Chapter 37

Celimus had never felt more sure of himself. Here he was riding through Briavel. enemy territory, and he was being welcomed as a savior.

His dream of himself as the all-conquering emperor of the southern lands was beginning to seem as if it could become a reality. The journey through Morgravia had proved an unprecedented success. On Jessom’s suggestion, prior to setting out he had announced a significant reduction in taxes for the next four moons as part of his coronation festival. It had worked beautifully. The people had greeted him with smiles on their faces and food in their bellies. He had even tossed silver coins into the crowds of well-wishers who lined the road into Briavel and bade him bring back a Queen.

At each stop, ale and free food had been made available to all who came to welcome their new King. The generosity was seductive. As Jessom rightly pointed out. people must view him as benevolent so that when the hard decisions needed to be made—when taxes needed to be raised—they would be less likely to revolt, understanding that their good King would not do this to them without reason.

“You have captured their hearts, my King.” Jessom flattered as they rode side by side on fine horses. “They adore you.”

When Jessom was elevated to the new role of King’s Chancellor, no one in any position of prestige could understand why Celimus had chosen an unknown outsider—someone so new to the palace—for the role.

Celimus smiled. He too was impressed. This trip through the townships was inspired; he felt elated at the spectacle he imagined he must present to the commoners. Jessom had cautioned him against using that word, “commoners.” suggesting that “subjects,” “civilians,” even “my people” were far more endearing alternatives. Privately, Celimus considered them all peasants who should be grateful to have so magnificent a monarch to cringe before. He could tell they were excited at the prospect of their King marrying young and to the neighboring realm’s Queen. Everyone believed it was the perfect match, bringing unification and peace to the region at last.

Pah! he thought, peace and unification be damned. Power alone is what this is about. Power and wealth. When I have Briavel cowed and under my control, I shall look north and deal with the hoodlum who dares to cross my borders and offer death threats to my soldiers.

Celimus conveniently overlooked the fact that Cailech’s aggression had been entirely in retaliation for the execution of his own people, or the fact that Celimus himself had hoped that one Morgravian party in particular might be captured and killed.

Cailech will eat his words. No, Cailech will eat humble pie before me, Celimus told himself. I shall see him trapped and cornered. I, Celimus, will be hailed Emperor.

Celimus continued to amuse himself with notions of his grandeur and majesty all the way from the fertile plains of Morgravia to the lush meadows of Briavel. It only waned as he felt the first tension of being on enemy soil.

“Do you think we brought enough reinforcements?” he queried.

“Yes. sire. Five score from the Legion is more than enough to make a firm statement about who is the greater power here. I gather in the last war Briavel lost thousands of her young men. Your father punished Valor the previous time they battled.”

“My father was a soft touch—him and that other aging idiot, Fergys Thirsk!” The King hawked and spat. “Any other soldier worth his salt would have completely demoralized the enemy by inflicting a far greater death toll. As I understand it Briavel was reeling, her throat exposed, just waiting for Morgravia to rip it out…and still, still my father showed compassion.” He made a sound of disgust. “The only good thing to come of that battle was the death of Thirsk, may Shar see his soul rot in hell.”

Jessom, realizing this was a sore subject, smoothed the King’s ruffled emotions with honeyed words. “Nevertheless, your majesty, they were humbled and have not recovered. They are in no position to threaten us. If anything, you are their future, their salvation…you will bring peace and prosperity to two lands that have known countless eruptions of war.”

Celimus felt soothed by the encouraging words and noted with pleasure that the Briavellians were already gathering to greet him—it had occurred to him they might act hostile but such a notion was apparently unfounded. He saw nothing but smiling faces and cheering people. Valor’s death had never been fully laid at his own feet then. People would have their suspicions, he knew. But Valentyna’s advisors were obviously playing a clever game.

Better yet, reports back from various messengers confirmed that the Queen of Briavel was not the plump, frumpy sort he remembered from childhood but a slender, gracious woman…some went so far as to describe her as a rare beauty. Romen was right, then. That at least would make the task of siring an heir on her less distasteful.

Producing an heir whose birthright would straddle both realms was his paramount wish just now. It consumed him. If he was going to risk all-out war with Cailech and the Mountain Dwellers, then he must secure the throne of Morgravia and better still, ensure it was irrevocably linked with Briavel. His son would rule both realms—there would be strength, wealth, and men to call upon. There were moments when he almost wished his father were alive to hear of his grand plan so he could show the stupid old fool what a truly great King could achieve.

“How much longer?” he asked.

“Riders have been sent ahead, majesty. The palace will already know your arrival is imminent. I would hazard a guess of two hours at most.”

The King relaxed. Not long then. He would drink in the fine scenery, accept the well-wishes from the crowd, and arrive ready to greet his new bride with the appropriate amount of discretion and flattery.

As if reading his thoughts, Jessom interrupted them. “There is a huge banquet planned for tonight, I’m told, sire.”

“Do we have to?”

“I’m afraid so, your majesty. Briavel is turning out its finest for you. It is a high compliment; you must attend.”

