Venzene Duchy of Kovalun
County Jižní Pochod
Barony of Hartscross–Jižní Lov
٥ Korunasykli: ٢٢ Days after the Red Storm at Westsong
For a moment, Kastan could only stare. She understood what she was seeing. She was just having a difficult time accepting it. The notion that Edmund’s Ruční Kopí—her Ruční Kopí—stood before her with a small mob of survivors seemed like an impossibility.
Hajvarr and his armsman Pavel had cuts and bruises to spare. Pavel bore a long, jagged gash on his forehead. It was bleeding, but at a glance, it seemed clear it was a shallow thing.
…If bruise and boy were real.
…If any of the shadowed, shocked faces were real.
…If this wasn’t some final fever dream before she slipped sideways.
After everything else that’s happened today? After every truth revealed—every veil torn aside? Kastan shook her head, resisting the urge to close her eyes for anything longer than a blink.
“Kas—Excellency?” Hajvarr’s voice drew her from her long thoughts. “It’s been bad in the undertown, but it might be worse above. Our would-be saviors have turned on us. They’re putting everyone they can lay hands on to the sword, then standing them up again. Some of the Bluemark are making it hard for them, but there just aren’t enough. A good many fled once the dead started rising.” His tone held more sympathy than blame. “We’ve managed to save some fifty souls, but…”
His eye fell on Vlk’s still form. He bowed his head, then turned to Pavel with a look of shocked sympathy. The baker’s boy was ashen-faced, but his eyes left no doubt that he was in control of his emotions.
“Jitka von’t… it’ll be hard for her.”
As if he’d summoned her, a little girl came walking through the crowd. She looked dazed. Her vacant expression and the meandering way she moved were difficult things to look at. Were she older, one might be forgiven for thinking her drunk on daddy’s abandoned ale pot. She held the hand of the dyer’s daughter—Kastan couldn’t recall her name. The pair moved to stand next to Pavel, who took the older girl’s free hand at once.
“Vlk? Vlk, vhy are you…” The little girl took another unsteady step forward, releasing the hand she held. “Vhy are you… Vlk?”
Her eyes went wide, then closed in anguished disbelief. She staggered as if slapped. “Vhy? Vhy did someone let… Vhy is he…” But it was no good.
She spun around and threw herself at Pavel. He handed Hajvarr his spear and released the hand he still held. Bending down, he lifted Jitka, letting her screams and sobs crash against his big barrel chest. A beat later, he shifted her, so that she rode in one arm. He used the other to pull the dyer’s daughter in to join the embrace. She, too, was weeping, albeit in silence.
And oh, was Kastan not jealous in that moment. To be able to give in and just … let her guard down and weep for all they’d lost, as little Jitka was. She thought she’d have given almost anything to surrender like that. She wanted nothing more than for someone she trusted—Hajvarr, Caros, someone—to wrap her in a strong embrace and tell her that it would be… that it was alright.
But no. I… I am the Countess of Jižní Pochod now. Pravdivý jako zítřek.
The full weight of it struck her with a stark, sudden brutality. Yes, Hajvarr, Pavel… all of them were real, which meant all the rest of it was real.
She cast about. The sight of fifty-odd faces wearing haunted, lost expressions made everything doubly clear to her.
They’re terrified, as well they should be. They’re hungry for help—for hope—just as I am. But it’s me they’re looking to… me they’re expecting to provide it. She marveled at her own foolishness. Of course, they were looking to her. She was their liege now. Who in hells else would they be looking to in this evil hour?
Very well. She couldn’t embrace Hajvarr in hopes of being comforted, but there was something she could do.
To grieve alone takes ages. To grieve in groups takes burdens, so they say.
It was a lesson Caros had taught her after their mother had passed. As the heir to their father’s land and title, he’d been expected to swallow his pain. Their father had been no comfort to either of them—he’d been too busy trying to drown his own grief. And so she alone had seen her brother’s tears. She alone had felt the weight of his grief. And thereby had she discovered the miracle: the act of giving comfort was a balm to all wounded hearts at once.
Nodding more to herself than anyone else, Kastan turned and stepped to where the boys stood, stroking Štít. She met Andrej’s misted blue eyes. They were grave, wounded things that turned her own grief to anger. That he should have to suffer so much in so short a time… it wasn’t fair—any of it.
Not that it changes anything.
She sheathed her sword for the first time in what felt like an age. As soon as her hands were free, Andrej fell against her. She returned the embrace, stroking his hair and trying not to give in to her own pain.
Lashjuk moved to her left, embracing her own boy in much the same way. The four of them stood in silence for a time. It was far too brief, and far too public for anyone’s liking, but it served its purpose. The ordinary magic—the simple knowledge that none of them had to face this misery alone—had robbed their grief of its sharpest edge. And that was no small matter.
Kastan pushed Andrej out to arm’s length with as much gentleness as she could manage. Leaning toward him, she touched her forehead to his, which caused a sad smile to bloom on his face.
“You told me you would stay with me,” she murmured to him, wearing a similar expression on her own face. “That there was no place you would rather be. Has that changed?”
“Mm-mm.” He shook his head. “Where would I go, Lady?”
She kissed his brow, then met his eyes again. “I’ll tell you now the same thing someone else I love told me. Will you hear it?”
He nodded, eyes beginning to mist over once more.
“Andrej, I beg you. Say nothing. Make no reply, but play along in all other respects.”
