Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) (2 page)

“The laws of war exist to prevent chaos. If I were to place either of them on the throne it would destroy the Commonwealth. If Damien were selected, we'd lose the rest of the border to rebellion and the Goteborg Duchy would fall to the Dominion.”

“Then keep the Lord General on the border. He has had success holding them off, has he not?” Alos asked regaining his composure.

“Granted, and if Salena is on the throne then Damien will revolt and lead his armies to Magdeborg and throw her from it.” Dietrich sighed. “If I had not failed in my duty and allowed Arthur to be killed we not be in this position. Archduke Peter should have had me shot for that failure.”

“Peter had already lost his son, why should he sacrifice one of his best retainers to settle some misplaced feelings of vengeance?” Alos asked him. While the Azuren probably intended the question to be reassuring, Dietrich hardly felt so.

“Lord Sørensen,” Alos continued, “You have been a member of this court since before I came to Magdeborg. Your guidance has led the Commonwealth through crises before. You must cease this stalling. I know neither candidate is ideal, but we have the utmost faith that you shall make the right decision,” Alos said.

The right decision?

“You Azuren see everything in black and white. Sometimes the correct choice is more ambiguous Sometimes you must throw caution into the wind.”

Alos narrowed his brow. “It sounds like blasphemy. There is only the one True Path that Amrah reveals to us.”

“Perhaps so, but shadows abound, and sometimes the way is dark and uncertain. In any case, I should address them before they kill each other.”

As Dietrich turned to leave the observation room, Alos warning followed him,“Follow Amrah's Path, Lord Sørensen.”

“Indeed,” Dietrich sniffed dismissively and left the room.

Dietrich had long ago retired from wielding a sword and instead wielded a cane which he leaned on heavily as he made the short walk to the conference room. It made a sharp retort every time it hit the floor. He still kept the Sørensen blade in its sheath at his hip. As House Master he had the right to the sword and kept it honed and polished, though it had not been drawn in anger in decades.

He straightened his gray uniform and steeled himself for the storm before opening the door. Both siblings had taken their seats at opposite ends of the table and stewed. The surprising silence led Dietrich to believe, hopefully, that the storm had blown itself out.

The conference room was typically reserved for high level meetings of the station's staff and ruling nobility. A massive bay window looked out over the shipyards and polarized when the rotation brought Remmington's star into view. A large ornate teak table polished to a dark sheen dominated the room, adorned by thick leather and teak chairs. The room's walls were decorated with images of Remmington's third planet, an A-class beauty that served as the system's capital and House Grayson's seat of power. With its sweeping plains, vast oceans and thick forests, it was the envy of lesser houses.

He left his cane to lean against the table and laid his sheathed blade on its surface as was traditional in such meetings to keep weapons in plain sight. Damien kept his blade at his side, he noticed.
He is nervous. Salena carries no blade, but her words are her weapons. They are always kept hidden until the perfect time to strike.

He slowly sat himself into the chair left for him and he felt every bone and muscle creak with his movement.
I am too old for this.

He laid out on the table three folders and kept them closed, though each sibling regarded them with cold anticipation.

Sørensen offered a strained smile. “My friends. First, let me express my sorrow for the loss of your brother. He was a great leader, a great man, and a personal friend of mine for many, many years. The entire Commonwealth is mourning his passing, and we shall struggle to find one who can lead as nobly as he. As you know we have been very busy at work these few weeks and we have recently concluded that work.”

“What about rumors of assassination?” Damien asked suddenly.

“Rumors are words in the void, meaningless,” Dietrich said more quickly than he intended. Damien's question had been debated extensively by the Sørensen nobility, but no evidence had been recovered to support such a theory and no dissident groups claimed responsibility. Despite the lack of evidence, they could not ignore the fact a healthy sixty-year-old, middle-aged, man would simply die in his sleep without some assistance.

“My brother deserved better,” Damien replied sternly.