“I could use a long sleep after all this riding.”

“I understand, sire. And you will certainly enjoy some rest, for sure. However, they wish to honor you with this.”

“And the formal talks?”

Jessom took a breath. He hoped the King would hold his temper. “After the tourney, sire,” he replied evenly.

Celimus turned in the saddle and glared at his advisor. “You jest?”

“No. sire. I was only informed of it this morning. Queen Valentyna has heard of your prowess and wishes to highlight your skills with a tournament in your honor. In her letter she outlined how much the people of Briavel would feel privileged to witness your skills, and how fitting it would be for her lesser subjects to be able to see their Queen and her suitor together on such a social occasion.” He hoped he had chosen the right words of appeasement, even though Valentyna had expressed nothing of the sort, other than to say that the tourney was being presented in his honor.

Celimus no longer bristled. Predictably, he lifted his chin. “Yes, well, I suppose I should let them see what a lucky woman she is to have snared the attentions of the Morgravian King.”

Jessom offered a conspiratorial chuckle. “Yes, my lord, and a chance to reinforce our prowess too, my King. War will seem an even more undesirable choice when they see how brilliantly our monarch fights. The Legion too will put on an exhibition.”

“Yes, good. I should be told these things in advance, though, Jessom.”

It was a gentle rebuke but a rebuke nonetheless. Jessom bowed his head. “As you wish, sire. I simply like to keep much of the frippery from you.”

“And the marriage proposal?”

“You are free of duties, as is her majesty, for that afternoon following the tourney. It would be an appropriate time to make her aware of your, er… shall we say, affections? Formal talks will occur late that afternoon. It is my intention we sign all papers and exchange seals before supper, your majesty.”

“Excellent,” Celimus said. “Well, carry on. I think I shall ride ahead alone now, Jessom.”

“Of course, sire. Let them see your full majesty,” the Chancellor said, smiling benignly as the King cantered toward the front of the column, though the contrived brightness of that smile did not touch his eyes.

Valentyna looked magnificent. Even Liryk, used to her natural beauty, took a deep breath upon seeing how their Queen presented herself this afternoon. Her cheeks were flushed from her morning’s ride and matched the close-fitting dusky rose-pink gown she had chosen to wear. The richness of the color set off her smooth, polished skin and loosely clasped raven hair to perfection, while its softness of hue complemented the lightly rouged full lips and gentle smile she wore as she waited on the steps of the grand palace.

Liryk was impressed. She was paying Celimus full homage. No monarch was ever required to meet their guests, royal or not, in person outside the palace, so this was a departure for Valentyna, a cunning and courageous move to ensure her visitor felt more important than any other. He was proud of her and knew her father would be too.

She stood alone, tall and erect. Her bearing was regal, there was no doubt, and Liryk wished old Valor could see his superb daughter now as she held court, preparing to pull off one of the greatest coups in Briavel’s history. If she could find the courage to put what had gone before behind her and somehow make a good match with Celimus, their marriage meant instant peace and prosperity for Briavel.

Liryk glanced toward the battlements, where the realm’s top archers trained their sights on the approaching column. Soldiers were positioned to show a very strong presence. The Briavellian Guard stationed around the palace outnumbered the Legion by ten to one and still his eyes darted around, taking in and juggling all possibilities should trouble arise. He had no doubt that this was a visit made in true peace—one of diplomacy, aimed at securing a brilliant and strategic marriage agreement—but he ensured every one of his men was ready and focused. There would be no surprises this time.

Valentyna smoothed her skirts, wiping her clammy hands, as the King’s party approached. She lifted her head and‘ smiled radiantly as Celimus, King of Morgravia, brought his magnificent horse to a halt not far from where she stood.

He was utterly beautiful. She smiled inwardly. Stop admiring ,the horse and make him welcome; she admonished herself. Romen would laugh if he knew she was watching the stallion more than the King.

Celimus alighted gracefully and handed the reins to his man. He held her gaze and although she was unnerved by the dark, intense stare, she forced herself to curtsy as he finally bowed very low, very elegantly before her. And still having said nothing, he took her hand and kissed the back of it softly.

“Your majesty,” he said, straightening, unashamedly impressed by the woman who stood before him. “The King of Morgravia, at your service.”

She looked at his broad white smile and unwavering gaze. She imagined she saw a hunter, sizing up his prey. “The honor, your majesty, is ours. Be most welcome to Briavel,” she lied.

A refreshing drink of crushed, chilled parillion fruit was served in the rose garden to Celimus and his immediate party, which included Jessom and the present General of the Legion, a bluff, middle-aged man who exchanged no pleasantries other than the bare words of greeting. Valentyna thought of Wyl Thirsk and how he might turn in his tomb to see his successor. The Legionnaires had already been shown to their barracks, their horses stabled, and three lesser dignitaries were presently being shown to their guest rooms.

“Do you have spies, Valentyna, to know my favorite fruit?”

She noticed they had moved swiftly to first names. Two monarchs, two equals. He would do well to bear that in mind, she thought.

