Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) (28 page)

Dizali was enjoying the distraction of the rain pattering on the windows of his study. There was a timid knock, and he stormed from his chair.

‘You had better have the unconscious body of the Hark boy in your arms, or I swear—’

The Brothers had yet to report, late as usual. It was beginning to stir up murderous sentiments in Dizali.

‘It’s Rolick, my Lord,’ coughed the lordsguard, as Dizali wrenched open the door, vowing to write a stern letter to the Masters detailing their performance.

‘Report!’

‘The members are here, Milord, all except Second Lord Longweather.’

‘Longweather is dealing with a matter of the House this morning.’

‘All are present then, Milord.’

‘Thank you, Rolick.’ Dizali shut the door in his face. He prowled his study for a short spell, composing his words in his head. Preparation was the secret behind power, or so he had always heard. The Lord Protector practised every line in his head twice before he headed into the bowels of his mansion.

Rolick stood at the ornate door, waiting to close it. Dizali strode into the room with great purpose. His eyes darted from seat to seat, nodding to his comrades. A few declined to meet his gaze: Neritis, Kiefel, Sargen, and now Oswalk, finally finding a little courage even if it was in the wrong places. Calidae was sitting right where he had ordered; one space to the right of where Castor had once held court.

‘My Lords and Ladies,’ Dizali greeted them, taking his place at the sharpest point of the triangular table. He did not bother with a seat. Neritis raised her head, looking as stern as ever. Darbish seemed sleepy. Kiefel and Sargen were still examining smudges on the table. Calidae was expressionless. The rest looked up eagerly, either brimming with hope for good news, or waiting for the moment when they could bleat their grievances and tiresome opinions. Dizali knew what they would be.
The girl. The queen. The war. The deeds
. Around and around like an endless carousel of fear-mongering and vacuous ambition.

Dizali had not a creative bone in his body. He would have made a violo screech. He had no love for paint and messy things. Food was a fuel. And yet, poised there, waiting for the last few scraps of attention, he could have been a conductor laying out his sheets, an artist picking up the easel, or a master chef sharpening his knives. Dizali’s virtuosity lay in the realm of the mind, in the subtle disciplines of convincing, coercing, and cornering. He was an artist of rhetoric and lies, and if he had believed in a god, he would have thanked him ten times a day. As it stood, he just thanked himself.

‘I believe we have no need nor desire for small talk, as I know many of you have important luncheon appointments.’

Belittlement. The first splash of paint.

‘And so I will begin with the first item on the agenda. Our new arrival, Lady Calidae Serped.’

There was a round of polite nods and muttered welcomes as everyone turned to her. She met the attention as confidently as ever. They did not shy from looking at her scars.

Admiral Caven spoke up. ‘Welcome, Lady Serped. I knew your father well.’

‘Thank you, Admiral Caven. It’s a pleasure to see you again. And Lord Darbish. Lady Sargen.’

‘Is she to carry Castor’s vote?’ asked Neritis, not wasting any time.

Dizali kept a smile affixed to his face as he took his seat. He nodded to Calidae. ‘In time, she will. For now she is here to learn, and listen, and play her part.’

A broader brushstroke to remind them of Calidae’s purpose.

He saw several ears prick up. Neritis relaxed a little more in her chair.

‘I believe Lady Serped has some excellent news for us, have you not, Calidae? News that could help us win the war.’

Calidae gave him a flat stare. He noticed the pinch of white in her knuckles, calmly folded across her lap.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Lord Protector.’ Dizali caught the flash of anger in her bright blue eyes. He looked around the table, still playing nice.

‘Three days ago, Calidae and I went to review Castor’s deeds. She is indeed entitled to inherit, but as we are all aware, these are harsh and expensive times. The war may drone on for months to come and at great cost to the Empire. To the Order, no less! However, Lady Serped has expressed to me her kind wish to place the Serped estate into the Order’s hands for safekeeping. For guarding against interference from the rabble that occupies the Emerald Benches.’

