The next morning, Emrael settled into the massive feather bed, staring at the wood-beamed ceiling of his room. The first rays of the morning sun only dimly lit the spacious quarters, but he had been awake for hours. Every time he shut his eyes, his mind replayed his torture at the hand of his father, whom the Malithii had enslaved and controlled with a mindbinder. He could hardly get a few hours of rest now before he woke up shaking, covered in sweat.
At least he was comfortable. He would have been happy in a room like the small utilitarian one he and Ban had once shared in a remote wing near the kitchens, but had to admit that he enjoyed the luxury.
He idly traced the thin scars that entwined his chest with one hand while the other mimed the same pattern on the soft, bare skin of Elle’s back. She lay next to him, still sleeping. Her hair smelled of the expensive floral perfume she liked to wear. She stirred at his touch, turned her head to murmur, “Mmmm. You need to prepare for your meeting with the Merchants’ Guild. I promised you’d speak with them today.”
Emrael leaned over to finish the bit of Iraean whisky left in his glass from the night before, savoring its warmth and hint of woodsmoke flavor. He had never been much for strong spirits before they had taken the Citadel, largely because he hadn’t been able to afford them. Now, he had a collection pilfered from the Master’s quarters, and good thing. The liquor was the only way he got any sleep anymore. He poured himself more whisky from the decanter and shook his head, trying to clear his mind.
“I could use a morning off, Elle. I need to prepare my plans for the war council this afternoon, and I’m just … tired.”
She turned to smirk at him. “You don’t get to be tired, Lord Ire. You’ve conquered a province, and now the men and women that keep the province running need to see your face, hear your voice.”
“I thought that’s what you were for,” he grumbled.
She threw a pillow at him. “I’m not being paid properly, and it’s not like you’ve appointed me an official position. I can only do so much in your stead, Em. You’re the conqueror, and they know it.”
He nodded, biting at his cheek as he thought. He’d been so consumed by the battles for the Wells in the mountains and now by his plans to escalate the war further that he hadn’t properly considered the governance of the province he already controlled. “You’re right, of course. I’ll name you my official steward.”
Elle looked surprised. “Not your mother? She’s far more experienced, Emrael.”
He laughed, sitting up finally. “You want me to hand a province over to an Ordenan? An Ordenan Councilor for that matter? No, it has to be you, Elle. You can do it. And I trust you more than anyone but Ban.”
Her smile as she leaned in to kiss him made what he had to tell her even harder. As Elle slipped one leg over his during their long kiss, he put his hands on her shoulders to hold her at a distance so they could talk before things could get more heated. “Before you decide, however, you should know something. I intend to take the war to the Provinces. We can’t sit here and hope to be able to hold Sagmyn with the men we’ve got. We’ll be slaughtered.”
She stared at him, her bright blue eyes calm and unforgiving. She was more than smart enough to know what he was implying, but evidently meant to make him say it.
“That includes your father, Elle. He’s put his Legion between us and helping Whitehall, and I can’t bargain from a position of weakness. I have to put him on his heels.”
She sat back farther, shifting herself off of him, pulling the sheet up to cover her body.
Emrael sat in nervous silence for a moment. “Do you still want the stewardship?”
Elle shrugged, the muscles in her slender shoulders outlined beneath her soft skin. “I will take the stewardship on one condition. You let me talk to my father before the fighting begins.”
Emrael frowned and shook his head. “He won’t parley with us, Elle. We’ve already tried several times. Our last messenger never returned. I’m going to have to do something to get his attention to even get a meeting.”
She pursed her lips, clearly unhappy but understanding the situation. “Fine. But I’m coming with you for as long as it takes to negotiate with my father. And the first chance possible, I’ll take the lead. Afterward, I’ll be your steward.”
Emrael sighed with relief. “I can make that work. I’ll go over it in detail in the war council tonight, but I will arrange for you to accompany the main component of our forces.”
He looked her up and down, a small smile returning to his lips. “Do we still have time…?”
