Nyori stared. "What are you talking about?"
"Do you think you're the first woman I've seen go calf-eyed over a man?" Meshella grinned. "Though I must say, he is quite a catch. You have great taste. Tall, broad-shouldered — have you seen him with no shirt on?"
"I most certainly have not. And I'm not…calf-eyed over him. I am a Shama—"
"You are a woman. And every woman gets struck by lightning sometime in her life. I have. Many times in fact." She barked a laugh. "There is no shame in that, Shama."
Nyori gave a start. "No…what are you saying — that I'm in love with him? That's…that's completely absurd."
She saw the sympathy in the other woman's eye and turned away, surprised to feel her eyes moisten. "It is hot in here. I need a breath of fresh air." She bowed her head and walked as fast as she could, heedless of the people she bumped into as she tried to escape the sounds of merrymaking.
For a while she wandered down the decorative halls, passing by gardens with perfumed flowers and bubbling fountains. She was so lost in thought that she almost didn't hear the voices in time.
They were distinctly familiar. A voice in her head screamed that she should have left, but she could not. Her heart pounded as she paused behind a marble column and withdrew Eymunder from her waist, tracing the necessary Glyph on the pillar. The simple command was one written on the scroll Ayna had given her, allowing her to memorize it again. "Gistuku," she whispered.
The voices became instantly audible to her ears.
"I feared we would not have a chance to speak in private, Marcellus." The pair stood on an open balcony gazing at the beautiful view of the surrounding countryside, where lanterns flickered in ceremonial globes, seducing fluttering moths to the flames.
"What do we have to speak of?" Marcellus sounded unusually guarded. "All that needed to be said was spoken when I left this place."
"I had hoped…prayed that the Goddess send you this way again. So that I may make amends for what I did."
"It is in the past, Salli. Best to let it remain there. I have buried the past. It lies beneath a statue along with my wife and daughter."
"And your future?"
"I have seen my future." Marcellus looked at the Queen, but his eyes were far away. "Death awaits me on the battlefield of Aceldama."
Salliana bowed her head. "I was sorry when I heard about your family. I know how much you cared for them."
"You have strange ways of showing your feelings, Salli. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe. Bitter experience does that to a man."
"Marcellus." She took hold of his arm. "Believe what you will, but I never lied about how I felt about you. If I went about things the wrong way, then…I am sorry."
Marcellus' voice grated. "You lied to me. Lied to me about something you knew was more precious to me than my own life! All to use me as a means to an end. No, my Queen, we have nothing further to speak of." He gripped the railing of the balcony until his knuckles cracked.
When she spoke again, her words were so soft they were scarcely audible. "Not even about Emillisa?"
Marcellus said nothing as his eyes stared into the distance. His head turned slightly, and his grip slowly relaxed. "Is she…?"
"She is. You were the only lover I had at that time."
Marcellus exhaled heavily. "I didn't…I had no choice. My only option was to return to Kaerleon. If I had known…"
Salliana touched his hand lightly. "I place no fault with you, Marcellus. Only myself. I needed to produce an heir. All around me were men with ulterior motives. Liars, deceivers. I could trust no one. I could love no one. Then a foreigner arrived. A man just and upright. A man who was incorruptible."
She cast her eyes downward. "A man betrothed to another. I fell in love with that man. I knew he had to be the father of my child. I was young, brash, and a queen. I did what I felt I had to. You do not have to forgive me. It is something I must ask for, however."
Marcellus sighed. "There is no point in holding my anger against you, Salliana. I never could. What is past is past." He paused. "Does she…does she know who her father is?"
"I have not seen fit to tell her. You have made many enemies, and the only secret is the one unspoken. All she knows is that her father is a great man. When she is old enough to bear it, I will tell her the truth."
He nodded. "It is better that way."
Her eyes searched his face. "Must you do this? Must you go to certain death? This is not like you, Marcellus. Where is the man I loved those many years ago?"
"That man perished in a snowstorm, at the graves of those he loved." Marcellus transformed into stone once more. "His days are done. Soon he will be able to rest."
He took hold of her hand and kissed it in ceremonial deference. "I will take leave of you now, your Royal Majesty. May you continue to have days of peace."
In just a few long strides he vanished.
The Queen waited until he had left before allowing a single tear to glide down her cheek. She never noticed as Nyori discreetly slipped away.
Chapter 56: Valdemar
Stravaholme was hacked from the flinty rock of the Dragonspine foothills by some forgotten would-be conqueror with a fixation on death and madness. Carvings of bestial skulls, twisted creatures of darkness, and other monstrosities littered the ancient grounds in various stages of decay and disrepair. High above, a waterfall gushed from the jagged mouth of a massive stone dragon.
Valdemar rather liked that.
Although considered a ruin, the stronghold contained many surprising advantages. The fresh water was a major benefit and the hollow in which it was constructed protected from the harsh winds and cold that had assaulted the men on their journey. They had come far, forging themselves into a single working unit that quickly responded to orders and blooded themselves on Komuran cities in their path. They had endured cold, weariness, surprise attacks from desperate rebels, and grueling training that pushed them to the limits of human endurance.
The unfit had died along the way.
The grounds of Stravaholme were filled with those that remained — triumphant warriors, skilled craftsmen, resilient workers, and dutiful servants. They followed Valdemar's lead, overcoming their superstitious fears enough to completely inhabit a stronghold supposedly cursed by the darkest of forces. They claimed Stravaholme for their own and braved the winter there, confident their lord had more glory in store for them.
They couldn't possibly fathom the extent of the glories he envisioned.
Valdemar had just returned from meeting with his generals when one of his Dragonists jogged up with a salute. "My lord, you wished to be told when you had a visitor. A high lady arrived a short while ago, demanding to speak with you—"
"Where?"
"At your tent, milord."
Valdemar spurred his stallion forward, scattering soldiers as he galloped to his tent. He ignored the guards' salutes as he dismounted and strode through the flaps. Masiki stood in the great room with her arms folded in what he knew from experience was a stance of anger. He approached warily but met her furious stare without flinching.
"What madness has taken you?" Her eyes blazed. "My orders were to keep your men near the border, yet I return to find you in a full scale campaign against Komura, a nation already under your thumb. I did not permit you to waste men needlessly in some unnecessary crusade. Your soldiers are to die in Leodia, not this useless countryside."
"This is hardly a crusade, High Lady." Valdemar spoke carefully, knowing the fragile ground he tread upon. "It is an execution. The Komurans had grown bold in their resistance. Better to crush them now. My men had been sitting still for months. It does them good to see some action. Their minds and bodies must be prepared when I lead them over the Dragonspine."