Salena seethed silently. Damien knew her impatience might get the best of her if he delayed Sørensen's announcement by seeming sincere about his concern for Peter. Which, in a sense was not entirely fake, Dietrich realized. Damien and Peter had shared a strong bond being both male and close in age. When young they had often romped around the palace, reenacting old battles or generally causing mischief for their minders and palace officials. Damien knew early in life that, despite his seniority in age, Peter had been groomed for the throne. He was a back up to be used only if the preferred heir did not survive, which had allowed him more freedom to pursue other interests. Few knew about them and those that did wisely kept tight lipped, though Dietrich had heard many rumors of secret contacts and odd religions. When Peter's son, Arthur, was born and Damien was bumped down the list of possible claimants, he focused more heavily in his duties as Lord General, the ranking Commonwealth military commander. Dietrich had long suspected that a rift had formed between the two brothers and their relationship cooled significantly. The throne was out of Damien's reach so he found a challenge that would occupy his entire adult life: fighting the Dominion.

Life on the border worlds had hardened Damien and left him with plenty of scars both physical and emotional. Dietrich had had little contact with him for decades and his sudden concern for his brother was difficult to read. Damien had earned a reputation for cunning in battle and his diplomacy amongst the border houses was astute and balanced. He knew how to play power politics just as well if not better than Salena. His approach was far more furtive, but no less effective. Though neither he nor Salena likely had the resources or capability to assassinate Peter and manage to cover it up so effectively, Dietrich's suspicions remained.

“Yes he did, but after a thorough investigation, we've found no truth to them. The matter must be laid to rest as must Peter. Funeral arrangements have been made and you both will be expected to speak.”

The siblings sat in stony silence. Dietrich felt his eye twitch in disappointment.

“We need to move quickly,” Salena insisted. “The longer we delay the more the Dominion's diplomats call foul to the Azuren Legates. My lord brother needs to prepare his defenses for the Dominion's imminent attack on Goteborg while I move my court to Magdeborg”

“I will leave such preparations for Aaron. You have nothing to prepare for, but getting your mindless sycophants back to Danvers,” Damien retorted.

“It is obvious my brother forgets that he was already skipped over for his chance to rule and for good reason,” Salena hissed.

“Do not remind me of our father's failings!” Damien roared at her. Damien, though older than Peter, had been skipped in the line of succession creating bad blood between him and his father Haakon.
Damien was insulted beyond words and apparently his fury has not abated in all this time. Salena is playing a dangerous game.

“You would be most useful urging your husband to send his troops to me to protect the realm,” Damien hammered the table as anger raged behind his eyes like fire. “Surely your silver tongue is up to that task?”

“You had best mind yours more carefully brother, lest you find yourself without one. I am not as forgiving as Peter when it comes to insults,” Salena crossed her arms and glared coldly across the table.

Damien's hand went to the hilt of his blade. “You shall find that rather difficult.”

“Enough!” Lord Sørensen stood much more quickly that a man of his age should have been able to, knocking back the chair and banging the table with his cane. The report echoed as his face contorted in anger, his eyes glared daggers. He held the cane like a weapon, seemingly barely able to restrain himself from lashing out at both of the misbehaving siblings.

“You are a shame to your brother's memory, the both of you!” Dietrich growled. Damien and Salena both blinked and Damien's hand slipped from the blade. Salena cleared her throat loudly and shifted uncomfortably. When they were younger, the job of discipline fell to him when their father was off on political events. Forty years later, they still trembled when they invoked his anger. He found that modestly satisfying.

He took a breath, suddenly remembering the Azuren was watching events unfold with that arrogant smirk on his face. He allowed his anger to fade, composed himself and eased back down in the chair.
Alos won't be smiling for long.

“Peter would be furious to see his own kin behaving in such a fashion. Name-calling, petty squabbling, it is beneath your status as nobles. Or should be.” Dietrich said with a calmness that hadn't quite returned. “He never thought either of you were ready to succeed him. When Arthur was born, he confided in me once that he was glad he had a child to replace him one day so that the realm would not fall into either of your hands. He told me that if anything happened to him, I would be regent until Arthur came of age.”