‘I don’t believe I put it quite like that, Lord Dizali,’ said Calidae, voice slightly raised. She spent a moment looking around the room for help. The expressions around the table indicated the Order knew perfectly well what was happening. Not a single face twitched with the urge to stop it. They knew the rules; joining the Order meant sacrifice. Or to put it nicely: sharing.

Dizali continued, dabbing a smidgeon of flattery onto the canvas for good measure.

‘Every one of us has played their part in order to claim their seat. We play our parts still. Your father did, and we expect you to do the same. That means following the goals of this Order, upholding our ideals, supporting your fellow lampreys.’

And lining their pockets, of course.
The Order was a club, and like every prestigious club it had its joining fee. This club’s just happened to be a familial estate or two.

Calidae was chewing her tongue now, holding back whatever words she was composing. She spat out just two.

‘I see.’

The picture was clear now: pay up or play outside.

‘Of course, if this is a gesture of trust that you feel you cannot make, I can have Captain Rolick show you back to your rooms, and we shall continue without you.’ Dizali drummed his nails on the tabletop.

Calidae remained where she was, clearly torn and embarrassed at being forced into a corner so easily. She looked around the table, before nodding her head.

‘I may have mentioned such an inclination.’

‘So, you are ready to take your father’s place at our table?’

Calidae spoke from between her teeth. ‘I am.’

Dizali clapped his hands. ‘It is settled, then.’ An officious-looking man swept into the room with a sheaf of papers. Taking a breath, Calidae took the offered quill. The table collectively leaned forward to watch, leather chairs creaking, fingers inching across the marble as if their coins were being counted out right there and then. What the Order claimed, the Order benefitted from; each and every member.

An inkwell was shoved under Calidae’s nose, and with great deliberation she dipped the quill and began to sign her sweeping signature, right where the man’s finger was jabbing. Twice more, she was shown a line to fill, and fill it she did, albeit slowly, taking her time. He would grant her that at least.

Once the ink had dried on the deeds, Dizali held them up for the Order to witness. There was a breakout of smug smiles and a chorus of hearty congratulations for Calidae. She nodded, trying a wrinkled smile, letting her disappointment boil behind her eyes.

After handing the deeds to the man, who wandered back into the adjoining room, Dizali looked around, keeping his smile tight and a fraction from polite. He received the subtle nods and winks with no hint of humility. And why not? His masterpiece was taking shape. They say a heavy purse will always soften a blow. With the Order’s belts now practically straining, thanks to him, it was the perfect time to strike. He had always been one for shock and awe.

‘And on to our next item of business. Victorious.’

Lord Kiefel spoke up. ‘Ah yes, now I have some conc—’

Dizali cut across him. ‘No doubt you do, but I am pleased to announce that I have come up with a solution to our issues. Tomorrow, Lords and Ladies, I shall make an announcement to the Benches. I will sentence Queen Victorious, our traitorous monarch, to none other than death by public hanging.’

Not a soul moved a muscle, not even an eye; they were all fixed firmly on Dizali’s face, desperately seeking proof that this was not some sort of joke. But Dizali’s face was set, his lips flat, eyes twinkling.

‘You can’t be serious.’ Lord Oswalk’s tongue betrayed him. Dizali shot him a cold look before answering to the whole Order.

‘Deadly serious, my dear Lords and Ladies. The Queen is a traitor. What do we do with traitors in this country?’

Sargen answered. ‘We hang them, Lord Dizali. But Victorious is not your average turncoat. She is royalty. Blood-kin! It would be heresy!’

‘In whose eyes, exactly?’ Dizali parried. They had received all the charm they were allotted for one meeting. No smiles decorated his face now.

‘The rest of Europe!’ exclaimed Kiefel.

Dizali sneered. ‘Then long may they enjoy their fates under the thumbs of their respective kings, queens, and princes. Your homeland included, Kiefel.’

