The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) (18 page)

He had to be careful.

So he went down the corridor, trying to be a wise statesman. Trying to be like his father.

CHAPTER 13

S
ergei walked through the small, sparse corridors, arm in arm with Lady Lisa. He knew he was being somewhat silly, like one of those knights in the tales, who were supposed to be vicious and deadly on the battlefield yet chivalrous and gentle at court, especially around women. But the thing was, he felt a weird blob of peace whenever he took his imperial hostage for a stroll, even with a host of soldiers in tow.

Lady Lisa had lost her daughter. He had lost his son. They shared an unusual bond.

Besides, he found it intriguing talking to a woman who had slept at the side of the greatest butcher in known history, a man who had single-handedly reduced the entire Parusite nobility to ruins. A man who had achieved two decades of quiet between Eracia and Caytor, when before, not a summer could have passed without bloodshed. A man who had made him into what he was.

Lady Lisa never complained. She never showed any bitterness or remorse over her fate. She was utterly pragmatic, to the point of ruthlessness, and he thought he was lucky to have waged the war against her daughter and not her. He imagined the outcome of the war might have been different if she had chosen to rule. She would not have been as lenient as Amalia.
She would not have made all those mistakes. So why had she given up that chance? He didn’t know.

No, actually, he did know.
Why did I drag Vlad along? Why let him taste battle when I could have done better?
Because parents were blind when it came to their sons and daughters, deluded and hopeful. But war had no place for sentiments. Maybe Sasha was right.

Matvey, one of his squires, walked ahead. Sergei felt the boy needed more discipline, so he kept him close by. Ever since coming to the city, he had slacked in his duties. The temptations of court were many, and as a conqueror, he could not easily refuse the need to gloat and bluster and show the locals he was better than they. A character flaw, but Sergei had no desire to make him into a better person. After his son had died, he just could not bring himself to be a fatherly figure to anyone. He had even put his other children out of his mind. They were in Sigurd, safe, growing with their mother. Vlad had a baby, too, he remembered.
The child will grow without its father
.

Only after Matvey assaulted one of the maids had Sergei decided to interfere, pay the girl’s father for her honor and the prospective bastard, cuff Matvey bloody for his stupidity, and now he kept him on a short leash.

“How about offering a royal pardon?” Lisa asked, continuing her earlier train of thought.

Sergei pursed his lips. “It’s up to Sasha to decide,” he said.

Five paces in front of him, Matvey stopped and turned back to his lord. He pointed: left or right? Sergei gestured with his thumb. The boy took the right turn. Sergei and Lisa followed. A woman, her hands loaded with fresh linen, scurried past.

“She will most likely choose to fight,” the empress-mother added.

“Most likely,” Sergei agreed. “But we need to bring this war to a conclusion. I do not relish having a few thousand rebels swear fealty, sneak up behind our lines, only to remember they still fought for Athesia.”

“Mistrust will not lend you peace,” Lisa chided in her calm voice.

Sergei turned to her. “Did your husband trust his enemies?”

She smiled sadly. “Yes, he did. He trusted them to do what he wanted them to do. You mistake hardness for strength. He was cruel and ruthless when he chose to be, but he made sure everyone knew they were better off with him being compassionate and forgiving.”

The king took a deep breath. “It’s not as simple as you make it sound.”

“Of course it is,” she said, almost chortling. “If you elect to fight these rebels, you will only get war. That’s guaranteed. But if you offer them peace, they might actually accept it. Brave men make risky choices.”

“You wish peace for Athesia, that’s all?”

“There’s more war coming, and I want to stop it.”

“You do not seem too pleased by your alleged stepson’s claims.”

Lisa’s composure cracked, just a tiny bit. “Whether my late husband has sired any child out of our wedlock is irrelevant. Even if young James is truly his son and the rightful emperor, the future of Athesia is not his to decide. He was not born here or raised here. He is a foreigner. He might even be a Caytorean agent. I care for this realm, for this princedom and its people. That’s the legacy my husband left me, and that’s my responsibility while I live. His claim is interesting, possibly useful, but he will have to prove he means good for this land, or I will oppose him.”

Sergei was truly impressed. He did not often meet people of such caliber as Amalia’s mother. Her behavior had shattered his misconceptions like brittle porcelain. If only he had known in advance, he might have chosen to talk rather than fight. But it was too late now.

Matvey pointed again. Sergei waved him off angrily. The boy led off where he thought his king had meant.

“So what must he do?” Sergei wondered.

“If I were him, I would try to negotiate peace with you. But I doubt he will.”

Sergei knew there would be more bloodshed between the remaining Athesian forces and his own troops. Conquest ended only when the last soldier laid his blade down. He did not like the idea of more killing, but he would not allow the Caytoreans to meddle in his affairs. He owed them a great deal for the blunder with the Oth Danesh, but that did not mean he would silently abide aggression against Parusite sovereignty.
Even if this used to be their land once
. That made no difference. The land always used to belong to someone else in the past. Until another someone else came and stole it from them.
If I back down, I have killed Vlad for nothing. If I keep killing, his death will be equally meaningless. So what do I do to make the pain worthwhile?

“Do you ever wonder what he’s like?” Sergei pressed.

Lady Lisa shrugged. “He is his father’s son. I wonder more about the mother.”

Ah
. Sergei said nothing. He had to be courteous.

They walked in silence for a while, their footsteps shuffling.

Lisa spoke again. “You have the initiative, Your Highness. Make use of it. Do not make this Emperor James into a greater hero than he already is. Any further success he gains will only make it harder for you to make peace with him. And the ones who will pay the price will be Athesians.”

All of it meant committing his heart to this cursed land. But he did not want to anymore. He did not wish to see more tragedy. His soul was spent. Let Sasha handle the situation—only, he feared the outcome.

