The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) (20 page)

I will be a god
, he promised, and walked through the storm.

CHAPTER 14

I
need friends
, Amalia thought, so she smiled at Malik. “Did you like my brother?” Saying the word felt strange. “Brother” was not how she had felt about James. Even half that was too much. Whenever she really, truly let her mind consider him, she always strayed toward Father, some former life he had left behind and some unknown woman who had birthed his son. It stung, so she made sure she never pondered too deeply about James. She wished she could know who he really had been, what had motivated him, and what his family might have been like. But he would never tell her that. So she might as well learn about him from his adjutants, officers, and followers. Maybe bond in friendship with them.

The clerk shrugged. “I did, Your Highness.”

“Why?” she asked.

Malik shrugged again. “He was a likable sort, Your Highness.” They were walking outside the abandoned manor house taking on repairs. There was a whole regiment of craftsmen scrabbling all around and over the stonework, like ants swarming their hill. The whole structure was enclosed in scaffolding, and it was hard to tell what the masons were really doing. But this would become her new residence soon, she thought, a symbol of status.

“He had humble manners, like your common man,” Malik continued. “He didn’t have any of that arrogance you would find with the councillors and other nobility. Ordinary soldiers could identify with him.”

Unlike me
, she thought. Maybe she should show them her scars. They would no longer be a weakness; they would be her badge of honor, her shield. “And why did you join him?”

An easy grimace pinched the adjutant’s face. “Frankly, we were all rather fed up with the situation in Caytor. Year after year of humiliation. First, we had those Feorans, and they ravaged the realm. Then Adam—pardon me, Your Highness—Emperor Adam came and stole our land. But the High Council did nothing. No one opposed him. The nation was left in shame. And then those pirates came and humiliated us some more. When your brother declared himself, we thought it was like the war twenty years ago. We wanted to be on the winning side this time around.”

She smiled softly. Winning side. She had spoken to several officers and aides, trying to figure out who her brother was. Perhaps they feared her reaction, but they all spoke in great favor of his charm and deeds. It was true that death exalted everyone. There was no harm in saying a good word for the deceased, and it also made you feel better about yourself. It cost nothing. Still, she believed there must be an inkling of truth in their stories, if not the intensity.

“Didn’t you think you were betraying your country?” she inquired.

Malik rubbed his chin, and it sounded like the paper he manhandled every day. “Well, all the councillors were flocking to his side. How can that be treason, then?”

“And what will you do now? You know I am the Athesian empress. My duty is to the realm my father
stole
from you.”

He did not have an answer. She hadn’t really expected him to spout wisdom. How could anyone really sum up four decades of national turmoil, disgrace, and bitter competition between the nation’s finest in a few quick sentences?

“Thank you for your time, Malik.”

He nodded and dashed off, glad to be free.

Amalia paused in the shadow of a ruined buttress being smeared with fresh mortar, blocks of stone waiting near a catapult-like ramp. Workers were having a simple break in the simple routine of their simple lives, dicing and eating, smoking and laughing. When they saw her, they stood up and bowed. Then, they went back to not really worrying. She almost envied them.

Not far off, Jarman glanced toward her and nodded in support. She pursed her lips at him, as if her expression could tell all she felt. Ever since their agreement, he spent more time around her, trying to help her. She should be grateful, she felt, but it jarred her, his presence, a reminder of her weakness and the impeding doom from the north. She still found it hard to believe, but whenever she doubted his words, she recalled the night in Roalas when Calemore stole the bloodstaff and the book, the day he had utterly ruined her. But her mind would not linger long on those black thoughts, shutting itself against the stark white fear that bore into her temples.

She looked the other way. No time for silly, girlish doubts, she swore. “Master Hector.”

The leathery man detached himself from the group of officers and stepped in stride with her. She had not yet spoken to him about James, and she wanted his perspective. “Your Highness.”

Tread softly
, she told herself.
No. Tread hard
. “Why are you here?”

“You called me.”

“In Athesia, following me?”

The man snorted. “We never had a heart-to-heart discussion, Your Highness. I expected it would happen sooner or later. Do you really want the truth?”

Amalia looked at Jarman again. He would protect her, he had promised. She needed friends. The best way to find if you had any was to push people into a corner. Everyone was always nice when things were in order.

“Please.”

He spat in the grass. “Doing my duty.”

She smiled at him. “Isn’t your duty to follow the orders of the High Council?”

The former sergeant smiled back. His teeth were in much worse shape than hers. “Rather than answering that, Your Highness, let me ask you something else in return. You must be wondering what all these men will do if they stop liking the Athesian coin one day. Or Caytorean coin. Or any coin. Aren’t you?”

Amalia let his rude manners slide. “That thought did cross my mind.”

He clicked his tongue as if he had gained a strategic lead in an argument. “You must understand the Caytorean society first, before you can hear my answer. A long time ago, we had our kings and emperors and the like. Wasn’t very profitable. We realized power is much better governed when there’s a whole lot of people fighting for their own interests rather than uniting under one leader. That way, they keep scheming among themselves rather than cooperating. Keeps everyone busy. Makes things stable and predictable.” He paused. “Loyalty became a matter of profit, rather than principle. You follow the man who pays you, and you do not question morality too much.”

“That does not sound very noble,” she hazarded.

Master Hector laughed. “Killing people when ordered by a king or a councillor is still the same thing. You might sleep better at night knowing you had no choice either way. So no, my duty is not to follow the orders of the High Council. My duty is to protect
my
realm.”

“Is this why you joined my brother?”

