A day and a half after Naven and that seamaster delivered their risible ultimatum, General Yurgn, fully dressed in his uniform, as usual, came down to fastbreak with a spring in his step. The delegation had gotten a good look at his wall, gate, and well-trained forces, and it had departed after a brief conversation that had gone entirely to the general’s satisfaction. The queen’s deadline had come and gone, and of course he still ruled his household—his own private kingdom—unmolested.
The five grandchildren waiting for him to start their meal greeted him with smiles and little bows, as was fitting. He ruffled the hair of the two youngest and nodded to the footman to begin serving, even though the middle generation had yet to make an appearance, which was unusual, since his sons and daughters liked their food. Especially Clovadorska, who had eaten at his table all these years.
The general had just tucked in to his egg tart and cold meats when his daughter, Yurgenia, swept in with a curdled expression.
“What ails you, Daughter?” he asked, surprised that she brought such a face into his presence.
She threw a packet of papers beside him on the table. Yurgn used his knife to lift the first few pages of the sheaves, realizing that she’d gotten her hands on a stockpile of broadsheets. She must have read all the slanted, hysterical accounts coming out of Cascada about his “treachery,” “venality,” and “butchery.”
“How did you get these?” he asked. “I’ve forbidden anyone to bring such calumnies on the grounds!”
When she didn’t answer, he stabbed his dagger through the pile and into the tabletop. The knife swayed back and forth.
Yurgenia was not the biggest ninny in his household, but the sound of the knife striking wood prompted a tiny shriek to escape from her lips.
“Is this true? How much of it is true?” she dared to ask her father.
“Of course this isn’t true. Everything I did, I did for good reason. For Weirandale. To keep the people safe. To keep order. To stop malcontents from spreading restlessness.”
“But, Father! What have you done? You’ve ruined us!”
The children gaped at the argument, their open mouths full of victuals he had provided.
Yurgn stood up with dignity. “Ruined? Ruined? When was the last time you looked in the storeroom? We are rich, rich for years to come!”
Yurgenia made no reply, but she moved to drape her arms around the shoulders of her two boys.
This protective attitude enraged her father.
“I don’t have to justify my actions to you lackwits! Who has kept you fed all these years? Who paid for your healers, your necklaces? Your feasts? Who paid for the well, the new wing, and the new roof? Would you rather the roof dripped on you as you slept?
“I do not explain my actions to anyone. Certainly not a slack-dugged woman who cannot keep her husband from dallying with the maids.”
He looked around the table at the children, who were struck dumb by the confrontation and were staring at him with startled eyes. “Leave the table! All of you!”
Lurgn’s youngest son, a youth of fifteen summers, whined, “But Grandfather, I haven’t finished.”
The general lunged over and cuffed the boy on his ear. He had never struck any of them before. That got them moving—Yurgenia hustled the children out of the room as if she were shooing chickens away from a fox. One of the maids dropped her brew pot and ran out too, but the footmen remained at their posts, even if they trembled a little.
If the servants haven’t read the broadsheets already, they will soon. How dare they deign to judge me? Who’s paid their wages all these years?
Reclaiming his seat, Yurgn tried to finish eating as if nothing had transpired. But the tisane tasted bitter, and the bread had turned stale and dry.
He threw his napkin at the table, deliberately knocking over several flagons, and stamped out.
Shortly after this aborted meal, the general paid a visit to his old ally. Preoccupied with events and giving orders to his soldiers, he had forgone the visit yesterday, but resuming his habit (reminding himself of his routine and duty) had a steadying effect after the unpleasantness.
Sweat ran down Matwyck’s forehead, either from the heat or from a fever—the healer last week had spoken about an infection of the kidneys—and the room smelled more than usual, while the bedding looked none too clean.
“Ah. Matwyck, how are you feeling today?” Yurgn settled in the chair, not pausing for a response. “She sent me a threat, that uppity bitch.” He waved the parchment at the invalid.
