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  Ethelred turned as if surprised to see they were not alone in the hall.

  "Oh," he said, quickly masking a smile. Then in a tone heavy with sarcasm proclaimed, "Forgive me, Earl of Chadwick," then added, "I didn't notice them. They are more like furniture to me. My point was, however, that we only suspect the extent of Melengar's weakness. Attacking them would introduce more headaches than it is worth. As it is, there is no chance Alric will attack us. He's a boy, but not so foolhardy as to provoke the destruction of his little kingdom."

  "Is that…" Archibald stared up at Modina and stopped walking so that Ethelred lost track of him for a moment.

  "The empress? Yes," Ethelred replied, his tone revealing a bit of his own irritation that the earl had apparently not heard what he just said.

  "She's…she's…beautiful."

  "Hmm? Yes, I suppose she is," Ethelred responded without looking. Instead, he turned to Amilia who, along with everyone else, was standing straight, her eyes looking at the floor. "Saldur tells me you're our little miracle worker. You got her eating, speaking and generally cooperating. I am pleased to hear it."

  Amilia curtseyed in silence.

  "She will be ready in time, correct? We can ill-afford another fiasco like the one we had at the coronation. She couldn't even make an appearance. You will see to that, won't you?"

  "Yes, my lord." Amilia curtseyed again.

  The Earl of Chadwick's eyes remained focused on Modina, and she found his expression surprising. She did not see the awe inspired look of the palace staff, nor the cold callous countenance of her handlers. His face bore a broad smile.

  A soldier entered the hall, walking briskly toward them. The one with the pretty ribbons left the entourage and strode forward to intercept him. They spoke in whispers for a brief moment, and then the other soldier handed over some parchments. Ribbon Man opened and read them silently to himself before returning to Ethelred's side.

  "What is it?"

  "Your lordship, Admiral Gafton's blockade fleet succeeded in capturing the Ellis Far, a small sloop, off the coast of Melengar. On board they found parchments signed by King Alric granting the courier permission to negotiate with the full power of the Melengar crown. The courier and ship's captain were unfortunately killed in the action. The coxswain, however, was taken and persuaded to reveal the destination of the vessel as Tur Del Fur."

  Ethelred nodded his understanding. "Trying to link up with the Nationalists, but that was expected. The sloop sailed from Roe then?"

  "Yes."

  "You're sure no other ship slipped past?"

  "The reports indicate it was the only one."

  While Ethelred and the soldier spoke and the rest of the hall remained still as statues, only the Earl of Chadwick was unaffected. She did not return his gaze, and it made her uncomfortable the way he stared at her.

  He ascended the steps and knelt. "Your eminence," he said, gently taking her hand and kissing the ring she wore. "I am Archibald Ballentyne, twelfth Earl of Chadwick."

  Modina said nothing.

  "Archibald?" Ethelred's voice once more.

  "Forgive my rude approach," the earl continued, "but I find I can't help myself. How strange it is that we haven't met before. I've been to Aquesta many times but never had the pleasure. Bad luck I suppose, I am certain you are very busy, and as I command a substantial army, I am busy as well. Recent events have seen fit to bring my command here. It is not something I was pleased with. That is until now. You see, I was doing very well conquering new lands for your growing Empire, and having to stop I considered unfortunate. But my regret has turned to one of genuine delight as I've been blessed to behold your splendor."

  "Archie!" Ethelred had been calling out to him for some time, but it was not until he used that name that the well-dressed man's attention finally left her. "Stop with that foolishness, will you. We need to get to the meeting."

  The earl frowned in irritation.

  "Please forgive me, your eminence, but duty calls."

  ***

  The moment the practice was over, they changed Modina back into her simple dress and she was escorted to her cell. She thought there was a time when two palace soldiers walked with her everywhere, but now there was only one. His name was Gerald. That was all she knew about him, which was strange because she saw him every day. Gerald escorted her wherever she went and stood guard outside her cell door. She assumed he took breaks, most likely late at night, but in the mornings when she and Amilia went to breakfast he was always there. She never heard him speak. They were quite a quiet pair.

