Dark Court: The Final Hour Page 2

  This wasn't her responsibility. If the world ran itself aground, it wasn't her problem to fix. Why couldn't she just focus on her and hers and leave them to wreck themselves? Maybe then they would all be able to actually build something.

  "What is the world going to come to?" she asked as she crouched down next to Tabain, who was much more interested in the garden than her musings on the destiny of the realm. "I'm afraid you will inherit a wreck of a world."

  They really did need to do better. This wasn't good enough. As much as she wanted to simply ignore it all, she would struggle to. For now, though, she had a newborn to focus on. It was not the time to focus on lofty things like who and how this land was ruled.

  "Flower," Tabain said, picking up a soggy mass of red leaves. “Messy.”

  "It and me both," she said, picking up the mass that had crumpled in the wet weather. Birth was hard. It was both physically and emotionally taxing. This was not the time to worry about the realm, she repeated to herself, even if others seemed preoccupied with it. "The flowers will bloom again," she told him. "Sometimes they have to lie dormant for a while and recuperate."

  "Dead," Tabain said.

  "Yes." It was a concept she hadn't been aware he understood. Maybe he didn't.

  Letting the mass go, she took his hand again and they walked further along the garden. It was hard to think that people would die in the storm that was to come, but it was inevitable, wasn't it? Someone already died. Fronsac had died—been thrown from his balcony. This wasn't a game. People were going to get hurt.

  Chapter 3

  IN THE ABSENCE OF RAUFASGER, people had started gathering in the evenings in the mirrored ballroom. It wasn't perhaps unexpected that people found some means of gathering. Being out of touch could be deadly at a time like this, so the evening gatherings seemed to have become the norm.

  Two guardsmen stood at the door to the ballroom and opened it at Roisen’s arrival. "Lord Roisen Lorcan," one of the pages announced and a quiet descended on the room as he walked in. As of yet, Wierstoke hadn't gone so far as to install himself on the throne.

  Some were pleased to see him, others less so. As before, people were dressed in their finery, but the planning Raufasger put into the evenings was absent. The food was scarce, the lighting not quite as bright. Yet, they had gathered roughly in the same way they had while directed by Raufasger's iron dictates. Perhaps because they didn't know what else to do.

  "My Lord," Fiedra said, approaching in a red velvet dress to take his arm and walk with him. On the surface, everything was as normal, as expected, but it was only superficial. War was in the making. It would be the only way to resolve the contest for the throne. This was simply the last phase of apparent normalcy, where everyone was expected to pick sides.

  Beneath the beautiful dresses and sparkling jewelry, this was a dangerous place. There was no one in control now and the untouched food showed how concerned people were. There was no trust.

  Fewer families were present now than before. Many had fled and they were right to, but they were acquiescing their power in this contest by doing so. In this room were left the people who had ambition and now sought to align themselves with the winning side—or the side they thought had the strength to win.

  "You’re back," Dougal Churing said as they reached a nearby group. "We were starting to wonder."

  "I had to see to some things on my estate," Lorcan replied coolly.

  "I dare say Wierstoke was hoping you wouldn't," one of the other men pointed out.

  "Then he will be disappointed."

  "Lady Greve is not returning, we note," Churing said, watching him intently.

  "She is otherwise indisposed."

  "I understand congratulations are in order."

  Roisen refused to react. He had heard nothing specific about a birth, but he would expect they hadn’t at court either, unless Ashra was still in touch with Wierstoke. It was something he wouldn't have expected, but perhaps he underestimated the strength of their alliance. Nothing about her actions prior suggested she would comply with it as she had refused to throw her strength behind Wierstoke's ambitions for the throne.

  For now, he didn't want to think about her or the baby. In a way, her desertion did feel like a defection. He just didn't know to which degree.

  "You should come to lunch tomorrow," Roisen suggested and the smile faded from Churing's face. The man knew exactly what Roisen would demand at that lunch—loyalty and resources. Churing was one of the minor landowners, but his land was in a strategic spot.

  "Of course," Churing said tightly, managing a smile. He hadn’t expected to sit on the sidelines, had he? A remarkable lack of foresight if that were true.

  Roenbaum was who Roisen really needed. He was Wierstoke's strongest ally and was a defection that might just destabilize Wierstoke's whole network.

  Imperative was also to see Captain Burgess. Roisen would propose an alliance. At the very least, he would discover how Burgess was positioning the guard in this upcoming fight. No doubt, Wierstoke had been whispering in the man's ear since the moment Roisen had left.

  Roisen told Churing a time to be there, and he and Fiedra moved on. "From what I understand, Merrywood is actively going around and recruiting the smaller houses. Niel Coxcom less so, but he is still visible. The problem you have is that you do have old enemies and old grudges that are coming back to haunt you."

  "Hardly," Roisen said dismissively.

  "Like the Curstjoys, who are still bristling from being arm-wrestled out of their deeds."

  "Well, they need to fear displeasing me more."

  Fiedra chuckled. "I suspect you will have to be tough to keep some of them in line."

