The Axe and the Throne (48 page)

“What is it you want?” demanded Crella, not turning from her window.

“For when he returned from these trips, he did so with his blood still fiery from the hunt. He had never married, you see, and had little appetite for whores as there was certainly no conquest to be had there. But what he did have was a beautiful little princess. She could have been no more than—what was it—ten years of age when it began? He would come home putrid, not just from the days of filth that had amassed upon him during his time outdoors, but with the fetid stench of the dead animal he had skinned, gutted, and cleaned with his own hands.”

“What do you
want
?” she turned and screamed at him, both her neck and her nostrils flaring in anger.

“What do I want?” he yelled back, no longer using the voice of the duchess. He could see it frightened her as she flinched upon hearing it, his voice free from the cloak of pretense and in all its fury. “I want what you have denied me ever since I set foot inside that estate. You were the pretentious little princess—too good to cast even a sidelong glance my way. And what was I? Some lowborn
shit
who hacked off his own genitals just to climb a bit in status, is that about the measure of it?”

She did not respond.

“
Well
?” he shouted with rage. “But perhaps if you had looked at me, just for a moment, you may have seen a little more. Even if it was just the smallest amount, enough perhaps for you to have acknowledged my mere existence, then maybe that would have been enough.”

Cassen began to unwind a solitary sheet of silk that was draped around him as he lowered his voice. “Do you think you were the only one alone in that hell of a home?” He placed the silk on the floor in front of him and began to unwind a second. “I was, what, five years older than you? I was no deviant like your uncle. I saw your beauty but never wanted to steal from you what he so forcefully took.” A small pile of silken wraps now formed at his feet, but Crella's eyes remained locked on his own, her unjust antipathy as intense as ever. “A shred of respect was all I wanted… And perhaps from that, a friendship could have even grown. How nice it would have been for both of us to have someone with whom to share secrets with and discuss prospects for the future.” Another silk fell to the floor. “But you had no interest in that. I was less to you than a servant—for even a servant you must recognize from time to time in order for them to complete their duties.”

The pile of silk in front of him mounted as he spoke, and as it grew, he was liberated from his costume and false frailty. “I was weak at first, I admit it. I should have done what I did long before. But I was likely near as tormented as you were to know what was taking place. I could not stand to sleep in a bed furnished by such a monster, so I slept upon the floor. It was all I had the power to do at first in rebellion and contrition.”

So much of his silk had been removed that he felt the cool air on his hips and thighs. “And then came a night when he returned from his hunt, far more poisoned by substance than usual, and I finally saw my chance to save you. I was not a strong man, nor was he a weak one. My chances of success were slim despite his stupor, and slimmer still to escape the act without implication. But for you I did this one and final selfless thing.” Crella scowled as though he was lying, prompting his tone to bitter. “I shoved the fool man back down the stone stairs he had climbed to reach your room. Then I followed him with a rock of my own and bashed in his head to ensure the deed was done.”

A single layer of silk was all that stood between Cassen and nakedness. He was no specimen to behold, he did not delude himself in that, but for a man of near forty years he was built well. He had the sinewy, thick-hipped look of an older man who had strength beyond that of his stature, and with his true physique nearly revealed, combined with the keys to a kingdom, he felt a god in comparison to what others thought of him.

“I am no champion of the concept of fairness,” he continued. “For I have learned that everyone receives exactly that which they have earned—no more and no less.” Cassen now removed his final silk, more slowly than all those before it. “But it was not
fair
the way in which you overlooked me and continued to do so even after I had saved you from your vile torturer. It was not
fair
that the night I had finally dispatched him and went to your room to tell you in excitement—expecting, at the very least, a
thank you
or some sobs of relief—but no. It was not
fair
that you did not even have the appreciation to afford me the slightest of nods.”

His silk fell, and the pile in front of him now reached well above his knees. Cassen could scarcely contain the elation that jolted through him, threatening to leave his fingertips as bolts of lightning. He saw the horror of realization on her face as she stared, powerless to look away from him.
No, I am not the fool boy you thought I was, nor am I the epicene creature I pretend to be in order to assuage men like your uncle—that prideful halfwit who could barely stand to look upon the genitals I'd presented him, let alone conceive that they might not have been my own.