  When she reached the cell door, it was open, the dark interior waiting. He never forced her in. He never touched her. He merely stood patiently, taking up his post at the entrance. She hesitated before the threshold, and when she looked at Gerald he stared at the floor.

  "Wait." Amilia trotted up the corridor toward them. "Her eminence is moving today."

  Both Gerald and Modina looked puzzled.

  "I've given up talking to the Lord Chamberlin," Amilia declared. She was speaking quickly and seemed to address them both at once. "Nimbus is right-I am the Secretary to the Empress after all." She focused on Gerald. "Please escort her eminence to her new bedroom on the east wing's fifth floor."

  The order was weak, not at all the voice of a noblewoman. It lacked the tenor of confidence, the power of arrogance. There was a space of time, a beat of uncertainty when no one moved and no one spoke. Committed now, Amilia remained awkwardly stiff facing Gerald. For the first time Modina noticed how large a man he was, the sword at his side, the castle guard uniform, every line straight, every bit of metal polished.

  Gerald nodded, and moved aside.

  "This way, your eminence," Amilia said, letting out a breath.

  The three of them walked to the central stairs as Amilia continued to talk. "I got her eating, I got her to talk-I just want a better place for her to sleep. How can they argue? No one is even on the fifth floor."

  As they reached the main hall they passed several surprised servants. One young woman stopped, stunned.

  "Anna." Amilia caught her attention. "It is Anna, isn't it?"

  The woman nodded, unable to take hear eyes off Modina.

  "The empress is moving to a bedroom on the fifth floor. Run and get linens and pillows."

  "Ah-but Edith told me to scrub the-"

  "Forget Edith."

  "She'll beat me."

  "No, she won't," Amilia said, and thought for a moment. With sudden authority she continued, "From now on, you are working for the empress-her personal chambermaid-from now on you report directly to me, do you understand?"

  Anna looked shocked.

  "What do you want to do?" Amilia asked. "Defy Edith Mon or refuse the empress? Now get those linens and get the best room on the fifth floor in order."

  "Yes, your eminence," she addressed Modina, "right away."

  They climbed the stairs, moving quickly by the fourth floor. In the east wing, the fifth floor was a single long hall with five doors. Light entered from a narrow slit at the far end, revealing a dust-covered corridor.

  Amilia looked at the five doors for a moment. Shrugging, she opened one and motioned for them to wait as she entered. When she returned, she grimaced and said, "Let's wait for Anna."

  They did not have to wait long. The chambermaid returned with an armload of linens, chased by two young boys with rags, a broom, a mop, and a bucket. Anna panted for breath and her brow glistened. The chambermaid traversed the corridor and selected the door at the far end. She and the boys rushed in. Amilia joined them. Before long, the boys raced back out and returned hauling various items: pillows, a blanket, more water, brushes. Modina and Gerald waited in the hallway, listening to the grunts and bumps and scrapes. Soon Anna exited, covered in dirt and dust, dragging armloads of dirty rags. Then Amilia reappeared and motioned for Modina to enter.

  Sunlight. She spotted the brilliant shaft spilling in, slicing across the floor, along a tapestry-covered wa
ll, and over a massive bed covered in satin sheets and a host of fluffy pillows. There was even a thick carpet on the floor. A mirror and a washbasin sat on a small stand. A little writing desk stood next to a fireplace, and on the far wall was the open window.

  She walked to it and, falling to her knees, looked out at the sky, breathing the fresh air. It was narrow, but Modina could peer down into the courtyard below or look up directly into the blue of the sky-the real sky. She rested her head on the sill, reveling in the sunshine like a drought victim douses themselves with water. Until that moment, she had not noticed how starved she was for fresh air and sunlight. She thought Amilia had spoken to her, but she was too busy looking at the sky.

  Smells were a treat. A cool breeze blew in, tainted by the stables below. For her, this was a friendly familiar scent, hearty and comforting. Birds flew past. A pair of swallows darted and dove in aerial acrobatics as they chased each other. They had a nest up above her in a crevice near one of the other windows that dotted the exterior wall.