“Why, how curious, but it is always my first choice too,” she lied smoothly, remembering Romen’s advice that she be charming. In truth she did not care for the parillion’s overly sweet flesh. Still she sipped its juice politely. “We harvest them daily in season from the palace orchards.”

“I should enjoy strolling those orchards with you, my dear,” he said and the condescension was not lost on her.

“Of course, it would be a pleasure. And how was your journey, Celimus?”

“Very successful, thank you. It was ever rare for me, even as Prince, to get out into the provincial areas to meet with Morgravians,” he said. “They made me feel most proud to be their monarch.”

You probably would not even bother with them normally, she thought and then checked herself. This would not do. She knew this man only through other people’s eyes and reports. Do him the courtesy of at least conversing honestly with him. Impress him, she told herself, and it will all be over by tomorrow evening.

“I have no doubt that you are in need of a rest, my lord.” she said, deliberately showing deference. “Perhaps you would care to visit your suite and see that all is as you like it?”

He nodded, pleased with her sudden servility. Tomorrow he would participate barechested in some events. He had already planned this so the Queen and her people could view his magnificent physique as well as his prowess as a swordsman, archer, rider, whatever they wished…he was pleased to showcase his talents.

“I understand we have arranged for basins to be sent up—sorry,” she corrected herself, “baths, as you call them. Please be in no hurry on my account. You must relax and take your time.”

“It is very kind of you,” he replied. “I gather there is to be a banquet tonight?”

“Yes. It is in your honor, Celimus. We are privileged that you have come in person to Briavel and we would do homage to our special guest with this feast.” Romen would be proud of me, she thought, batting her eyelids and turning on her smile.

“Until this evening then, my lady,” he said, standing so she could admire him close up as he towered over her. He took her hand and once again laid a soft kiss on it. “Thank you for your gentle welcome.”

The other two men had milled around quietly in the background but now they joined their King, bowing to Valentyna, and she gave a small, polite nod to each as they took their leave.

She sighed with relief. The first hurdle was crossed but much worse was to come. She gave her royal guest sufficient time to have ascended the grand staircase before she fled toward her own chambers, using the concealed back passages. Romen and Fynch were waiting for her.

“You shouldn’t be seen here.” she said, her heart beating faster at seeing Romen. She loved this feeling of being in love. It made her feel powerful.

He kissed her full on the lips and she withdrew, shocked, looking toward Fynch.

“It’s all right, your majesty,” the boy said and left it at that.

“I’m sorry, Fynch, you deserve to know about us,” Valentyna said, embarrassed.

Wyl squeezed her hand. “He already knows, my love. Anyway, he’s our cover. If I’m discovered by your staff, I will be seen with Fynch, which gives our tryst respectability.” He tugged once again at her pounding heart with his heartbreaking smile. “Stop worrying, and tell us how it went.”

“Exactly to plan.” she replied, turning to enter her chamber and inviting them in. “He is as you describe. Arrogant, conceited, condescending, heartbreakingly handsome.”

“Not too handsome I hope?”

“Anyone who calls me ‘my dear.’ and is not old enough to be my own father, is not so attractive on the inside.” she said in answer. “Outwardly, though, very handsome but with a wolfish attitude and a smarmy manner I find repulsive. Does that cover it?”

“More than adequately,” Wyl replied, feigning brightness while really feeling dangerously reckless at the knowledge that Celimus was close enough that he could run him through. Better, he could hurl Romen’s daggers with deadly accuracy. He heard a familiar growl from the doorway and shook his head. Can the dog read thoughts? Well, if he could he did not approve of the idea of doing away with Celimus so obviously. He ignored Knave. “Are you all right?” he asked, holding her hand.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’ve got to get through tonight’s festivities, that’s what’s bringing me grief.”

“You’ll be magnificent, your majesty,” Fynch reassured.

She ruffled his hair. “I wish you could both be there,” she admitted.

“We will be, in our own way, I promise,” Wyl said. “Now we’ll disappear and let you start preparing.”

“And I’ll do my best to look alluring. I promise.”

Wyl turned back toward her. She loved the way his moustache twitched like that. “Valentyna, you don’t have to try. You are always very beautiful, especially in your riding clothes with your hair about your face and your cheeks so flushed from activity. You are the most desirable woman I will ever know or be lucky enough to love.”

She could not help the tears that welled. “Do you love me?”

“From the second I saw you,” he said truthfully.

“Romen”—She had no time to say anything else as they came together in an urgent embrace. Fynch had already discreetly closed the door and no doubt stood patiently on the other side with Knave, keeping a close watch.

“You must go,” she said, suddenly pulling away and catching her breath.

He nodded, said nothing, trusted himself to say no more. He backed to the door and departed.

Despite her sense of power, Valentyna had never felt more vulnerable. She had never had anything so precious to lose as the love of Romen Koreldy—she would marry him tomorrow, no, tonight, if she could. But there was a banquet to get through and a dangerous, unpredictable suitor to discourage in the most gracious of manners.