The murmurs filling the hall grew even louder.
As if oblivious to the stir, the Grand Duke raised his glass. The Chief Chamberlain, who had been studying him intently, posed a probing question.
“Do you have a specific daughter in mind?”
“Must I decide every trifling detail?”
Varkas spoke indifferently as he set down his empty glass.
“The Northern Noble Alliance can select an appropriate candidate for Crown Princess themselves.”
“If His Majesty grants his leave, we will begin vetting candidates at once.”
The head of the Northern Noble Alliance stepped forward as if he had been lying in wait for this exact opening.
The Emperor’s Chief Chamberlain fell silent for a time, stroking his chin, his gaze calculating as he weighed profit against loss.
“I cannot give you a definitive answer at this moment.”
“I expect no immediate answer. You need only convey my proposal to His Majesty,” Varkas said mildly.
Evidently irked by that unflappable countenance, the chamberlain finally rose from his seat.
“Very well. I shall convey the Grand Duke’s words to His Majesty precisely as spoken.”
Discussions of a marriage between the daughter of House Bluestone and the Crown Prince did not take long to conclude. The Imperial delegation had felt their own private dread over the boiling unrest across the North.
Messengers were dispatched to the capital at once to seek the Emperor’s will, and before long, a favorable reply returned.
House Bluestone spread the news throughout the North without delay. It was a calculated maneuver, intended to quiet the wrath of the Balto people with the prospect of an Empress born of their own soil.
The outcome exceeded expectations. As soon as word of the betrothal spread, the embers of insurrection smoldering across Balto began to cool. The Northern Noble Alliance had also deployed agitators to guide public sentiment in their favor.
Before long, the people of Balto came to welcome news of Lady Bluestone’s betrothal to the Crown Prince as a herald of peace. The current of reconciliation, sweeping across the provinces like wildfire, isolated the remaining rebel forces in an instant. The militias that had raised arms against the Imperial Army disbanded one by one.
Now, the only forces remaining in defiance of the throne were scattered garrisons in a few outlying northern provinces and the army of Bjorn Blodar Heimdal, deeply entrenched in Yotengar.
“We owe all of this to Your Grace’s initiative.”
The second son of House Bluestone, who had come calling at Varkas’s command tent, spoke in a buoyant tone.
For a man about to face a longtime ally as a foe, his voice was unnervingly cheerful.
Varkas, seated before the brazier wiping down his blade with oil, lifted his cool blue eyes toward the visitor.
The young lord, having arrived at Yotengar at the head of the Northern Alliance vanguard, looked far too immaculate for someone who had just marched hundreds of leagues. Varkas’s impassive gaze traveled down the man’s polished armor and velvet mantle before returning to his weapon.
“Are the wedding preparations proceeding smoothly?”
“Without a hitch so far. A few nobles voiced misgivings, but the heavyweights of the Imperial Assembly look upon the union favorably. A grand betrothal ceremony will be held the moment His Highness the Crown Prince returns with the vanguard.”
The young lord answered in his usual leisurely drawl, casting a glance at the supply crates stacked near the entrance.
“Do you intend to return to the East, Your Grace?”
“Orders have been issued for the Imperial Army to pull back to the rear as the Northern Alliance forces relieve us.”
Varkas rose from his stool, sliding the polished sword into its sheath.
“I intend to hold camp near the foot of the Yotengar range for the time being, but we shall take no part in further assaults. Sweeping up the remnants of the rebellion now falls to the Northern Alliance.”
“It was the condition set for Anistair to become the Crown Princess, after all. It cannot be helped.”
With a light sigh, the young lord’s gaze grew solemn as he looked at Varkas.
“In any event, I must thank you once more for your efforts in securing this match. Thanks to you, the peace treaty will be signed without further bloodshed.”
“No thanks are necessary. I pursued it because I judged there was practical benefit in it for myself as well.”
Brushing off the gratitude without emotion, Varkas drew his discarded coat over his shoulders and stepped out into the biting air.
