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The last time Presley had been at the Bocburg, he and Grigory had just been reunited after years apart. He hadn’t cared about anything other than holding Grigory in his arms and making absolutely certain they would never be separated again. But before that day, for most of his life, it had been like a home to him.
It doesn’t feel like home anymore, though.
The current duke, Robert Dryhten, was a good and noble man, much like his father, but no one could ever replace Duke Brandon in Presley’s estimation. And now, the palace was overflowing, since it served for all intents and purposes as the royal residence. The court had made brief visits in Presley’s time, of course, but the castle had a different air now that the royal family had lived there for the past two years. Add in all the other little changes, like new furniture and tapestries, and it felt like an entirely foreign place to him.
It’s not the place I grew up, watching my father work. Not anymore. It’s not the place where I went to work in my turn, back when I was impossibly young.
But he tried not to let his discomfort show during supper, assuring Duke Robert that, “Yes, it felt good to be home.” His ill-ease, though, reached its height after the meal. Queen Rohesia invited him, along with Grigory and Intira, to go with her to her study to discuss old times and Grigory’s new position.
They returned to her study, which also felt foreign to him. Inside, the same solid desk dominated the room and books still lined the shelves, and obviously no one had moved the fireplace or the window. But no room Presley had been in since arriving felt less like what he remembered. No trace of Duke Brandon remained, even if many of these things had been his.
In Presley’s memory, this study was a place of pipe smoke and fortified wine, of quiet reading by dim lanterns late at night. Now it belonged to the queen, and she had brought some of the frantic energy of Wealdan Castle with her. Things looked brighter, cleaner, and arguably better organized. But it made Presley unexpectedly sad.
Still, I’ve got a job to do. I can’t afford to be distracted by melancholic nostalgia. Duke Brandon’s memory deserves better than that.
“Please, everyone sit,” the queen offered, gesturing to a few overstuffed chairs circling a low, round table.
These were all new to Presley, and he shifted uncomfortably once he sat. The queen brought over a decanter of wine, and Intira helped bring glasses from the sideboard, which dated from Duke Brandon’s day. Grigory gave Presley’s hand a brief squeeze, and he started to settle.
“I had a chance to read the letters you left this afternoon,” Queen Rohesia went on, passing around glasses. “It’s always lovely to hear from old friends.” She paused and frowned. “I wish they could do more, but I will not look askance at what I have been offered.”
Presley knew the gist if not the precise words Faustinus, Vita, and Tullius had all used in their letters to the queen. (He had noted, with approval, that they had all written to the queen regent, rather than to her brother, the captain general, or to Duke Robert, the lord chancellor.)
“The siege is very nearly complete, and I fear we will require another army if we are to hold the city, and hopefully, one day, escape it,” she continued. “I suppose I could not expect legions pouring over the mountains, but without access to the treasury, it is rather difficult to entice an army into joining us.”
“I know the emperor wishes he could do more,” Presley said. “But if he were seen as supporting the Sigor claim, even if only financially, it would prove unpopular. Perhaps dangerously so.”
The queen nodded. “Of course. And I would not expect him to jeopardize his own throne to rescue Edwin’s. Faustinus, naturally, says that he has ‘every intention’ of providing all possible help.”
Presley and the queen laughed, while Grigory blushed. Intira looked a bit confused, however, and Presley decided to let her in on the joke. “Have you never noticed that any time Faustinus says he has ‘every intention’ of doing something, that is the surest way of knowing he will do nothing?”
“Well, that’s rather disappointing.” Intira frowned. “He said he had every intention of watering my plants while I’m here.”
Everyone chuckled now, even Intira. But as the laughter died away, the queen stared gravely into her wineglass once more.
“So, that means the three of you are all we can expect. May I ask what kind of help you can offer, specifically? In this situation, we need an accurate assessment of all our resources, including the human ones.”
“Perhaps I should start then, if no one objects,” Intira offered in her light, high voice. “Just so there is no confusion, let us start with the fact that I know almost nothing about engineering.”