  Ashra's various accusations bounced around his head, but she was being overly idealistic. It took control to take power, and then to keep power. This group was not going to rule by consensus, no matter what she hoped. They weren't like her. He wasn't like her, and he was going to have to use strength to take the throne. Once that was done, then they could focus on programs that helped the most impoverished in the land.

  In fact, maybe he should meet with Niesen Woord too, to hear what state the lands were in. Some level of subsistence had to be assured—especially if this war was going to last. That question was still to be answered as people picked sides.

  So many were trying not to align themselves with one side or another, trying to keep neutral. That wasn't going to work. Everyone had to make a gamble and would win or lose in the process.

  But the real work wasn't being done in the ballroom. No one here spoke with truth in their words. This was all for show.

  *

  A note to Niesen Woord demanded his presence and the man arrived at Roisen's apartment doors exactly when expected, looking haggard and drawn.

  "My lord," he said with a bow, almost as if was addressing the new liege. Was that because he thought Roisen would win, or was he hedging his bets? "It is a pleasure to herald your return."

  "Sit," Roisen said, indicating to the chair across from his desk. "What news is there?"

  "News?" Niesen asked in his typical high voice.

  "Is the realm falling apart?" Roisen kept staring at him until the man relented.

  "The guard is controlling any rioting," Niesen finally stated. "Labor has been forced to return to crown lands."

  "Forced?"

  "The coffers are not being stretched to pay them. It is a temporary measure—a necessary one."

  "So we have slave labor ensuring the food supply remains?"

  "In essence, yes. The guard is also managing the main roads. Crime is rife. Crime is rife here. We've had close to a dozen murders. All are traveling with their own armed guards. Some are even speculating that assassins have been brought into the citadel."

  "It wouldn't surprise me." Years of grudges would find their way to the surface now. No one was investigating and it was the perfect time to get rid of someone who irked them or had done them some harm in the past.

&
nbsp; "Most of the staff at the citadel have fled. Again, the guard is manning the entrances."

  Things were getting more dire. As before, it was true now that as soon as they completed this contest, the better. So far, the guard was what was keeping everything afloat. When the war started in earnest, things could change very quickly.

  "What of magic?"

  "Magic?" Niesen asked with surprise.

  "Who is practicing magic?"

  "Well, the last magician that Raufasger appointed was beheaded not so long ago. I am sure you recall."

  "No one since?"

  "Not that I know of." Magic would be a powerful tool in the war, but Raufasger had done a good job of tightly controlling it and exterminating any that wasn’t in his control. Knowledge was tightly guarded and very few were admitted into the creed—people who Raufasger thought he'd controlled. How wrong he had been. It was almost amusing that Raufasger had been killed by the man he felt he had the most control over. In some ways, the old liege hadn't understood human nature in the least. Fear was the only thing he peddled, and he let it spread over everything and everyone. But fear was not enough. It had its limits.

  Roisen would be a better king. Although he had always been ruthless in his dealings within this court, he did understand the idealistic ambitions of Ashra. Unfortunately, most of it was too idealistic to ever be realistic within their society, but there was room for improvement within the system. Raufasger had been too fond of cruelty, and Roisen prided himself on the fact that his actions had always been based on necessity rather than enjoyment in the suffering of others.

  Another imperative was becoming clear to him. If there was still magic around, he needed to get it on his side, and not on his enemy's. The problem was that the practitioners had been decimated and anyone who practiced hid it well. It was an art that took years to develop and learn. There may be practitioners who hid out of sight, hidden within families, amongst the older generations from before Raufasger started removing magic from their society.

  Most urgently, he needed to know if Wierstoke or his allies had any such people at their disposal. For that, he needed to know about those members of their families who tended to stay at their respective estates.

  There was so much that needed doing, pressure points that had to be leveraged. Men and resources—weapons also needed to be gathered. The stage of war hadn't been set. The citadel would not be a place for charging cavalry, but where else would the war be fought? Obviously, it was a question he wanted to guide toward an answer. Where did he want to fight? Somewhere where he would have an obvious advantage. Not his estate, because war ravaged the land. Wierstoke would be too wise to subject his own lands, so someone else's estate could serve as the stage for war.

  Chapter 4

  CHARIS THRIVED, feeding well and growing. For a time, things were hard with Charis waking and feeding, never quite sleep enough. But Charis was a lovely baby, feeling settled when things were quiet. Considering the amount of stress Ashra had been through during her pregnancy, it was perhaps not surprising that Charis preferred stillness.

  For a while, she was submerged in the children's world, made up of needs and exploration. Tabain took pride in being the oldest child, and in the responsibility that came with it. Charis started coming for walks with them, curious about the brighter light outside.

  Everything on the estate was still and calm, belying whatever chaos wreaked outside. News was sparse, but then few people came and went from the estate other than the carts delivering grain to the villages. The driver said the deliveries were awaited.