  She did not know how long she knelt there. At some point, she realized she was alone. The door behind her had closed, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Eventually she heard voices drifting up from below.

  "We've spent more than enough time on the subject, Archibald. The case is closed." It was Ethelred's voice, coming from one of the windows just below hers.

  "I know you are disappointed," she recognized the fatherly tone of Bishop Saldur. "Still, you have to be mindful of the big picture. This isn't just some wild land grab; this is an Empire we are building."

  "Two months at the head of an army and he acts as if he were a sage war-weary general!" Ethelred laughed.

  Another voice spoke, too softly or too distant from the window for her to hear. Then she heard the earl once again. "I've taken Glouston and the Rilan Valley through force of arms and thereby secured the whole northern rim of Warric. I think I've proved my skill."

  "Skill? You let Marquis Lanaklin escape to Melengar and you failed to secure the wheat fields in Rilan, which burned. Those crops would have fed the entire Imperial Army for the next year, but now they are lost because you were preoccupied with taking an empty castle."

  "It wasn't empty…" There was more said but too faint to hear.

  "The marquis was gone. The reason for taking it went with him," the bellowing voice of Ethelred thundered. The regent must be standing very near the window, as she could hear him the best.

  "Gentlemen," Saldur intervened, "water under the bridge. What's past is past. What we need to concern ourselves with is the present and the future, and at the moment both go by the same name-Gaunt."

  Again, there were other voices speaking too faintly, their sounds fading to silence. All Modina could hear was the hoeing of servants weeding the vegetable garden below.

  "I agree," Ethelred suddenly said. "We should have killed that bastard years ago."

  "Calm yourself, Lanis," Saldur's voice boomed. Modina wasn't certain if he was using Ethelred's first name or addressing someone else whose voice was too distant for her to catch. "Everything has its season. We all knew the Nationalists wouldn't give up their freedom without a fight. Granted we had no idea Gaunt would be their general, or that he would prove to be such a fine military commander. We had assumed he was nothing more than an annoying anarchist, a lone voice in the wilderness like our very own Deacon Thomas. His transformation into a skilled general was-I will admit-a bit unexpected. Nevertheless, his successes are not beyond our control."

  "And what does that mean?" someone asked.

  "Luis Guy had the foresight to bring us a man who could effectively deal with the problems of Delgos and Gaunt and I present him to you today. Gentlemen, let me introduce Merrick Marius." His voice began to grow faint. "He's quite a remarkable man…been working for us these…on a…" Saldur's voice drifted off, too far from the window. There was a long silence, then Ethelred spoke again, "Let him finish, you'll see."

  Again the words were too quiet for her to hear.

  Modina listened to the wind as it rose and rustled distant leaves. The swallows returned and played again, looping in the air. Below in the courtyard somewhere out of her sight she could hear the harsh shouts of soldiers in the process of changing guards. She had nearly forgotten about the conversation from below when abruptly she heard a communal gasp.

  "You're not serious?" an unknown voice asked in a stunned tone.

  More quiet murmurings.

  "…and as I said, it would mark the end of Degan Gaunt and the Nationalists forever," Saldur's voice returned.

  "But at what cost, Sauly?" another voice floated in. Normally too far it was now loud and clear.

  "We have no other choice," Ethelred put in. "Gaunt is marching north toward Ratibor. He must be stopped."

  "This is insane. I can't believe you are even contemplating it!"

  "We've done much more than contemplate. Nearly everything is in place. Isn't that so?" Saldur asked.

  Modina strained to hear, but the voice that replied was too faint.

  "We'll send it by ship after we receive word that all is set," Saldur explained. There was another pause, and then he spoke again, "I think we all understand that."

  "I see no reason to hesitate any longer," Ethelred said. "We are all in agreement then?"

  A number of voices spoke their acknowledgement.

  "Excellent. Marius, you should leave immediately…"

  "There's just one more thing…" She had not heard this voice before and he faded, no doubt walking away from the window.

  Saldur's voice returned. "You have? Where? Tell us at once!"