“I joined your brother because I was paid to do so. With time, I learned to like the lad, a lot. He had spirit and honesty, in his unique way. You may think I’m mad, but you forget yourself, Your Highness. When you became the empress of Athesia, you took our finest hostage. You threatened my realm. We didn’t know if you might lead another war against us, like your father did. When our councillors decided to oppose you, many of us figured we should side with Councillors Otis and Melville to fight you. I got gold to train James, but I was there to make sure he did not suddenly become a greedy bastard with an eye for the rest of our land.”

Amalia was fascinated. “Do go on, please.”

Hector snatched at an annoying fly buzzing near his ear. He missed. “Lady Rheanna made the greatest sacrifice. She got herself into his clutches, a dangerous game if you ask me, but she did prevail, and she made him into a fine husband.”

“Why are you
still
here?”

The once head of the Caytorean Military Academy looked at her like she was asking him to marry her. “Where else would I go? Go back to training peasants how to tell left from right? Adjudicate feuds between lords in backward regions?”

She didn’t like this, not the mention of James’s fat-arsed widow, not the man’s casual manner about loyalty. “You expect me to retain your services after this admission?” Not what she had planned when she had summoned him. But then, she had
challenged him, and he did not yield, a tough old man with nothing to lose.

He pointed in the general direction of Ecol, his thumbnail black from sword practice blows. “Most lads out there are just paid killers, and they don’t give a dog shit about your cause. Some of us do care and want the best for Caytor. Things got out of control with your brother. Now things might get out of control with you, but we are going to make sure you do not threaten our realm. We will support you if you keep true to your brother’s promise.”

“What is it?”

“Profit for Caytor. Handsome profit. Alliance.” He made a pained, forced expression. “Your peace efforts with the Parusites are not encouraging. Your spring-cleaning sure didn’t invoke any extra loyalty. Now you’re turning your wrath against Lady Rheanna. That will not go down well with the Caytoreans.”

Honesty, in the form of a rebuke and a threat. James might have been some honest Eracian, but he seemed to have done quite well keeping everyone happy. He killed some of his patrons, then gained loyalty by marrying Rheanna. Perhaps that was what she needed? To marry some rich, handsome Caytorean, someone who would not remind her of Gerald so she did not get sad every time she looked at his face?

She often forgot she was a young, presumably attractive empress, if not for her scars, without a husband. That was a great tool if she dared use it. However, she felt weak considering it. That was what ordinary women did, and she did not want to be just another maid seeking a strong man to help her and keep her safe. Then again, Father married a Caytorean woman, a commoner, and that made the small folk adore him. He had united his fledgling empire by carefully balancing the factions.

Sacrifice for her nation. Her own love ideals were unimportant.

She steered the subject gently back to her brother. “Did he tell you anything about his life in Eracia?”

Hector scrunched his nose, deep-gorged skin turning into tree bark. “No. He kept it to himself. No one knew anything about his kin. If the councillors did, they kept it secret, too.”

Amalia nodded. Finding friends did not quite work for her. Not only was she all alone in this, everyone hassled and threatened her in the process. Jarman’s help had its own wicked barb. Her army consisted of mercenaries making sure she did what they wanted while counting the gold she paid. Even this old man didn’t bother lying to her about it; he was simply unafraid. Her face sagged.

“Amalia,” Master Hector said in a gentle voice, surprising her, “I’m an old man. I’ve been fed so much shit in my life, if you put me in a bucket of night soil, you couldn’t tell me apart from a dried turd. You seem to have dignity, and that’s good. But power does not come to people just ’cause they were born to it. They gotta earn it. You have to prove yourself. If you want your father’s respect, then you have to be like your father.”

She was confused. “He took land from you.”

The master blinked slowly. “He gave us eighteen years of the best trade we ever had. He gave us peace.”

Amalia sighed. Peace. Everyone just wanted her to make peace, even if it meant killing thousands just to get it. Forgive everyone, ignore her enemies, placate them. Bow to King Sergei, bow before the High Council, pray for scraps of mercy and gratitude.

She had promised the Sirtai wizard to seek a just agreement with the Parusites. But that meant alienating her fickle allies. If only she could somehow use either of these weaknesses
to her advantage. With Caytor behind her, she could maybe force King Sergei to offer greater concessions. Or maybe the threat of Parus could sway the councillors to help her, lest they lose all their hope of future profit and cooperating.

She was tired. Exhausted. She hated all these speculations, games, deals. She hated having to barter with her soul and honor. The worst part was, her imagined truth of how Father had managed the realm was coming undone. She had once simply believed he had ruled fearlessly, tossing bones to his foes and watching them fight over them like rabid dogs. Now, though, she was beginning to suspect the reality might have been different, more complex, more difficult.

Everyone urged me to make peace. Mom, Theo, Gerald. Everyone. They must have known something I missed as a child growing in my father’s protective shadow. I should have listened then
.

Two years later, with her honor in Ecol’s gutters, she was learning the lesson the hard way.

“Make peace,” Hector repeated.

Amalia realized she was nearing the city, having lost her sense of time. Her court trailed behind her, all except Agatha, who rode a palfrey. “Sounds simple.”

“Do it while you still have the initiative, Your Highness. You’re lucky you have that butcher Xavier. That piece of shit likes his gold so much; otherwise you’d be having open rebellion right now.”

He had quite an incentive
, she thought. “You waited a long while to tell me this.”

Master Hector looked serene. “You never asked before.”

“You think I should not have kept Lady Rheanna locked up?” she asked, intrigued.