The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) (47 page)

CHAPTER 29

J
ames felt his luck turn for the better. After months of wallowing in confusion and self-doubt, he was now riding the tide of change. His choices were difficult, bitter, sometimes almost unbearable, but he finally understood the grim responsibility that stood before him. He would become the Athesian emperor and deliver peace to the realms. It was a simplistic, almost laughingly naive goal, but there was no other way. How else could he bear what he had to do? He knew it, and it hurt.

Deeper inside still, beneath the thick, fat layers of budding duty and sharp morality, there was the pure, simple animal survival instinct beating raw and bloody, untamed, wild, pulsating with unbridled rage and frustration. Until only a few days ago, he’d had no one to trust, no one to confide in, no one he could really call a friend. And still he didn’t.

But he would change that.

He could not let Otis and Melville shape his destiny. He could not let thousands of other plotters, conspirators, glory grabbers, and sycophants decide his life. He may be a tool in their hands, he may be a stupid Eracian kid with lofty ideals, but he would not go down without a fight. Since that one meeting with Nigella, something new and strange and dark had been growing inside him. And then, when they had tried to coerce him into killing Sebastian, it had snapped.

There was no place for a small-town deputy bailiff in Pain Daye. He would have to become one of them. But it did not mean losing his beliefs. It did not mean abandoning his identity. He would play their dirty games, but he would never forget what he stood for. He didn’t want the power. He just wanted to make sure the wrong people didn’t get it.

And if that meant making some hard choices, so be it.

That was the price of responsibility. This cruel truth made him feel better. It made his decisions easier to bear, if not easier to take.

The morning after botching the staged execution, he had launched his counterattack. He started by bribing his guards, the silent wall of armed men who followed him everywhere. One gold coin for any piece of information they had, two for not reporting back on what he was doing, three for reporting a lie. When a pregnant house servant walking past him stumbled, her cramps getting the better of her, he helped her collect the filthy clothes she had dropped. She was confused, but her big eyes registered the noble man who would stoop to help a common woman.

Young Timothy was a tricky one. He was part servant, part squire, and he really wasn’t good at being either. His notion of escort duty came from books and hasty lessons by Melville, and the boy struggled to align those ideals with James’s simple, straightforward manner. He was slowly getting used to his erratic lord’s erratic wishes, and he was no longer appalled when James broke social barriers and let him partake in noble matters.

Timothy was as unlikely a spy as there had ever been. So he tried to make the lad his confidant, make him a part of his grand scheme. If he were to trust his squire with his life, he’d have to earn his loyalty. And there was no easy way of trusting someone in matters of death. Still, that did not mean James could completely let his guard down. Not yet.

Warming up to the soldiers was the easiest thing of all. It almost came naturally to him. When James asked Master Hector to let him teach his men about forest tracking and animal trails and hunting, the old man had agreed gruffly. First, James would lead low-ranking men on short excursions into the nearby woods, where they would follow foxes to their holes, flush badgers from their sets, and shoot rabbits with bow and arrow. They would come back smeared in blood and mud and laughing, slinging game on cottonwood branches and with skinned pelts hanging wet from their belts. Otis and Melville disapproved of this self-inflicted debasement. He didn’t care.

Soon, his retinue grew. Curious young lordlings, minor nobles, even officers became interested in the Athesian emperor, charmed by his unusual hobby and his desire to freely share his passion with others. They would go hunting in large groups, horns blaring, hounds baying, drinks flowing freely. They even started forming units; Rabbits, Snakes, Wolves, Jacks, they called themselves. Silly names, but James understood the importance of symbolism and unity among armed men.

Sometimes, James would almost forget what he was doing in Caytor. But every day he earned more smiles, more callused handshakes, and words and truths and secrets flowed his way. Sometimes, he would remember teaching Celeste about mushrooms and animal tracks, and he would turn sad. With every day, the emotion was that much weaker, that much paler.