“And it will not be
fair,
the way in which I will treat you, until you finally give me the respect that I have for so long deserved.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“This was a bad idea.”

Annora did not have to speak the words; her worry showed clearly on her face. And Ethel was of like mind.

The impassioned shouting in the neighboring room was enough to put a chill in even a warrior's spine, not that either of them were equipped with such a thing. Ethel had heard what she thought had been horrid fighting between her mother and father before, but this bellicose quarrelling made her appreciate just how frivolous their skirmishes had been.

“Perhaps we should leave,” Ethel suggested.

“I do not even know if that is possible.” Annora's eyes went to the door through which they had entered, the same door that hid the source of the commotion.

Upon arriving, they had been ushered into the solar by a male servant who had then, oddly enough, closed the door, sealing them in. The room was large, bright, and nicely furnished, but it was still the domain of a domineering man. It felt more like a cage for prey than a place of welcome, and the situation had already been uncomfortable enough prior to them overhearing the yelling, given Annora's assertions about Master Warin's character.

“He is a
rapist
,” she had insisted.

“The Master of The Guard?”

“I know it with certainty. He debases Ryiah, my friend, with regularity. He is an awful man that I'd sooner see killed than go to for assistance.”

“Then Cassen is our only option.”

She said the words knowing it was not an option. Cassen was the very perpetrator of the current treachery. He had been at the heart of all her family's conflicts since as long as she could remember. If it were merely his success in Eastport making her father look bad by comparison, she would not have held Cassen in such contempt, but she had long suspected him of purposefully undermining her father's every negotiation with the Spiceland merchants to the extent that Alther's failure had been inevitable. Cassen simply had a way of getting his claws into people and compelling them to do what he wished, and Annora's revelation about Warin and his lady servant was further evidence of how far he would go.

“We cannot go and beg the new tyrant to reverse the very things he has done to put himself into power,” Annora had conceded, and in doing so, admitted Warin was their only chance of having justice, poor that it may be.

The door swung open, and through it stomped a woman near the age of Ethel's mother. Though she was not near as stunning, she was still fair by any measure, and that she bore a look of contemptuous disdain only furthered her resemblance to Crella in Ethel's mind.

“Beth,” came the pleading voice of Master Warin from far off in the adjacent room. “You are wrong in this.” The angry authority with which he spoke made Ethel wonder what he must sound like when he was actually making a demand.

Having heard enough of their earlier ranting to gather that their fight was about Warin's infidelity, it was impossible not to feel pity for this woman—and that had been prior to Ethel hearing her name.
Could this be the Beth my father had hurt so badly?
It only took a moment to realize it could not—this Beth was Adeltian, but it did not stop Ethel's sympathy from growing. This was clearly a woman wronged, pained, and tangled so thoroughly that there was no escaping it. A woman her age could not simply leave her husband, no matter how badly he had despoiled her trust. Unless she had a wealthy family that would take her back in, there would be no breaking from him.
At what age then
can
a woman escape?
It was a question seemingly without an answer and did not bode well for her own growing need to flee.

Warin's wife may have been angry to begin with, but when she saw Ethel and Annora sitting where they were, Ethel feared for their own safety. The woman strode toward them with a hatred so palpable that it threatened to consume the room in hellfire.

Ethel understood. Annora was a lady servant; it was evident in her dress. The clothing Ethel had bought for her served her well in their classes, but when they left the confines of their school dormitories, it was only proper for Annora to return to her normal silken attire. Ethel wanted to curl into a ball and, in doing so, hide her friend from this woman so Annora's youth and exotic beauty would not cause Beth more torment.

“Is this your new whore?” Beth yelled to her husband, still in the other room.

Though Ethel's attention was on the woman before them, she could see from the corner of her eye that Annora was looking downward. It would take an iron will to remain so composed with a threat standing so close, but Annora was a statue of servility.

Then Beth did the unthinkable. In perhaps the most vile of acts Ethel had seen done by a proper woman—and Ethel had seen many, as her mother did her best to be repugnant toward Alther—she spat in Annora's face.

