The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) (71 page)

“My daughters are dead,” she moaned.

“No, they are not,” he said. What else could he say?

The councillor smiled sadly. She leaned closer, stroking his hair. “You are such a gentle person, Ewan.”

Ewan felt his heart ache. It was sorrow, deep, intimate sorrow. He shared this woman’s pain as if the girls were his. He had no idea where his compassion came from, but he knew he was throttling his own desperate need for her sake. He had done all he could.

Ewan looked at her carefully. She was in her midtwenties, maybe even a little older. She looked older than Maya, the whore in Eybalen. Oh, what a fool he had once been. And probably still was. The memory of the day he had pulled Doris from the cold river flashed in his mind. Something stirred inside him.

The tent flap rustled behind them. Ewan spun around quickly, a flicker of guilt coursing down his gullet.
Why do I feel guilt
, he thought. Constance stood at the entrance, watching him carefully. Her expression was unreadable.

“Bart is leaving,” she said.

Ewan noted she was on first-name terms with the count. It pained him. But why? He was such a fool. This had to end soon. He looked at Doris. She had retreated into her own bubble of pain. The moment was gone.

Outside, Count Bart stood dressed in fine wool and gold. He had combed his beard and smoothed the curls with lard, but he had not trimmed it. Behind him, a party of five was mounted, all Eracian soldiers. They wore their uniforms, washed of mud and dirt. Several others waited on foot.

“I will return in two days. I hope,” the man was saying, almost indifferently, addressing one of them; an officer, Ewan guessed. “We will talk some more then.”

More waiting
, Ewan thought. “Have a safe journey, sir,” he offered. Bart turned toward him and nodded curtly. Ewan hoped the count would find his answers. Just as he hoped to find his own. He wondered where that Oth Danesh Toraan was now. Had he found Doris’s children?
I must go
, he told himself.

But he stayed.

He stood motionless as Bart winked at his men and rode off.

CHAPTER 44

“A
n Eracian count?” Gerald repeated slowly, in case he had misheard the messenger. It made no sense. Amalia’s letter could not have reached Somar just yet. With bad weather, it would take weeks before they received a reply, if any. The commander sighed. He had a long day ahead of him. “Bring him in.”

It would be at least two hours before the count was admitted into Amalia’s study. He had to be led through the city from the gates, questioned, searched for weapons and poisons. Gerald was not taking any chances.

He still walked somewhat gingerly, the fat scar tissue in his side pulling with every step. But there was no blood or pus. He would live. Unlike so many others.

There were a lot of things to be done. The dungeons were growing crammed once more. Edwin was there, replacing Vlad, now that the boy had been moved into a more comfortable prison. Half a dozen city merchants and dignitaries were also locked. Luke had exposed a plot to open the city gates and let the Parusites in. Supposedly, the enemy king was going to pardon them and let them retain their posts and wealth after Roalas was taken.

All in all, high treason was a simple crime. People bet on the wrong side and lost. What worried Gerald was the phenomenon of well-fed, high-class citizens turning coat on their ruler, on their nation.

After the Night of Surprises, the city breathed more easily. There was hope in the streets, and the common folk smiled and cheered the soldiers when they rode past. Bread and vegetables were still in shortage, but people believed their empress could bring them victory. It should have been enough to give him and Luke a few weeks of respite, spare them from the grueling, exhausting work of purging rats and hunting for ghosts. But it wasn’t.

It was all the more shocking to learn that the national rift was growing deeper by the day. People openly identified themselves with their former lands. Caytoreans and Eracians, all Athesian citizens, moved apart now and spoke little with one another and with mistrust. It was maddening. Worse yet, both accused the other party of treason and cowardice.

Treason had no preference for affiliation, it seemed. Rich people of both factions conspired together to see this war ended. They did not believe in Amalia’s ability to win. Pragmatic as only people with money could be, they aimed to cut their losses. They had survived the Feoran purges; they had lived through Adam’s reign. Changing colors one more time should not matter much.

Lord Benedict was not among the imprisoned, but his negative attitude was as much to blame for the rebellion. He had not spoken against the guild heads when they had spoken against their empress. He had kept silent.

For Luke and Gerald, he was another name on the list of people who needed to be watched.

The captain of the City Guard didn’t like the burden placed on his shoulders. But he would endure it. He would try the impossible, like his own father and like Emperor Adam. The City Guard was turning into a real fighting force. The talk of the revival of the legendary First Legion was growing like lichen on wet cellar walls. And his role as the leader of the surviving Athesian troops was all but written in the imperial missives. Officers from the decimated legions stared at him with a mix of awe and guilt and maybe just a bit of jealousy when they forgot their shameful defeats, when they forgot the names of those who had volunteered to sally forth out of Roalas to hunt for traitors and try to break the siege. Most of the time, they drank to their misery and bad luck.