During the day, he studied hard, learned about silver spoons and forks, and read ancient history. For some unclear reason, he clearly remembered the passage on some King Rudolf, who had shaved his wife’s head because she had written bad poetry. He learned all about metals and ropes and wood tensions, and alchemy was no longer such a dreadful, boring burden. He vowed to have a catapult built from what Master Alfred had taught him.

In the evening, he entertained the entire mansion, lavish and polite and generous. His patrons were there, too, eying each other nervously as their precarious protégé took liberties with their finances. James was never shy with the coin; after all, it was not his money.

Very soon, he had a thick and eager following of young nobles and aspiring businessmen who just loved his easygoing manner and carefree spending. He paid attention to their desires and fetishes, let them go unnoticed for a few days, and then surprised them with lavish, yet discreet gifts. They all felt special.

He decreed any soldier could have a new armor plate on his name day. He let servants have a day off on theirs. Ladies got expensive gifts, scented wines, jewelry, and silk. He smiled and laughed with them and shared little lies. With every passing night, it became easier.

His achievements piled up like autumn leaves. One of the officers liked red-haired girls. So when he hired not one, but two red-haired whores for the man, as compliments for his loyal, professional service, the gesture did not go unappreciated.

A servant lad needed help getting away from an angry father after knocking up the man’s daughter. James sent his private guards with a handsome dowry to settle the matter. Another time, almost without hesitation, he had hired a child for one of the wool merchants. The man had died later that week while on the road, ambushed and killed by an arrow, but not before signing over a handsome portion of his trade to the future emperor.

Otis was angry, even more so when James behaved extra nice with him, always smiling, patient, indulging. Melville was confused, but he, too, got pampered. James facilitated their business deals, made sure they got an extra cut. Despite their suspicions, their greed got the best of them. It sparked a new hope. Perhaps this puppet could be swayed; perhaps he could be controlled. Perhaps, James might eventually come to his senses. They were wary, but he was as sweet as a lamb.

Whenever he lacked diplomatic leverage, he would bring in Sebastian. The man’s charm worked like a crossbow bolt through cloth. It was obvious there was deep distaste between James’s benefactors and the Eybalen guild master. But while Sebastian had fully embraced James as his savior and partner, he kept aloof and icily angry around the councillors. James still mulled how to make the best out of this situation. For now, he used Sebastian as a counterweight to whatever trap Otis and Melville were springing for him.

The man was true to his word. Soon after the revoking of his death sentence, Sebastian made sure the Eybalen impostor called Vere was gone. He vanished just as quickly as he’d appeared, dead, imprisoned, banished, or simply removed from the political scene. Soon thereafter, another contender withdrew his claim. The bloodless resolution suited James well. He had two enemies fewer to fight now.

But his real breakthrough came when he made Otis’s captain of the army his captain of the army.

It had been a stroke of brilliance.

Captain Xavier was a pure by-the-book bastard. He was a drunkard, and he beat women. He used live animals for archery practice and gambled with money stolen from servants. He ran his own private racketeering business, waylaying travelers and robbing them. James hated the man, hated his disdain for people’s property and freedom. But he admired his combat skills and the air of charisma that drew soldiers to his side. Destroying Xavier would be a pleasure, but first he needed him on his side. A butcher, Nigella had said.

James had spent almost two weeks tailing the man, studying his habits. Finding the servants who would report on this bastard had not been easy, but people found hidden reserves of courage in return for its weight in gold.

For all his violent, savage nature, Xavier was a careful and intelligent man. He never let his temper go wild with his superiors around. He was punctual despite his extracurricular activities. Well, he had risen through the ranks of the highly competitive, merciless private army business, becoming Otis’s favorite and leading the man’s army for nine years. James almost lost hope. But then one night, Xavier slipped.

Getting him extra drunk had not been difficult. Finding the women had been easy, making sure Xavier did not scar them for life more challenging, but it had worked. Then, the next morning, the captain of the army had woken in a bed soaked with congealed blood, sprawled near the beaten corpse of Councillor Lilian.