The Prussian ambassador was, for all intents and purposes, a turncoat himself, as he was originally from a Prussian Order. He looked as though he would stride out in disbelief. Dizali was surprised to see it was Calidae who stopped him, putting her hand on the ambassador’s arm.

‘Please, my Lord. Let us hear him out.’

Kiefel did not look impressed; not by the girl’s sentiments, and nor by Dizali’s intentions.

Dizali went on. ‘We must make an example of her. Deposing is not enough. Imprisoning is not enough!’

‘In that case, I ask you your own question,’ said Kiefel. ‘In whose eyes, Dizali? Your own? You give this the feel of a personal vendetta! Your ambition will destroy us.’

Dizali slammed a palm down on the table. ‘Only if your lack of ambition does not kill us all first! I am tired of taking half a step when the full leap is needed. I would have the royalty know that their time is up! That their hold over us is no longer welcome. I would free Europe, and have its people see us as the leaders we were meant to be, not puppet-masters behind the scenes! If, like Lord Kiefel you do not want this Order to reach new heights, and would rather it dabble in half measures and pipe dreams, then you may as well use the door, Lords and Ladies. Captain Rolick will see you to your carriages. That is what he campaigns for. Inaction and ineptitude.’

The ambassador had no answer. Dizali turned to look at the rest of them as they shuffled in their seats.

Lady Sargen took her shot, bleating away. ‘You ask too much of the citizens.’

Dizali scoffed. ‘They will believe what I put in the newspapers, Sargen. We will make the snap of a gallows rope seem like the start of a new dawn for the Empire. They will paint us as heroes for the lengths we went to free this great country from tyranny.’

Just murmuring now. No real defence.

The final dab of the brush…

‘Just you wait until they see her true face, her warped form, as I have. They will be horrified to learn who has ruled them all this time. Now, all those in favour?’ Dizali raised his hand.

A majority won it, but by a scrape. Oswalk remembered his place and did the right thing. Kiefel and a few of the older lords kept their hands down. Calidae swung it. Perhaps bringing her down into the darkness had helped her realise the light.

‘It is decided then,’ said Dizali, slapping the table once more, triumphantly. ‘A week from today, Her Majesty Queen Victorious will meet her end.’ As easily as that, they had sentenced an ancient monarch to her doom.

What new heights, indeed!

The Lord Protector leaned back, crossed a leg, and began to twirl his goatee as the next item of business was announced by Admiral Caven. The war, as expected. He listened, letting the drone of Caven’s report fade into a murmur, casting sideways glances at the Serped girl.

Victory was born to be wallowed in.

*

It was late afternoon by the time the arguing abated and the Order reached agreement on the matters at hand. Dizali’s hopes for a swift and decisive meeting had been dashed the moment he had said, ‘Do we have anything else to discuss?’

After his victory with the fate of the Queen, they had descended into petty squabbling. It had taken all his mental faculties not to strangle half of them. Kiefel had even managed to turn some minds to his side, and the man was quickly climbing Dizali’s list of people that needed to disappear. Maybe Kiefel should follow in Lord Felcher’s footsteps, and find his carriage tumbling into the Thames one dark night.

At least Calidae had performed well. He had crushed her will like a boot to a snail, and yet she had backed him against the naysayers, going above and beyond listening and learning. Perhaps the girl had seen the error of her arrogance. Longweather had some competition on his tail.

Most delightful of all, they had kept to their decision to hang Victorious. Once again, he had bent them to his whim. As he put his boots to the grand stairs, he toyed briefly with the idea of going to see the monarch before the next parliament, but he shook his head.
All in due time
.

‘I will take my tea late tonight, Falmer,’ Dizali ordered one of the passing head butlers. The man bowed and scurried away.

‘Of course, Lord Protector.’

‘And I am not to be disturbed!’

Dizali wound his way once more to the northeast wing, eager to report to Avalin all that had transpired in the meeting. It was a day for celebration. They had sentenced a queen and soon Dizali would get to tell the world. What better news could she hope for?