“I did not expect so,” answered the queen. “Although as we prepare for a siege and battle, I suspect engineering expertise will be most welcome.”
“And I will be pleased to help in any way I can, your majesty,” Grigory said in his lovely, serious way. “I have exchanged letters with Dr. Stark. His best students will be my assistants.”
“That is very encouraging. But may I ask, Miss Stylianos, what is it you will be able to do? Empress Vita is an old and dear friend of mine, and she assures me in her letter that you will be most useful, but she gives no indication how.”
Intira smiled slyly and rolled up her sleeve to unveil her prosthetic arm. “I can help in many ways. First of all, Faustinus replaced the arm I lost with something quite wonderfully magysk, and I do not simply mean my ability to perform any task now that I could before. There are spells in here,” she said, tracing the fingers of her other hand over the colored stripes and gems.
“In addition, I have been training with Faustinus and Vita, as well as Moira Darrow, to learn the art of spycraft,” she went on. “In fact, I’ve already made a contact in Broderick’s camp, and hopefully, I will be able to start providing you with information quite soon. As well as sowing confusion by sending misinformation back to the enemy.”
“Yes, I knew you were working for Faustinus and Moira, but to hear you have a contact already is very exciting.” The queen smiled, clearly impressed. “Yes, you will be a most significant addition. On behalf of my son, thank you for coming.”
Intira shrugged and even giggled a bit. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do if Vita and Faustinus asked me.”
The queen now turned to face Presley. They were seated next to each other, which allowed her to reach over and place a hand atop his. The gesture was so unexpected from this staid woman, Presley almost flinched, but he didn’t think she noticed.
“I already well know what you can accomplish,” she said. “I have spoken with Duke Robert, and any logistical assistance you can offer to the running of the Bocburg or the city, we will be pleased to have.”
He noticed she did not mention that she had spoken to Lawrence. Nor had she expressed any desire for Presley to help with army logistics. Probably best to allow the queen and duke to act as a go-between for me and Lawrence. I doubt he’s changed in essentials, and I’d bet he still resents all my finance and management lectures from years ago.
“It will be my pleasure, your majesty,” Presley said.
***
THE ARRIVAL OF PRESLEY, Grigory, and particularly Intira, had filled Rohesia with hope. They had a contact inside Broderick’s camp! If they knew what he planned to do next, they would be able to stop him, surely. Except mere days after the trio arrived from the Empire, Broderick’s forces were about to complete their encirclement of the city. Everyone inside the city knew it, but it turned out that knowing was not enough. Not even close to enough.
Rohesia had been receiving reports for the past two days about the movements of the usurper’s troops. They had skirmished several times with royal forces in their attempt to secure the final opening in the circle at the southeast of the city. Every time, Broderick’s troops bested Lawrence’s. Today, her brother was struggling to throw up a final blockade with a regiment of handpicked men. If it failed, well, Rohesia did not quite know what they would do.
Whatever the outcome, though, she was regent, and if she could not be on the battlefield, she could at least observe it. To that end, she and Caedmon were slowly trudging their way up the endless stairs of Leofe Tower. Normally, she always tried to appreciate the beauty of the impossibly tall glass tower, only made possible through the magy of one of the most powerful hillichmagnars to ever live. But today the tower mattered simply because she would know immediately the doom of Leornian without need of waiting for a report from the fighting.
She was both pleased and disappointed to have Caedmon with her on this journey. His experience and constant steadiness would add context to whatever she witnessed. And yet, he could be so much more useful on the battlefield. She knew he refused to fight openly without the approval of the Freagast, head of the hillichmagnars of Diernemynster. And intellectually, she could respect this decision. But she had seen him use magy to protect her and her family as they escaped Formacaster, two years earlier. And since he clearly supported the Sigor cause, she did not understand why he couldn’t hurl a few fireballs at the Gramiren forces, now and again.
“Here we are,” Caedmon said, walking through an archway and into the observation room at the very top of the tower. As few people ever took the time to climb to the top, it was sparsely furnished, with a few chairs around a couple of tables near an open brazier of some silvery-blue metal. It struck her as a dismal perch from which to witness history.