  As for whatever went on at court, Ashra heard very little. She had no spies and refused to send any. In a way, she didn't want to know what went on there, but she ordered her own men trained and armed. It seemed everyone was aware they needed to choose sides, and the people around here trusted her. That trust was an honor and Ashra had moments when she wondered if that trust was misplaced.

  Every way she turned things over, she couldn't escape there being a war—and everyone would suffer. Hunger and disease would be the inevitable result. All for a future most of the people around here didn't want.

  In a way, Ashra stayed away as a protest. All her urging for the people who had the means and the power to be reasonable had fallen on deaf ears and she was bitterly disappointed. They cared more about themselves than this land. Even Roisen, who in the end refused to let go of his ambition. It always came first with him, before his own daughter.

  If he knew of her birth, she didn't know. It did perhaps befall on her to inform him. He had a right to know, even if he didn't deserve to.

  Poor little creature, stuck between ambitious and disagreeing parents. It was likely a tension that would stay with her for the rest of her life. Or perhaps not. Roisen might find some wife, someone beneficial to his interests and less troublesome to breed him sons. Charis might just slip out of his mind then.

  Forgetting all her troubles wasn't hard to do when she lay on her bed and played with her daughter's tiny fingers and toes, Tabain running around the room and playing with his small wooden horses. Knights and horses, children's toys signifying a much darker reality.

  The dowager Lady Greve appeared at the door. "Such a lovely sight," she said with a smile. "How fares the little one?"

  "Well," Ashra said, looking down at the small face of her daughter, who had slipped off into sleep.

  "Mr. Henry returned," the dowager said.

  "Who?"

  "The driver of the grain cart. Unfortunately, he reports that he was robbed of his load on the way."

  Ashra sighed. This only went to show what need was out there. Plus, Dunstone would not receive their grain. "I suppose we will have to start sending armed men with the carts."

  "How much of our grain are we going to give away? Why does it fall to us to perform this service?"

  "Because no one else will."

  "It is generous, of course, but in the short term, we are weakening our own position."

  "These are extraordinary circumstances and if we do not care for the people who need the grain, then there will be no one to buy the grain in the future."

  "We don't have the means to solve all the problems of the world," the lady said. "How long are we going to sacrifice ourselves?"

  On one level, Ashra knew that the dowager was right. She couldn't singlehandedly support the whole land and make up for the shortfall that the people at court were creating. Stretching to make up for their foolishness was only hurting her in the end, but it was hunger they were speaking off. A bad system needed to break for things to change, but it was hard to stand by and let things break when so many suffered for it—actually starved to death. But was she simply prolonging the suffering to avoid an inescapable future? At some point, she would run out of grain. Each week, her stores were lessening. Then what?

  Then they would have what she was effectively putting off—starvation and uprising. The guard would respond and people would get hurt.

  There was no end in sight, no light at the end of the tunnel. Lorcan and Wierstoke would still fight until one conceded.

  At the most brutal core, she was only responsible for herself, and she wasn't sure her charity was making anything better in the long term. And her children would suffer if she bankrupted the estate. Lorcan or Wierstoke would quite happily move in and take over.

  It was a miserable situation she was in, but how could she bring herself to stop the grain carts?

  With a sigh, she stroked the soft cheek of her child. Other mothers, hungry mothers, were doing the very same thing. This was an untenable situation.

  "What am I supposed to do?" she said with anguish, more to herself than anyone else.

  The dowager lady shifted as she stood. "We are all caught in this. None of it is your responsibility."

  Anger reared inside Ashra. "We are all responsible. Being of the ruling class, we cannot abdicate our responsibility just because things are hard." It was an accusation she laid at the feet of
everyone at the court. "We are responsible. All of us."

  But her charity was allowing the irresponsibility of others, and she needed to stop. It was the wrong thing to do, but she couldn't entirely answer what the right thing to do was either. The people needed to find a means to force the Naufren at the citadel to deal with them. A representative needed to be sent to demand attention was paid to the logistics of what was needed. All the things she had urged the council to do. They had to be forced to listen and to act.

  Even as she said it, she knew she was being overly optimistic. Wierstoke and Lorcan were distracted with their own ambitions, and no one else at court seemed concerned that the people were starving, so what recourse did they have?

  They had to find some pain-point to press until they got attention. They had to speak with one voice, but they had been so controlled and repressed that all their strong voices had disappeared.

  "I think I must make another trip to Colmire," Ashra finally said.

  "It is dangerous to travel in these times."

  "I will take an escort."

  She also needed to write a letter to Lorcan, but compared to the needs of the people, that was a small, but also uncomfortable matter to deal with. With both, she wasn't sure what her responsibility was.

  "You will stop the grain shipments?" the dowager asked.

  It took a moment for Ashra to answer the question. "I think I must speak to the people about alternatives. We need to get the court to listen to what the people need."

  The problem was that no one wanted to listen and if the Solmnites insisted, the guard would respond with force. There was little recourse for the people in the villages. They didn't have the power to demand. Instead, they needed to appeal to the ruling class to be reasonable and responsible.