“These stories mean nothing,” Salena hissed at him. “Even if what you say is true, Arthur is dead anyway, so your regency is unnecessary.”

“That much is true,” Dietrich replied honestly.

“Enough of this,” Damien grumbled, running a hand through his ashen hair. “You gathered us here to settle the matter of succession. Get on with it.”

“Peter was devastated when Arthur died,” Dietrich said, closing his eyes and ignoring the lord general. Damien fumed as he settled back into his chair while Salena tapped her fingers against the table anxiously. “Arthur was a gregarious boy, charismatic and intelligent. It was a national tragedy that he died so young. He would have made an Archduke we would never forget. Many had placed their hopes on him to succeed his father and bring about a new prosperity for the Commonwealth.

“Peter blamed himself, of course. He had the boy in his lap during the parade and the assassin lined up a shot that would kill both father and son. For whatever stroke of luck or divine will of Amrah, the bullet ricocheted when it struck Arthur and did not harm Peter. He lost his only son to a bullet meant for him. Archduchess Ciara fell into a deep depression and took her own life while he tore Magdeborg apart hunting for the assassin, but no one was ever found.”

Damien interjected, “The radical Dominion Free Suns movement claimed responsibility, even though it could have been Commonwealth separatists from Radstadt or Azuren interference or just some madman. It sparked the latest war I've been fighting against the Dominion for the last quarter century. We know our history, Dietrich.”

The Sørensen lord continued, “Peter believed he could protect Arthur on Magdeborg, keep him safe from enemies while teaching him statecraft, but when Arthur was killed, Peter realized he needed a change of strategy for the safety of his offspring.”

Salena shook her head. “Peter had no other offspring, unless there are some bastard children pretending to the throne.”

“Peter had no bastard children,” Dietrich said with a knowing smile. “Which is more than I can say for most of the Commonwealth nobility.” Dietrich paused then pushed a manila folder towards each claimant and held up a finger. “However, before she died, Ciara did give birth to twins, Peter Sten's children and rightful heirs.”

Damien opened his folder first and scrutinized the pages with furrowed brow. He turned the pages quickly, taking one in completely before turning to the next. Many had claimed Damien had an eidetic memory and he absorbed, analyzed and reacted to information with inhuman speed. Salena only glanced over the first few pages before shoving the folder away.

“Who are these people?” Salena asked with such vehemence as if she'd taken a bite of a rotten fruit.

“They are your niece and nephew, Kristoffer and Claire Sten. Twenty-six years old, but Chris is the older of the two by just a few minutes, which means according to the rules of primogeniture, the throne belongs to him.”

“Is this some sort of joke, Lord Sørensen? These are lowborn children, brought up by some businessman on Goteborg, not members of the nobility, and certainly no kin of mine,” Salena scoffed. She stood up quickly, brushed her skirt and headed for the door.

“Lady Salena. I suggest you take a seat and read further on the future Archduke of Magdeborg. You will be meeting him in a few weeks. You would not want to appear ignorant,” Dietrich warned.

“Lord Dietrich,” Salena sighed. “I cannot stand for this sort of nonsense. Even if they are who you claim them to be, they have not spent one day in court, have never commanded troops in the field, have no formal education in statecraft nor diplomacy,” she said ticking off the points on her fingers. “I bet they have they have never spoken to a member of the nobility, let alone seen one.”

Damien sighed before leaning back in his chair, “It's all here, Salena.”

“There is nothing there, Damien,” she turned to face her brother. “If these people even exist, they are no progeny of Peter and this whole thing is beginning to sound like a desperate bid for power by the Sørensens.” She turned back to Dietrich, pointing a pale finger at him, “Peter promised you regency if he died before an heir came of age and you want to rule with this boy as a puppet. Your scheming is becoming transparent, dear Sørensen. You had best watch your step, the Commonwealth is still strewn with minefields.”