  More muffled conversation.

  "Blast, man! I can assure you you'll get paid," Ethelred said.

  "If he's led you to the heir, he is no longer of any use. That's right, isn't it Sauly? You and Guy have a greater interest in this, but unless you have an objection I say be done with him at your earliest convince."

  Another long pause.

  "I think the Nyphron Empire is good for it, don't you?" Saldur said.

  "You're quite the magician, aren't you Marius?" said Ethelred again. "We should have hired your services earlier. I'm not a fan of Luis Guy or any of the Patriarch's sentinels, but it seems his decision to employ you was certainly a good one."

  The voices drifted off, growing fainter until it was quiet.

  Most of what she heard held no interest for Modina, too many unknown names and places. She had only the vaguest notions of the terms Nationalist, Monarchist, and Imperialist. Tur Del Fur was a famous city, she heard of before-some place south, but Degan Gaunt was only a name. She was glad the talking was over. She preferred the quiet sounds of the wind, the trees, and the birds. They took her back to an earlier time, a different place. As she sat looking out at her sliver of the world, she found herself wishing she could still cry.

  Chapter 14

  The Eve

  Gill had a hard time seeing anything clearly in the pouring rain, but he was certain that a man was walking right at him. He felt for the horn hanging at his side and regretted trapping it underneath his rain smock that morning. On thirty watches, he never needed it. He peered through the gray curtain-no army, just the one guy. He was dressed in a cloak that hung like a soaked rag, his hood cast back, his hair slicked flat. No armor or shield, but two swords hung from his belt, and Gill spotted an additional sword-the two-handed pommel of a great sword-on his back. The man walked steadily through the muddy field. He looked alone and could hardly pose a threat to the nearly one thousand men bivouacked on the hill. If he sounded the alarm, he would never hear the end of it. Gill was confident he could handle one guy.

  "Halt!" Gill shouted over the drumming rain as he pulled his sword from its sheath and brandished it at the stranger. "Who are you and what do you want?"

  "I am here to see Commander Parker," the man said, not showing any signs of slowing. "Take me to him at once."

  Gill laughed. "Oh, aren't you the bold one," he said, exten
ding the sword. The stranger walked right up to the tip as if he meant to impale himself. "Stop or I'll run-"

  Before Gill could finish, the man hit the flat face of the sword. The vibration ran down the blade, breaking Gill's grip. A second later the man had the weapon and was pointing it at him.

  "I gave you an order, picket," the stranger snapped. "I am not accustomed to repeating myself to my troops. Look sharp or I'll have you flogged."

  Then the man returned his sword, which only made matters worse.

  "What's your name, picket?"

  "Gill, ah, sir," he said, adding the sir unsure if this man was an officer or not.

  "Gill, in future, when standing watch, arm yourself with a crossbow and never let even one man approach to within one hundred-feet without putting a hole through him, do you understand?" The man did not wait for an answer. He walked past him and continued striding up the hill through the tall wet grass.

  "Umm, yes, sir, but I don't have a crossbow, sir," Gill said as he jogged behind him.

  "Then you had best get one, isn't that right?" the man called over his shoulder.

  "Yes, sir." Gill nodded even though the man was ahead of him. The man walked past scores of tents, heading toward the middle of the camp. Everyone was inside away from the rain, and no one saw him pass. The tents were a haphazard array of rope and stick-propped canvas. No two were alike, as they scrounged supplies as they moved. Most were cut from ship sails grabbed at the port in Vernes and again in Kilnar. Others made-do with nothing but old bed linens and, in a few rare cases, actual tents were used.

  The stranger paused at the top of the hill. When Gill caught up he asked, "Which of these tents belongs to Parker?"

  "Parker? He's not in a tent, sir. He's in the farmhouse down that way," he said, pointing.

  "Gill, why are you off your post?" Sergeant Milford growled at him as he came out of his tent, blinking as the rain stung his eyes. He was wrapped in a cloak, his bare feet showing pale beneath it.

  "Well, I-" Gill began, but the stranger interrupted.