“Do you think there can be a favorable resolution to this war?” he asked, almost hopeful.

Lady Lisa freed her arm from his. “There can be only one ruler in a land. Any land. This one already has three. Luckily, I’ve stepped down just in time. Try to make your sacrifice into something meaningful, I implore you.”

Sergei pushed the blackness down, into his stomach. It would resurface before he fell asleep, but he wanted a clear head now. “What do you think happened to Amalia?”

Lisa shrugged again. “I want to believe she’s alive somewhere, and without her body, I will never stop hoping. But for her sake, and for the sake of the people, I wish you will never have to fight her again.”

Candid, brutal. He was humbled. And also felt liberated. His pain was not unique. His selfish anguish lessened when he talked to her, made things seem more reasonable, more logical, more natural. There was more to it than his own sense of indignation.

Once he had thought himself hard. Now he understood he was as fragile as his own father had been, vain, self-centered. Sasha was the one with the stomach for hardness and tough decisions. Only she did not care about pain and suffering, and that made her dangerous. Well, you could not have everything.

“What if she’s found?” he asked, dreading her answer.

“I expect you will know what to do,” she told him.

Sergei expected her to hate him, to despise him. But no. Despite everything he had gone through, despite all the hurting, she wanted him to be sensible and compassionate. No
bitterness. He wished he could be like her, be a better man. He wished he had her strength, her logic.

I promised to eradicate Adam’s line, and here I am, talking to his widow
. He had promised himself. So what? What did that promise mean? Wasn’t there more to character than one’s self-indulgence? Maybe. But he didn’t know the answer yet.

“Will your daughter have the same wisdom as you, my lady?” He diverted his crushing sadness to her.

Lisa reached up and stroked one of the hanging tapestries. “If Amalia is alive, I truly hope she has learned her lesson. The one I could not teach her in the sheltered reality of court life.” She looked at him, her gaze cold and piercing. “Twenty years ago, your father sallied forth from Sigurd to fight infidels. He ruined your nation. A year and a half ago, you went to war over pride. It’s always been your choice, Your Highness. You alone hold the future of the realms in your hands. A unique chance, a unique privilege, or a curse, if you are not courageous enough to grasp it.”

There was a man approaching from the other end of the hall, Adviser Theodore, walking with old dignity, wrapped in a dark purple robe. Sergei knew the moment of intimacy he had shared with his hostage was gone. His options did not look any less bleak, but the pain in his soul was reduced to a bearable level.

“Thank you again, my lady. I’m honored.”

“I am just doing my duty,” she chimed almost too nonchalantly. “I am trying to save Athesia.”

“Your Highness,” Theodore spoke in his slow voice.

There was another pragmatic man, Sergei thought. But this one cared nothing for who led, as long as there was someone to advise. He was devoted to this city. A strange notion, to live your life in service to an ideal. But it was probably easier
than putting your faith in people. Sergei felt his belief in the gods and goddesses should have nourished him through his agony, but all it did was mock him.

He wondered if Adam the Godless had ever been a believer, and if he had lost his love for the gods through life’s hardship. Once such a notion had seemed crazy, blasphemous.

“Yes, Theo,” Sergei barked, perhaps too harshly.

“Lord Mayor Benedict asks for your audience,” the adviser intoned.

“Not my sister’s?” That was curious.

“No, Your Highness.”

Sergei scratched his ear. He did not like Mayor Benedict. That was a man who only cared about his own good. He was supposed to worry about the city’s needs, but all he had done since Sergei had taken Roalas was to make sure the king’s wrath and justice were diverted elsewhere, far from him and his rich comrades, far from the alleged rumors of their fickle loyalty and involvement in the siege. Sergei knew for a fact that the Athesians had fought all too honorably, given the circumstances, but he could not dismiss the notion of plots or secret plans that had been born inside the city.

The king looked at Theo. An honest man. Well, he would not have expected any less from someone like Emperor Adam. The old adviser was a valuable asset. He had lived through four changes of power in this sorry city. He knew how Roalas thought better than any other man. Sergei needed that knowledge, needed to understand the people he was ruling now.

“What does he want from me?”

Theo made a vague gesture. “He did not specify, Your Highness.”

Sergei sighed. “All right, I will see him in an hour. Anything else?”

“Your sister has left the manse. She has gone to preside today’s hanging.”

Sergei turned toward his hostage. “Lady Lisa, we will talk later.” He nodded at one of his guards. “Please escort Lady Lisa to her quarters.” He followed the old man through the palace, back to the court room.

He found it empty, save for two guards, and a stooped woman dusting a suit of armor. She bowed her way out of the hall.

“Get this fire doused,” he ordered, knowing someone would hear and make sure it was done. It was stifling hot.

A small flock of servants came, bobbed their curtsies and their nods, went about setting the court room for a meeting. A boy with hair the color of ripe carrots remained by the set table of food and drinks, waiting to serve if needed.

“No. Matvey will do it. You are dismissed, lad.”

The boy ran off. The squire took his place by the table, frowning.

Lord Benedict was ushered in by Theo, who joined the king at his side. “Your Highness, thank you for seeing me.”

Sergei was not feeling patient. “What is it?”

The mayor licked his lips nervously. “I have…received a rumor that Empress Amalia is alive.”

Sergei felt his blood chill, and his hands closed on the polished wood of the princely throne chair. One built for a smaller figure than his. He recalled the conversation from earlier. This was a test. A privilege or a curse, he would have to decide.

“Where did you hear this rumor?”

The Athesian squirmed. “One of my sources in the city. She is said to be hiding in one of the poor neighborhoods, posing as a seamstress.”