Weight pulled at Ethel's jaw as she gaped, her friend's face bearing all the shame this Beth could transpose to her. Yet Annora remained motionless, not even moving to wipe the spit that now dripped down her forehead, nearing her eye. This was humiliation on an intolerable level, and directed against a target wholly undeserving. Annora, the girl sold by her father against her will into foreign indenture. Annora, the one who had defended both Ethel and Eaira against the mortal tyranny of highborn Sture. Annora, her only friend.

Ethel lunged at the woman, grabbing her by the hair, and pulled with all her might. What Ethel screamed, she could not recall, but it was no doubt among the worst of the obscenities she knew—and she was very well read.

The woman was no dainty victim, however. Her age afforded her a greater strength than did Ethel's, and after her advantage of surprise had been spent, Ethel found herself on her back, the woman atop her, striking, clawing, and shrieking.

“Leave her be, woman!”

Ethel's reluctant curiosity about Warin's voice when making a demand had been satisfied. The weight of it passed through her like a wave, sobering her to instant civility as Beth was pulled from her like a dust mote caught in a rapid inhalation. Beth's eyes were still transfixed on Ethel as Warin chastised her, not realizing Ethel had attacked first, and sent her off to a different part of the home so that he could see to his guests.

“I apologize,” said Warin. “My wife is…” He gave a frustrated grunt. “Why are you here?”

Ethel was still shaking from her scuffle and found it difficult to speak.

“We have come for justice,” said Annora.

Warin looked immediately exhausted hearing the words, quite the opposite of the reaction Ethel had hoped for.
Here stands the head of the Protectors of the Realm, and he is exasperated by a call for justice?

“Yes,” said Ethel, revitalized by her disbelief. “We believe the wrong man has been arrested for the murder of the king.”

Warin shook his head. “No doubt you do. He is your father.”

“My
adopted
father.” It pained her to refer to him as such, but it strengthened her case for impartiality somewhat. “And he is more than that. He is the most honorable and honest man within these walls. You know it to be true.”

“Honor does not preclude murder. Honest men kill all the time,” said Warin.

“They don't lie about it,” Ethel retorted.

Warin closed his eyes and ran his meaty hand up his brow and through his mess of hair. “I don't determine who is guilty or innocent, girl.”

“No,” said Ethel. “You just mindlessly obey whatever king has your leash.” It was a stupid thing to blurt out, but she would not be patronized by such a man, not if she could help it.

Warin made a disapproving rumble. “Have you and your friend come here just to fight with my wife and insult me, or did you have a purpose for your visit?”

“We demand
justice
,” Ethel shouted, unable to control her indignant rage.

“Let me explain something to you, little girl.” Warin looked her up and down as if she were to be his next indulgence, and Ethel fought her inclination to shudder. “Like
me
, you also do not determine who is guilty or innocent. Like
me
, you also heed the tug of the king's leash. Unless you have some proof of whoever you think is responsible for Lyell's poisoning, and I am quite sure you do not, then I suggest you go back to your little room and play with your little toys like a good little princess.”

“It was Cassen,” said Annora. “And I have proof.”

Warin's eyes darted to her. “Do you? What proof is that?”

“I was witness to his countless dealings with Adeltian conspirators. They have been plotting to kill the king for as long as I have been in service. My former patron Emrel was deeply—”

“Ahck,” interrupted Warin. “You're a
servant
. The whole lot of you are bound to make accusations of the men—the
good
men that you serve. And all so you can be lazy and relieved of service for some short time while the matter resolves. No, I've had enough of the likes of lady servants throwing lies around for their own benefit.”

He will not help us.
It was evident far sooner, but Ethel had held on to hope until now. Staying longer only invited further trouble. “We are sorry to have disturbed you,” she said. “We will be on our way.”

Warin grunted and gestured his consent for them to leave. They had reached the door when he spoke again.

“You look so much like your mother,” he said.

Ethel did not want to turn around, but she was a mouse and he the cat. If she ran he'd be given to chase. She faced him.

His eyes were all over her. Even had she not known he was predisposed to rape, it would have still felt a violation.

“One final bit of advice, girl. Lay low, as low as you can. Make yourself small and quiet. Things are changing in this kingdom—in the realm. Where the pieces settle may surprise you, and when they do, you'll want to be sure not to be in the poor graces of the new kings and queens.”