Without ceremony, Rohesia collapsed in what looked like the most comfortable chair. She was still debating its softness when she realized the battle had already begun to play out, far below and a mile beyond the city wall.
“Oh my,” she wheezed, not merely breathless from physical exertion. “Can you tell what is happening?”
Caedmon frowned. “The captain general has sent his men out in an attempt to form a sort of wedge between the enemy and the river.”
“Is that....” Rohesia paused, not wanting to bluntly ask if it were a smart or a stupid tactic. “Is it what you would have chosen to do in his place?”
Caedmon pointed, and she tried to find what he indicated. “The Gramiren forces are already about to flank our men upriver. Once that happens, our troops will either have to try and break through Broderick’s vastly denser line or retreat back to the city. It is, I must say, much what was tried at Keelweard.”
“And we lost Keelweard,” Rohesia whispered, though neither of them required the reminder. “Then should he not retreat to the city and save the men? Not merely so as not to waste human life, but so as to keep as many men for another day when we might have more hope of success?”
“That would be my recommendation, your majesty, but at this point in a battle, the commander in the field is the only one who can make meaningful decisions.”
So, it was all up to Lawrence then. Rohesia sat and watched helplessly as men fighting to defend her son fell under the arrows and swords of the usurper’s troops. Others were driven into the river. Half of the battlefield looked like nightmarish chaos. The other half like an unstoppable array of death. And Caedmon said this was the same tactic that had failed at Keelweard. How could a commander watch this happen once, and then deliberately try it again? She loved her brother, but if the execution of the war were left entirely in his hands, Edwin would never be king and would quite likely die an extremely premature death.
“What do we do next?” she asked. “How does one break a siege?”
“Well, the best way is for an external army to arrive and, in essence, besiege the besiegers. Barring that, it is often a matter of patience and attrition that could go either way, I am afraid.”
Some of the royal troops were now falling back into the city, while others just fell. This disastrous battle would soon end, and as regent, it was her place to make certain another catastrophe like this did not occur again.
“I am going to head back down,” she proclaimed, rising. “I believe as soon as the Earl of Hyrne returns, we shall have a privy council meeting to decide our course going forward.”
“A wise choice, your majesty.”
Wise, yes, but what in the Void was to be the course?
It took over two hours to assemble everyone. Lawrence and Roger Barras, Duke of Pinshire, both required attention for minor cuts and scrapes received in the ill-fated mess Rohesia had witnessed. They were, in fact, the last two to join the rest of the council, who were already seated in the red parlor around the long rectangular table that reminded her of an altar on this day.
“Nearly had them!” Lawrence exclaimed, fussing with the sling on his left arm. “If only we’d had about a hundred more feet to maneuver in, we would have broken the line.”
Some of the other councilors, the older ones who had never fought in their youth, nodded in agreement. Others, like Duke Robert and Caedmon, examined their fingernails to avoid comment of any sort. Lawrence continued to pontificate on what a close thing it had been, seeming to believe his own delusion. Rohesia could no longer look around the table to gauge the reactions of the others. She feared accidentally meeting their eyes and letting them see the embarrassment she felt.
Something needed done to save the situation, but it needed done by someone other than Lawrence. She had an idea of her own, sparked by something Caedmon had said atop Leofe Tower. It had been playing in the back of her mind for some time. The only question was whether she could really bring herself to do it. For the sake of her son, she prayed she could.
***
THREE DAYS AFTER THE battle, Broderick’s complete encirclement of Leornian, and Lawrence’s failure to offer a workable alternative, Rohesia sat at her desk. She took out her very special journal, the one spelled by Faustinus and given to her on her wedding day. Its paper was such that she could write upon it and only the person she intended to read it would be able to see the writing. To anyone else, it would appear blank.
She had to write this letter—no other option presented itself. But she couldn’t afford to let anyone except the recipient ever read it, not only for the sake of secrecy, but also for the vast amounts of pride she was about to swallow.
She dipped her quill in the ink.