Elle ignored him, climbing out of bed. She threw his pants at him, hard, but smiled mischievously. “Get dressed, Lord Ire. I’m going to put you to work today. And while you deal with the merchants, I’m going to inspect the prisoners you’ve taken. We might be fighting a war, but that’s no excuse for us to act like barbarians. We won’t have any chance at peaceful resolution if we mistreat our prisoners.”
Elle stared daggers at Emrael as he and Jaina entered the Masters’ dining hall that evening. That could only mean one thing: she had found out what had happened to the Malithii prisoner. She had received detailed reports after each battle and must have asked after that particular captive.
The rest of his de facto council—his mother, Voran, Ban, and Halrec—sat around the table once more, looking bored.
Emrael addressed Elle without looking at her as he strode to his chair at the head of the table, booted heels snapping sharply on the stone floors. “Just say it, Elle.”
“What did you do with the Malithii priest?”
“We questioned him.”
Her face tightened with anger. “Questioned? You mean tortured?”
“Yes.” Emrael kept a straight face, though sorrow weighed heavy in his chest when he saw the contempt in her eyes.
“That’s barbaric, Emrael!”
He pulled his chair out, sat, and scooted up to the table before looking her in the eye. One hand traced the scars in his face as he spoke. “I’m familiar with the process, Elle.”
She shook her head sadly. “Why fight if we are no different from them?”
He locked eyes with her and responded, his voice now hard as anger quickly replaced sorrow. “Because either we kill them, or they kill us, Elle. It’s that simple. We have to win, or we die, and everyone we love dies. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but your father and Corrande can field nearly three times our current numbers. Not to mention the Malithii; who knows what they’ve managed to sneak into the Provinces. We need all the information we can get. However we can get it.”
Everyone else at the table watched, uncomfortable expressions on their faces. All except Maira. She smiled icily as she looked from one to the other. “Are you quite done, children? We have business to discuss. Voran, I believe you have some news?”
Voran coughed, shuffling a few papers in his hand. “Yes, well. We’ve received a steady stream of new recruits in the past weeks, mostly deserters from the Barros Legion. All are of Iraean descent, and all have come for the land bounty that Emrael has promised.”
“A square league for every two years served is enough to attract even current Legionmen, just as we thought,” Halrec interjected happily.
Toravin chuckled. “Now we just have to capture land to give them.”
“We’ll have it and more,” Emrael said, meeting Ban’s eye briefly. “Go on, Voran.”
Voran eyed them with raised eyebrows for a moment before continuing. “The most recent recruits from Barros have reported further fortifications around Lidran and major inflows of Legionmen to the area. Nearly the entire Legion has been mobilized. Even the southern Lords Holder are rumored to be joining the governor. Barros now has nearly thirty thousand soldiers in Lidran or otherwise within a day’s ride of the West Pass.”
“Absent Gods,” Emrael cursed. “Can he spare that many and still run his province?”
Halrec nodded. “He can, but won’t have mobilized that many men for nothing, however. The cost is enormous.”
Jaina was still staring at Voran. “How are you verifying that your deserters are of Iraean descent? Even if they are, couldn’t they be here to spy for Barros or Corrande?”
Voran threw his hands in the air. “Four months ago, this ‘Legion’ of ours didn’t exist. Any of our men could be here for any purpose. I’ve appointed Captains I trust, and we spread newcomers between squads. It’s all I can do for now.”
“The men who have joined us have proven themselves in battle against the Sagmynans and will have the chance to do so again soon against Barros and the Watchers,” Emrael said dismissively, leaning back in his chair. “What do you advise we do first, Voran?”
The stout, greying man grunted, a frown wrinkling his square face. “I don’t see what we can do besides fortify the defenses in the west and east passes, and any other route these bastards can use to attack us. Then we train the men as they ought to be trained and pray to the Holy Departed that we aren’t attacked before we can establish solid relations with the Ordenans.”
“You’d leave Dorae to fight the Watchers alone? He has fewer men than we do, and faces the entire might of the Watchers and the Corrande Legion. You told me yourself just days ago that Dorae won’t last the summer without our help.”
Voran looked to Halrec and Toravin before responding. “Aye. Whitehall will have to fend for itself, just as we will. It’s our best chance at survival.”
