not have you speaking to my intended that way.”

“Aldrik,” Vhalla interjected. “It’s all right.”

“Vhalla, he should not be permitted to say such to you.” His eyes darted between her and the major.

“If he is to say such things, then let him say it where my ears can hear, rather than as a coward behind my back.” Vhalla spoke loudly enough for the table to hear, only pretending to be speaking to Aldrik. “But I want him to stay so that he knows I ask nothing of him that I am not prepared to give myself. I will protect the East, South, West, and North as though they are all my family. I only ask the same of those I fight with.”

Vhalla appreciated the few nods of approval she received. The man in question had the sense to look at least moderately ashamed by his outburst. Under the table, Vhalla felt long fingers curl around hers in support.

“Shall we continue?” she prompted the group.

“The question remains, how to manage our troops?” Another major pointed back to the map.

“We can send some additional aid to the East; granted, it will weaken our own borders.”

“If we spread these out here,” Aldrik moved some red soldiers along the West’s southern line, “it should give enough to spare.”

Vhalla stared at the black figures indicating Victor’s forces. They were fewer, but they were spread wide, and growing. Every time a soldier fell, Victor leveraged the corpse by turning it into a crystal-walking abomination. Vhalla tried to put herself in the mind of the madman:
what would he do next?

“If we move those troops, we can expect at least these two towns to fall.” Another set of hands moved the pieces.

“We could send some from Norin,” another suggested.

“No, he will likely make an attempt on the Imperial wedding.” The idea was shot down. “What’s the word on the North?”

“The North is just now marching. Princess Sehra has moved ahead to show her support for our union, but the main forces will not reach the Crossroads until just before we are set to arrive,” Aldrik answered.

“We’re keeping troops here for the wedding?” Vhalla thought aloud, her introspective considerations slowing her response.

“Certainly,” Aldrik responded. “It is a public affair. There should be little doubt that Victor knows of our pending nuptials, and he will use it as an opportunity to strike us down or remove all joy from the people’s symbol of the continuing Empire.”

You are a symbol
. Baldair’s words from long ago returned to her, and Vhalla loathed them. She was tired of being a symbol. Symbols were stagnant, frozen, representative, and spurring of action but never the action itself.

Vhalla looked at the map with new eyes. They were playing the part that was expected of them by nobility, and while they did, they were a predictable target for their enemy. The wedding kept troops from moving.

“This could be the chance for us to strike first,” she said suddenly.

“What?” Aldrik spoke the surprise of the table.

“Victor expects us to be rendered immobile for the ceremony. It makes more sense for him to use the wedding as an opportunity to pick off half our forces spread across the Empire than strike us directly.” Vhalla moved some of the dark wooden sculptures and tokens along the East and pushed them into the West.

“However, if we attack in force now, when he least expects it . . .” She quickly shifted their tokens of war, pushing them down through the Southern border and into the weak point of Victor’s army at the bottom of the West. “We can move before he has time to react. We can punch a hole straight for the capital.”

“We cannot change the date of the wedding now.” Aldrik turned to her. “There are still arrangements to finalize, lords and ladies who have yet to arrive.”

“We can do something small, say our vows and be done.” The war was more important than a grand ceremony. “Or, we could even keep up the wedding for appearances, making our attack even more of a surprise.”

“Vhalla, there are certain expectations,” he replied with a careful glance at those assembled. “The ceremony is not an option.”

“I am sorry, but I did not realize my wedding was dictated by the nobility of the realm,” Vhalla snapped. Aldrik’s eyes widened slightly, and her face instantly relaxed, apologetic. She hadn’t meant to be so sharp, not to him.

“My lords and ladies, please excuse us a moment.” Aldrik’s eyes didn’t leave hers as the entire room shuffled out, leaving the Emperor and Empress alone. “Vhalla, what are you doing?”

“Aldrik, it makes perfect sense.” She motioned to her play with the tokens on the map. “This is an advantage; it’s a chance at deception. If we wait, Victor will only become stronger, and we’ll be playing into his expectations.”

“In theory.” Aldrik spoke before she had finished exhaling the last word. “But I can tell you what is not theory—the fact that those lords and ladies, whom you seem so ready to insult, give us their gold and supplies to pay for our army’s needs. We cannot shun them.”

“They should look at what we are doing and understand that we are trying to put their gold and loyalty to good use, rather than losing what could be a key advantage to formality,” she countered.

“We have already announced one thing; nobility and people will lose faith in our word if we do anything different.” Aldrik frowned.

“Not if we win.” Vhalla shook her head. “All will be forgiven when Victor is dead.”

“So you hope.” Aldrik leaned on the table with a sigh. “Vhalla, you don’t understand. Noble families hold grudges like no other. Nothing, no slight, no matter how small, is ever forgotten.”

“If we go on as planned, we may not even have subjects to be angry at us.”

“You do not know war,” Aldrik muttered.

“I know war better than most, Aldrik Solaris.” She rounded in front of him. The insult had lit a tiny flame in her that Vhalla struggled to keep under control. “I have spent the past three years of my life at war. I have been utilized as a weapon and coveted as a tool. I have killed countless men and women. And while I may not have made as many hard choices as you for as many years,
do not tell me I do not know war
.”