His eyes widened, but he nodded, embracing her again.
She could feel him shake—could feel his fear. After a moment, she turned them both to face the milling members of this once-great community. She kept an arm around Andrej’s shoulders, holding him tight to her side. Raising her voice, she addressed the milling mass of frightened folk.
“We’ll be leaving this place. If you’ve provisions, keep close watch on them. It may be some time before we’re able to find more. If any of you know anything of fighting, hunting, or trailcraft, come make it known to Ruční Kopí. Hajvarr? I leave the task of organization to you.” Once Hajvarr nodded his acceptance, she turned to the dyer’s daughter.
“Step forward, then turn to face the others.” Once she’d done so—looking wide-eyed and panicky—Kastan continued. “If any of you know something of leechcraft, cooking, or scholarship, make it known to—”
The girl spun around, blushing deepest scarlet. “Excellency, I… I know nothing of healing or the scribal arts!” Her voice was a terrified, breathy peal of sound.
“Otta… You’ve a fair hand, you cook vell, and you remember everything,” said Pavel. “If her Excellency vants your help…”
And now I know her name, Kastan mused. Thank you, Pavel.
“I…” Otta bounced from foot to foot for a moment, then subsided. “You’re right, můj drahý.” She gave Kastan a curtsey. “Forgive me, Excellency.” And with that, she turned back to face the assemblage.
Kastan gave Pavel a grin and a nod, then thanked Otta. She let the silence play out for a moment while she collected her thoughts. She drew in a breath, held it, and spoke the words aloud for the first time.
“As most of you know, Edmund asked for my hand today.” There were murmurs of condolence and acceptance of this, but she didn’t allow them to linger. “He laid bare a good many truths that were wisely kept hid from common knowledge. He felt it best, and I … never spoke a word of protest on the matter. After naming me his intended, he took steps to ensure that all was legal and proper. I am his lawful successor, holding all rights and responsibilities of his office.”
She swallowed, laying her free hand on the county žezlo hung from her belt. “Yet there was more.”
They nodded at this, offering a collective, inarticulate murmur in reply.
Well, she thought, I’ve told all the truth I can. Now I must tell the lie. Tell the lie and hope to make it true.
She steeled herself, drew a sharp breath in through her nose, and spoke the words.
“One such hidden truth was my Andrej. Edmund’s Andrej, kept hidden for these many years.”
The murmuring stopped for a beat, then erupted again. She thought most of the crowd seemed excited, rather than afraid, but she could not—would not yield the momentum she’d gained. Not even to such joy. She took a breath, then overrode them.
“Now Edmund is gone. The very devils who kill our kin, turning them into cradle tale monsters above, have taken him from us.” They gasped and growled at this. Her own eyes were streaming, though her voice remained quite steady. “I am now the recognized Baroness of Hartscross … the lawful Countess of Jižní Pochod. And as such, it falls to me to speak the words Edmund and I were meant to have spoken together.”
The voices fell silent. Every eye was upon her. Yet no gaze wielded more weight than Hajvarr’s. His eyes had always held a shrewdness and focus that was hard to endure for any length of time.
She did her best to ignore him for the nonce. She had other matters to contend with, her racing heart chiefest among them. Allowing her eyes to grow distant, she said the words that would both bind her to and fulfill her promise.
“I, Kastan Perc—” she silenced herself. “…No. No, that’s no longer right.” An odd little laugh escaped her lips, even as her eyes streamed. “I, Kastan Hartscross, hereby recognize Andrej as my lawful son and heir, granting him all rights and responsibilities, honors and obligations due his station.”
They stared with wide, shocked eyes as they processed this declaration. None looked more surprised than Hajvarr. And none look more angry. I’ll speak with him as soon as time allows. For now…
She raised her voice, injecting a note of joy into it that was a struggle to maintain. “For Lord Andrej Hartscross… for my Edmund’s son! Jižní meče!”
They repeated the words with a surprising amount of zeal. The people were, indeed, hungry for hope. A ready-made heir might not have mattered to most folk in the ordinary course, but given the horrors above? Any sense of normality was a roof to seek shelter beneath until the storm passed.
She felt Andrej’s arm tighten around her waist. He bowed his head, then looked up to meet the eyes of the surviving folk of this once proud place. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then stepped from her side.
“I… I thank you. My… My mother will lead us safely from this place, and for many years to come. But I thank you.”
They nodded their approval, saying things like aye, and well spoken, Lord, and now we know why Edmund never wedded.
Andrej bore this for a few moments, then gave them another deep bow of his head before returning to Kastan. Meeting her eyes—holding her eyes—he gave her a weak smile and a look of such naked exhaustion she couldn’t help but laugh. He laughed as well, though it came out thin, as if he were holding back tears.
“I have… questions… Mmm-mother, when there’s time.”
She nodded, laying her palms against his hairless face. “I expect you do. When we’ve stopped for the night… Will that serve?”
He nodded, still wearing that weak, wrung-out smile. She’d meant to say more, but was caught off guard when a low alto voice scratched its way into her ear.
“Excellency?”
She turned to find Lashjuk standing beside her. The gnoerkish woman’s pale golden face wore an inscrutable expression. Kastan’s pulse picked up speed once more, though whether this was the woman’s unearthly beauty or her own fear of yet another crisis stalking close, she didn’t know.
“Lady?”
Lashjuk met her eyes, then cut them to the left. “A word?”