Emrael sighed with frustration. “What happened to fighting for Iraean freedom? You led Dorae’s revolt, for Glory’s sake! Don’t we owe something to our men that left family in Whitehall? We can’t leave them to be slaughtered. We’ll have mutiny as soon as word of their fate reaches Myntar.”
Voran pursed his lips but didn’t respond. The room was painfully quiet.
Emrael pressed him further, though he now stared at his mother as well. “Do you think we can count on the Ordenans for anything more than the Imperators they’ve already sent? Will Barros choose us over Corrande if we hide here, like turtles in a shell?”
Silence. Even from Elle, though she looked as though she wanted to kill someone. Probably him.
Emrael leaned forward, staring intensely at each of his trusted companions in turn. “We can’t bargain from a position of weakness with the Ordenans, or with the Provinces. A defensive strategy will end with all of our heads on pikes. We’re making the first move.”
Ban, Halrec, Toravin, and Jaina all nodded at that. Elle still didn’t look convinced, and neither did Voran. Maira still surveyed the room with a calm smile as Emrael spoke.
“Governor Barros is our first problem. We’ll feint toward Lidran, then take Gadford to secure the bridge to Whitehall. Hopefully this also incentivizes him to meet with us. Please prepare our supplies and mobilize the Legion. We march the day after tomorrow.”
Elle’s expression turned indignant in a flash. “We don’t have infusori nor food stores gathered to support a military campaign with only a day’s notice, Emrael. We just opened the Wells, our logisticians will need more time to arrange resources.”
He locked gazes with her. In just a few short months, she had taken over all of the ledgers for the province and knew the status of all of the merchants, trade activity, and military movements. Even his mother had started deferring to her, though that was in large part because the Sagmynan Merchants’ Guild refused to take directives from an Ordenan. She was being difficult, but he knew he needed her to support his plan if he was to succeed—now and in the future.
He softened his voice as much as he could. “We don’t have any choice, Elle. If your father takes the pass, we’re doomed. If he blocks our passage at Gadford, we’re doomed. I’ve played it a million ways in my head, and this is the scenario in which all sides suffer the fewest casualties. I don’t want to spill Barros blood any more than you do, but I don’t have a better option.”
Elle finally broke off her glare to bite one lip and sway her head from side to side as she spoke quietly. “I’m going to have to use a large portion of the copper left in the treasury, and the Merchants’ Guild may revolt, but I can gather supplies to support the men we have for perhaps a one-month campaign.”
Emrael smiled at her gratefully, then looked to Jaina, Toravin, and Halrec. “We leave the day after tomorrow, then. Gather twenty-five thousand of our men, or as many as we can manage and still guard the Sagmyn borders and the port at Ladeska. The main force will fortify the pass until Elle can arrange for supplies enough for them to move on Gadford. Hal, make sure you have at least one hundred squads outfitted for raiding. Jaina, you and the Imperators will be with us as well. Any that my mother doesn’t need here, of course. Tor, you’ll command the main party.”
He turned to Voran. “I want you and my mother to support Elle here in Myntar. If we lose Sagmyn Province, we’re fucked.”
Voran stayed silent, jaw clenched, but Maira soon spoke. “Voran and I will stay to help Elle strengthen our position here. Won’t we, Voran dear?”
Voran’s countenance softened visibly as he shifted his attention to the raven-haired Ordenan woman. “Aye,” he said finally. “Plenty of work to be done here. We haven’t seen the last of Sagmynans rebels, mark my words.”
“Thank you, Commander Loire,” Emrael said with a brief smile.
Just as Emrael was about to call an end to the meeting, Elle spoke. “I’m coming with you, at least to Gadford. I should be there to dissuade you and my father both from unnecessary violence. He’ll talk to me.”
Emrael considered. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, as long as you stay clear of any fighting and return here to govern when negotiations are finished. You should ride with Toravin’s forces. But remember Elle, your father is our enemy of his own choice, not mine. He has ignored all of our offers of parley and now gathers his Legion at our doorstep. He’s given us no choice.”
He looked to the rest of the room. “Let’s get to work. Ban, see to the engineers. I want every Crafted crossbow available for the raiding party.”