“Has she indeed? She must be feeling her oats. Tell me.”
So Yurgn recounted the visit that had transpired, regaining his good temper as he described how Naven and the woman seamaster had come with a tiny escort of twelve, and how one of his own guards had ruffled their feathers by shooting an arrow just close enough to their horses to make the animals shy.
The general read from the parchment: “‘If you do not take advantage of this offer within one day, your life will be the forfeiture.’ Ha! It’s been more than that since I sent them away. There’s no march of boots down the road, no dust in the distance. Whimpering little queen with water in her veins instead of courage, just like her mother.
“She can’t touch me in here; she daren’t even try.”
“And if she did,” said Matwyck with a glint in his eye, “you’d offer me up as a bargaining chip.”
“So you’ve figured that out?” Instead of feeling ashamed, Yurgn was pleased by his colleague’s acumen. “Well, Matwyck, you must admit it is the most logical solution.”
Matwyck did not remonstrate against him, which spared the general an argument. He’d already had enough scenes for one day; Matwyck (like himself) understood the ways of the world and would not give in to hysteria.
“At this point,” Matwyck said dryly, “I would almost welcome arrest, because I would delight in a change of scene. These walls are driving me mad.”
Yurgn looked around the small room, but he didn’t see anything wrong with the grayish walls, though the room was indeed very hot.
“Why are children so ungrateful?” Yurgn mused aloud. “Your son, and now my daughter. Don’t they know how much we have sacrificed for their benefit?”
“I’ve had a lot of time to puzzle on that,” answered Matwyck, “and not come to any satisfactory conclusion.”
“Well.” Yurgn slapped his knees. “You have everything you need, I take it.”
“Yurgn, I’d like more wine.”
“More wine?” the general repeated, wondering how much his generosity was going to end up costing him. “Oh, very well,” he assented with poor grace.
General Yurgn took midmeal and dinner in his chambers, rather than with his family. He’d decided to deprive them of his company until they mended their ways. After eating he grew restless and elected to take a turn before bed. It was hot and stuffy inside his bedchamber; the air outside was fresher.
He stopped at the iron front gate. “All quiet?” he asked the guards.
“Yes, sir!” His guards saluted.
“Very well,” he said. Then he added words of praise and warning: “You’re all good men. Keep alert now.”
Slowly he climbed the stone steps that led up to the fortified wall around his manse. He touched the stone balcony, reassured by its thickness, marveling at how it retained its heat even as the sun began to sink.
Bringing his midmeal tray his daughter had shouted at him, “You don’t care what happens to us! All you care about is your money.”
Do I like riches? Of course I do. Everybody does. Show me a man who says he scorns gold, and I’ll show you a liar and a fool.
In the dark the general reached the walls. The breeze was brisker up here, cooling the sweat under his neck. His uniform was hot, but of course he wouldn’t unbutton or discard any layers. He could breathe more easily out here. He looked north in the direction of Cascada but could see nothing in the gloom, certainly no torches heralding an approaching force. He gazed east toward the pikemen’s camp, but even in daylight the lay of the land hid their barracks. All he could see by moonlight and starlight were a few lanterns twinkling in cottages clustered near the manse’s walls.
He had tripled the guard tonight. His men walked the walls assiduously—very assiduously now when he had come out to monitor them.
The guard on that section of wall kept marching back and forth. The general liked his company, though he wouldn’t say so. The rhythmic slap of his feet soothed his disquiet after the disagreeable events of the hot day.
General Yurgn was startled from his reverie by a gust of air from the flap of a bird’s wing. An owl swooped down from the dark and perched on his shoulder for a moment. Yurgn felt its sharp talons rip through his clothing and cut into his flesh. It sailed off before he could react, other than to cry out.
“General! General!” called the guard. “General, are you all right?” he asked from far away.
Spasms of pain built to a wave of agony that crashed and shattered within him.