August 1, 354
Bocburg, Leornian
Dear Aldrick,
I am writing you from Leornian where the true army of the rightful Myrcian King has been besieged by the foul usurper, Broderick Gramiren. Our spirits remain unbroken and our faith in Earstien strong. However, we must admit several difficult facts, the most troublesome being we cannot hope to lift this siege on our own.
Our only hope for defeating Broderick and leaving this city again is outside help. Another army must arrive and work with the army within the city to drive Broderick away. Only with this outside help will the rightful king be able to once more take up his throne in Formacaster. As a true Myrcian, I know this is a cause you support.
And so I call now on the sense of deep patriotism that lives in your soul to help my son. With your troops as Earl of Wellenham combined with your dear father’s Newshire army, I know together we can defeat the foul usurper and bring peace once more to the kingdom we both love.
I am sending this letter with the man I trust most in my service. Any reply you give him, written or verbal, will be entirely safe. I do, however, suggest attempting to squeeze your reply onto this very paper. It is spelled, and therefore, only I will be able to read what you write.
I eagerly await your answer as one who loves Myrcia and the Sigor dynasty as deeply as you do. Also, with a mother’s profound desire for the safety and future of her child, which I know your father’s heart also comprehends.
With sincere hope,
Rohesia Sigor, Queen Regent of Myrcia
She read it over several times, questioning again whether writing to Aldrick was a wise choice. As it was her only choice, she tried to dismiss those fears. But should she have been more obsequious? More flattering? Flattery never went amiss with Aldrick.
Should she have appealed to their history? Something in her gut said that a reminder of that sort might only turn Aldrick against their cause, even if she steeped the memories in apologies she did not feel she owed him. No, this would have to do. Aldrick must be entreated, and she could do no better.
Rohesia had asked her ladies to leave her while she wrote this letter, so she now had to go to the door and call for the help she needed. While she then waited, she carefully folded the magysk paper and sealed it with the signet she kept locked in the desk—her own personal seal given her by Edgar with a Hyrne sun next to a Sigor bird. Hopefully, Aldrick would not take one look at it and pitch it into the fire. She had no doubt he was petty enough to refuse a letter from the queen regent.
A swift knock was followed immediately by the door opening far enough for Robert Tynsdale to peek in. “You called for me, your majesty.”
“I did. Please come in and close the door.”
Robert entered and stationed himself stiffly as any soldier on parade at the front of her desk. Good old, reliable Robert. She couldn’t fathom what she would do without him.
“I must ask you to undertake a very serious mission on my behalf. I do not know what the Earl of Hyrne may have you doing, but I hope there is someone to whom you may assign your current tasks.”
“Of course, your majesty. I am utterly at your disposal.”
“Very good. I need you to leave as soon as is practicable and deliver this letter to the Earl of Wellenham.” She held out the letter as she also held her breath, wondering what Robert’s reaction might be. True professional that he was, his only reaction was to bow, take the letter, and slip it into an inside pocket of his tunic.
“I will leave within the hour. Is there anything else, your majesty?”
Picturing in her mind’s eye Aldrick tearing the letter to shreds and tossing the pieces into Lake Newlin, she sighed. “I would like to tell you the letter’s contents, in case anything should happen to it before the earl can read it. Earl Aldrick’s father, Duke Jeffrey Sigor, is in failing health, so Aldrick commands all the troops of Newshire, in addition to his own retainers. I am making a personal appeal to him to bring his entire army to help lift this siege. In addition to giving the earl my letter, feel free to add any plea you believe may move him to action in our favor.”
She took a bracing breath and continued. “Remain with the earl until you have his reply and then return here with all haste. The earl can, at times, work at a...deliberative pace. Please encourage him to understand our immediate need.”
Robert bowed deeply, even adding a little flourish in a way that no one seemed to take the time to do any more. “I will do everything you have asked, your majesty. Rest assured that you could not have entrusted this mission to a more devoted servant.”
At last, she smiled, if only a little. “That, Robert, is the one thing I am absolutely certain of.”