Beyond the dense thicket of tents and towering palisades, jagged, dark grey crags thrust sharply into the sky. After studying the snow-dusted ridges and the valleys nestled between them, he walked toward the perimeter of the encampment.
At the boundary of the post, he watched the northern soldiers pitching their tents.
Once they completed their lines, he meant to march his forces to the southern foot of the Yotengar Mountains.
From there, he could keep watch over the eastern marches, including Tarlin, while remaining poised to intervene should northern affairs unravel. Above all, it was little more than ten days’ ride to Kalmor, meaning word from Raedgo Castle would reach him far more swiftly.
Resting his forearms against the wooden fence, Varkas pulled a flask from his belt and wet his dry lips with strong spirits. He took no particular pleasure in drink, yet at some point, it had hardened into a habit.
Feeling the searing heat carve down his throat, he let out a long breath.
Just then, the thunderous rhythm of galloping hooves broke through the howling gale.
Alert to the possibility of a sudden raid, he stiffened, only to narrow his eyes as a contingent of cavalry clad in gilded armor poured down the mountain’s northwestern slope.
The main force under the Crown Prince had received imperial orders to advance on the southwestern plains of Balto at once. Why was the man who ought to be riding for Sevron appearing here?
Varkas walked briskly through the lanes of the encampment toward the main gate.
As he reached the checkpoint, the figure of Gareth Roem Guirta atop a golden courser came into view. Taking in his murderous scowl, Varkas swallowed a sigh. The Crown Prince appeared to have ridden all this way solely to vent his fury.
“Your Highness.”
As Varkas approached the front of the long column and bowed his head in courtesy, the Crown Prince dropped from the saddle, thrusting his face inches from Varkas’s.
“You look hale enough.”
Those dark green eyes slowly swept over him.
Varkas could read a fury nearing the point of detonation within that gaze. His lips curling into a vicious sneer, Gareth added with biting malice,
“And here I thought the poisoned steel had rotted your brain.”
“I am deeply sorry to have caused Your Highness concern,” Varkas replied evenly.
Gareth glared at him as though he could tear out his throat, his jaw clenching hard. He whipped around toward the gate and snapped,
“Whispers are already circulating that our alliance has soured. There is no need to feed the gossip. Follow me. Now.”
He strode through the encampment toward the great command pavilion pitched at its center. Varkas fell into step behind him in silence.
The moment they passed the tent flaps, a broad, calloused hand, veins roping beneath bronze skin, seized Varkas by the lapels. Hot breath, ragged as an enraged bull’s, washed over his face.
“I will not even bother asking what possessed you to pull this stunt. Send a petition to His Imperial Majesty opposing this marriage this instant. Do that, and I will overlook your insolence in acting without my leave.”
“I am sorry, but I cannot do that,” Varkas replied calmly, peeling the prince’s fingers away with a measured touch.
At that serene refusal, the cords in the Crown Prince’s neck pulled taut.
“Are you openly defying me?”
“I am,” Varkas stated without a tremor, smoothing down his crumpled collar.
“This marriage has already received the Emperor’s imperial sanction. Even if I were to petition against it now, the prospect of reversing his decree is vanishingly small.”
“Do not insult my intelligence! You set this entire stage yourself! The whole continent whispers that you volunteered to play the matchmaker, so who do you think you are deceiving?!”
“I may have raised the suggestion, but those who ratified it were the Imperial Assembly and His Majesty. Had this union offered no clear benefit to the realm and to Your Highness, it would never have been approved, no matter what part I played.”
The Crown Prince’s face was no longer merely flushed; it had darkened to a bruised, livid purple, as if ready to burst.
With an enraged bellow, he drove his heavy boot into a supply crate stacked against the tent wall, splintering the wood.
“For my sake? Spare me your sanctimonious drivel! You only wanted to bring this war to an end as fast as possible! Do you take me for a fool who cannot see you are desperate to scurry back to the East where that wretched woman waits?”
END