In a single incident, Gerald had been confronted by a surly captain, eyes bloodshot from smoke and fatigue and too much sour wine. But when the man had seen the solid wall of adoration and respect surging behind Gerald, he had backed off, capable of grasping the reality even in his sorry state. And that ended the military revolt against his rising stardom.

If only the city’s other woes were that simple.

He had a lot to do before the Eracian emissary arrived.

Gerald visited Edwin first. The man had been given a small cell, with straw covering the cold stone floor and a big bucket that the jailers did not bother to empty too often. He looked cold and hungry and was covered in filth and bruises.

“What do you want?” he lashed when Gerald entered, squinting against the weak light of a shuttered lantern.

Gerald puckered his lips. “I was thinking the lovely ambiance of this cell would make you humble. I guess I was wrong.”

Edwin snorted. “Spare me. What do you want, Commander?”

The captain leaned against the wall, the ancient stone chill seeping through his leathers and woolens. “You need to be punished for raping that woman. There’s no excuse for what you did. You’re not above the law. You’re a soldier of the realm, an officer. You must set an example for the rest.”

“So you would make an example of me, is that it?”

Gerald pushed himself off the wall, irritated. “Some did suggest forming up a suicide squad and sending you against the Parusite lines, but that would be as lowly as your crime. You served faithfully. You are a good soldier. You deserve better than that.”

If rumors were to be believed, most of the criminals sent in the night attack had broken through the Red Caps’ lines, pure desperation and animal desire for survival keeping them alive. But that was as far as they had gone with the original plan. Some said they served under King Sergei now, terrorizing the countryside, doing all those ugly tasks that the Parusite leader would not let his pious men do. It kept the populace in check, it seemed. Others said they had formed a free army and were instituting their own law in villages and towns outside the grasp of the invading troops. That probably meant pillage and rape. Some said they had joined a tiny resistance force in the north, fighting for their benevolent empress. Gerald doubted the last bit.

And so he had no desire in making Edwin a martyr, or worse, should he let him live, yet another enemy. Roaming bandits, defected fives, traitors inside the city, he had enough on his platter as it was. But he had vowed to get Edgar’s head, too. And then he would hunt those criminals. Only this time, there would be no mercy.

“Do I?” Edwin rasped, unconvinced.

Gerald had mulled the man’s punishment for a while. He had considered stripping him of his rank, having a public trial, having him banished from the city. But then his temper had cooled, and he had rethought his decision. They were having enough trials and hangings already. Now, they would be hanging the rich. If he put Edwin to death, there would be no one left to uphold the image of national unity and strength. The military was all that was left of Adam’s great work.

Amalia had opposed him, again, calling for Edwin’s death, but Gerald would not budge.

“Yes, you do. You will be fined. But I need you back, Lieutenant.” Edwin might be an animal, but he was no turncoat. Somewhere, in his complex perception of honor, loyalty toward his friends was an almost sacred value.

Edwin stood up, dusting himself off ceremonially. “I can live with a fine.”

Gerald stared at him hard. Edwin met his gaze carefully. “You will forfeit a year’s worth of wages. That ought to do it. And Edwin, if you ever abuse your rank, I will kill you myself.”

The restored deputy did not like the punishment, it was plain on his face, but he liked the prospect of a public trial that could cost him his life even less. But then, the full weight of Gerald’s threat registered. He did not speak for a while, thinking. “Yes, sir.”

Gerald pushed the cell door open. Two soldiers waited outside. One of them was holding a folded uniform. “Get cleaned up, and get dressed. I want you on the streets. There have been too many cases of arson and hate crime lately. Make sure you sort things out.” The commander turned to leave.

Edwin coughed. “Sir…thank you. I’m sorry for letting you down.”

Gerald nodded and went on to inspect his second prisoner.

Vlad had been moved to a secluded part of the manse. The windows to his room were barred, and he only saw soldiers who brought him food and books. He was not allowed to leave his new prison, so he could not socialize with anyone.

Gerald found him sitting in a chair, reading. “Greetings,” he offered. Vlad ignored him. He never responded when his captors failed to use the proper title. It was a childish gesture, but Gerald did need to speak to him. “Your Highness.”

The boy put the book down and stood up. “What do you want, Commander? Has my king responded to your demands yet?”

Gerald raked his hair. The Parusite king had not acknowledged the abduction letter in any way. Nothing at all. He had not even formally refused to negotiate. No one had any illusions about the enemy packing and leaving. But Gerald had expected something. Luke’s men were trying to obtain information, but they had nothing so far.

“I told you. My father will not surrender to your terms. He will attack and conquer the city.”

Gerald spread his arms. “Then you will die, Your Highness.”

Vlad swallowed. “Do you want something from me?”

“I have news for you. Your wife has given birth to a son. You are a father. Congratulations.”