The night before he and his Legion were due to ride for the Barros Province, Emrael made his way through the silent, dark halls of the Citadel to his rooms. The sun was closer to rising than it was to having set; he had again stayed in Ban’s rooms playing game after game of Reign the way they used to when they had attended the Citadel as students. Elle had decided to sleep in her own rooms after the war council the day before, so all he had to look forward to in his bed were his ever-present nightmares.
He was reluctant to leave Ban, who would be staying behind to focus on his Crafting projects. He would be well protected here with the greater part of their Legion, their mother, and half of her Imperators besides. Still, Emrael worried about being separated from his brother.
A figure appeared suddenly in a dimly lit side hallway. Emrael jumped into a defensive stance as his tired, sluggish mind reacted to the threat. The person put their hands up in a comforting gesture and stepped into the meager infusori light of the main hallway when they saw his reaction. It was his mother.
She chuckled quietly, though her eyes and smile were warm. “Emrael. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She stepped forward and embraced him, pulling him tightly to her. The hug caught him off guard. His mother was not typically so … loving. He could count on one hand the number of times she had hugged him. After a tense moment of discomfort, however, he relaxed and rested his head on hers.
The familiar scent of cinnamon and roses sent his mind to the past, and for a brief sweet moment, he was safe. Calm. His mother had been demanding with her children, even severe at times. He had found himself at odds with her more than once, to be sure. But for all her severity and stern manner, he had always felt safe with her—even more than with his father, who had been a renowned Citadel-trained Master of War and Commander First of the Barros Legion. Perhaps on some level, he had always known that she was more than a simple healer.
Then the hug was over, and his mother glided back down the darker hallway. “Come, my son. I could not sleep, and have been looking for you. I need to speak with you before you leave.”
He wiped at his eyes discreetly as he followed her to her rooms, which were of course well-lit with multiple infusori coils. She was not the type to go without what she deemed to be simple necessities, and he had yet to meet anyone who dared tell her no. Even his father had ceded nine out of ten arguments to her … in private, of course.
When they had settled in her sitting room, she with a glass of white wine and he with a cup of peach brandy, his mother reached over to trace a finger along one of the complex scars that covered his hand. “I have never failed to Heal such a simple wound, you know. I wonder why these are still visible.”
She fixed him with a serious stare. This was her way of asking him what had really happened to him in the Citadel after he had been taken captive. She couldn’t—or wouldn’t—ask him outright.
He stared back, a lump in his throat. “Ah … He … They used a copper knife,” he responded finally, shaking his head slightly. “There was some sort of binder that left me paralyzed. I don’t know why they did it, or why the scars didn’t heal. But I don’t mind them terribly.”
She tilted her head sideways slightly and raised the corner of her mouth in a smile that said she knew he was keeping something from her. “I heard from my Imperators that you took unnecessary risks in the battles for the Wells.”
Emrael chuckled. “Jaina told you, you mean.”
She smiled as she squinted at him. “You are learning my tricks.”
Emrael took a sip of his brandy. “Well, you’re not exactly subtle.”
Maira frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“Voran, dear…” he mimicked.
She smiled and threw a small paperweight from her side table at him, which he caught easily. Soon her eyes grew sad, and the smile melted. “I only wish to see you safe, Emrael.”
He grunted. “Jaina has already berated me. And I’ll tell you the same I told her. I fight with my men. It’s who I am, and it’s how I’ll keep their loyalty. And if I die—I die as myself. Not some useless shadow on a throne.”
His mother nodded grudgingly, though a concerned frown still wrinkled her face. “I understand.”
Emrael raised a quizzical eyebrow, not wanting to ruin the moment with a fight as they would have done three years ago. Another life, really. This was the first time he could remember his mother talking to him as an equal. An equal she liked. It was a nice change.
“Thank you,” he managed finally, then took a large sip of brandy before going quiet.
“No doubt you have learned some things about me by now,” she said finally, breaking the awkward silence.
He laughed a harsh, deep laugh. “I guess you could say that. Councilor.”
Her eyes flashed, and for the first time he fully considered that his mother might be a very, very dangerous person. She smiled as she responded, but her eyes still glowed with a hint of infusori—and anger.