With a heavy heart, James had commissioned her death. She had been one of his secret opponents, all smiles and waves while she plotted his demise. Her attempt to poison his food had not worked. His attempt had. Then, it had been a simple matter of hauling the unconscious Xavier into her chambers and lavishly spilling a bucket of sheep’s blood all over the place.

Being a boisterous, abusing coward, Xavier had borne the sight of his supposed murder rather well. He had not panicked. But he did know that he would not be able to hide this one, especially not after having no recollection of what he’d done or where he’d been. It was pure luck and coincidence that James happened to meet him in the canteen.

The man had been drinking coffee, trying to sober up. There was a speck of crusted blood on his chin, unnoticed. He was sitting with one of his lackeys, trying to figure out what to do. His soldiers were guarding the chamber and holding two of Lady Lilian’s maidservants hostage.

“I know you have a problem, and I can make it go away,” James said.

Xavier was silent for a while. “I’m listening,” he ceded finally.

It was a deal no man could have refused. Even if Xavier might have suspected James had framed him, the lucrative proposal more than offset his feeling of being fooled. Xavier was a professional man, an animal, a survivor. He was pragmatic. Becoming James’s captain of the army was a serious promotion—extra money, even more men to command, the prospect of becoming a general of all the legions in Athesia one day.

And so it had happened.

When Otis had finally learned the truth, he turned livid, cursing and fuming and breaking things, but there was nothing he could do. For a stone-faced merchant, that was quite an outburst, but James was pleased.

Whenever James and Xavier met, James regarded the man with respect and listened carefully to his advice. He felt his stomach tighten with disgust every time he did, but he never let his emotions bubble up to the surface. One day, Xavier would die. Till then, he needed the bastard on his side.

Xavier was no fool, either. But there was nothing he could do to sway James. With a dozen witnesses to Lady Lilian’s untimely demise, including some of the more prominent businessmen, James held his life in his palm, fluttering like a newly hatched chicklet, all slimy and furry and so easily crushable.

The councillors still commanded most of the armed forces, but James’s horde was growing bigger. Sebastian had transferred the control of all of his troops to James. Mercenaries and freelancers came by the manor house in Pain Daye, inquiring about the charming Athesian king in exile, trying to join his service. After all, he paid better than any of the rivals.

Xavier made subtle yet significant changes in the chain of command, moving units around, giving James more and more power. There was an unofficial defection from the private armies as soldiers flocked to his side. They did not quite leave their jobs; they just worked for James overtime. Within days, James had almost five hundred armed men at his disposal, a mismatch of fickle allegiances, all bound by one common goal—greed. James made sure to offer as much of it as possible. In time, he might even command their respect and loyalty.

He pacified the angry nobles and businessmen against the silent rebellion with gold. Most of them cooperated, even some of his staunch opponents. James had no doubts they plotted against him, probing for weaknesses, trying to bring him down. Not so much to topple him, more like make him their forever-indebted bitch. He just made sure he was one step ahead. Being the self-proclaimed emperor of a nearby realm helped. It sounded grander than
councillor
.

The success of his coup made James feel cheerful and vigorous. People around him picked up on his energy. It was intoxicating. But he never overstepped himself. He might be their superior, but he never tried to rub this big, insurmountable fact in their faces.

“You will have to stop your, uh, outside activities,” James said to Xavier as they sat down for a quick briefing. He had just returned from a visit to Lord Cedric, Lady Lilian’s widower, to express his condolences, and he was frustrated. For three straight hours, the man had cried like a child.

They were sitting in an armory near the practice yard, surrounded by the smell of leather, sweat, and old hay. The captain was cleaning his weapons.

Xavier put the oilcloth down. “What do you mean?” he said in a low voice. He blinked hard. The man had that involuntary blink that spoke of great stress or childhood abuse.

James smiled. “You know what I mean.” He imagined slicing the man’s throat, letting him bleed onto the straw. “You’re the future warlord of the Athesian Empire. You can’t be waylaying peasants for coppers. This has to stop.”