“That … was not my plan, and happened rather suddenly. But yes. I should have told you.” She leaned forward. “But what you may not yet appreciate is that I am more than just my job, my title. We have a family in Ordena, Emrael.”
Emrael shrugged. “A sister, right? You said you hardly knew each other. Barely even mentioned her other than that time Ban asked.”
Maira had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well…”
Emrael laughed harshly again. “If you have something to tell me, just tell me, Mother. I think we’ve had our fill of secrets.”
Her eyes flashed again, and he could feel the old anger rising up in him in response.
“I have one sister and two brothers who still live,” his mother said evenly. “I love them and their children deeply.”
Emrael stared at her for a long moment, speechless. “Children? Why haven’t you told us any of this? Why haven’t we met them?” he asked incredulously. “They were our only family in the world, and you chose to keep them to yourself? Honestly, Mother, why would you do that?”
His mother hung her head. “I have given up much for the Order, Emrael, and I was forced to keep my life in Ordena completely separate from my life in the Provinces. As if it never happened. I hope you can trust me when I say that it was necessary. I can share no more.” Her voice was tired and full of emotion.
Questions coursed through his head. He knew that she owed loyalty to Ordena as a leader on their Council of Imperators, but given all that had transpired, why was she still keeping secrets? And why keep family in Ordena a secret from him, of all things?
He reined in his frustration as he stared at the hilt of his father’s sword, which hung from his belt, calming himself with a deep breath. She wasn’t the only one with secrets, these days.
“Why are you telling me this now?” he asked.
She looked back up at him and smiled. “Timan Tinoas is my eldest brother’s son. Your cousin. He’s five years your elder, and one of the finest Battle-Mages the Order has to offer. He is one of the Imperators that accompanied me, and I want him to stay by your side. You will need someone you can trust, and I am confident that you can trust him completely.”
Emrael nodded slowly. He had met Timan several times during his training sessions with the Imperators. The man fought like a devil, and had a dark, dry wit that Emrael enjoyed.
“I know him. He knows that we are kin?”
She nodded. “None of the others do save Jaina, however. It would be best to keep it as quiet as possible.”
“You arranged for him to be here, didn’t you?”
She nodded again with a small smile that gave him another lump in his throat. His mother could be infuriating, but she cared and sacrificed for him in her own way. “Thank you, Mother.”
“Elle will be wondering where you are, dear,” she said after an awkward moment of silence, standing.
He blushed and stood quickly to hide it as best he could. “She’s … ah. In her own rooms tonight.”
His mother laughed her warm laugh again. “I saw her reaction in your council meeting. Give her time. Do what you need to in Iraea, and we’ll take care of things here in Myntar. I’m with you to the end, Emrael. You and Ban above all.”
He gave her another hug and a quick kiss on the top of the head, and was almost to the door when she said quietly, “He would be proud, you know. You are everything he hoped for, everything he wished he could have been. I wish he could be here to see you. And Ban.”
Emrael stopped with one hand on the doorframe. Silence filled the room as he bowed his head, still turned away from her. Tears flowed unbidden down his cheeks, and he couldn’t have spoken a word if he had wanted to.
Finally, he wiped his face and turned to meet his mother’s eyes. Hers were red, puffy, and tear-streaked just as his undoubtedly were.
“He knows,” Emrael choked out, too ashamed to tell her the truth. That his father, her husband, had been a Malithii captive for years, and had been forced to torture his own sons. That Emrael had been the one to kill him—to consume his very life source—before he knew the truth. How could he tell his family that he had killed his own father? Better for everyone if some secrets lived on.
His mother looked to the sword at Emrael’s hip—the rune-etched sword of the Ire Mage kings, which Janrael had been wearing when he disappeared. She met his gaze again, a sad question in her eyes, but still didn’t ask. Just as she hadn’t asked for the past several months. She understood painful secrets all too well.
Emrael looked away from her pleading eyes, steeling his resolve to protect her from the pain he held inside. Not knowing would be better than what he felt. Anything was better than this.
“He knows,” he rasped again before stepping into the darkness of the stone hallway.