The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) Read online

  The lord was frowning, looking intrigued. “Continue, please.”

  Stephan steepled his fingers. “What if your daughter willingly relinquishes her claim to the Athesian throne? What if she peacefully offers her full support for the empress? We get the favorable trade deals we have always wanted. We make sure the loyalty of our private armies is never put to a difficult test. And we stifle discord among ourselves, because everyone profits.”

  The banker touched his chin. “Why would Rheanna give up her claim?”

  Stephan grinned, glad he had finally managed to bait the old wolf. “Because she will have found herself another, far more suitable husband.”

  Lord Malcolm lowered his hand, his fist clenched. “You presume too much, Councillor. Even I would not dare tell my daughter who she might choose to marry. Bloody Abyss, she didn’t speak to me for almost a month after I accidentally broached that topic ten years ago.”

  “I would not expect you to convince her. Or order her. But maybe suggest? She will need friends in the coming months. She will need allies, people she can rely upon. She will direly need support, because she will be hunted. As long as she remains the widow of late Emperor James, she will be a valuable target. For everyone. The moment she removes herself from that perilous position, she will become safe. We must also make sure that Caytor gains as much as it can from this affair.”

  The banker rose, going back to the window. “Why do you think I would put your selfish needs before those of my daughter, Councillor? What makes you better than any other man out there?”

  Stephan grinned again, at the man’s back. Another successful bait. “Well, sir, nothing really. But I have been captive in Roalas for a long time, and I have negotiated with Empress Amalia and her military commander. I know her better than most other councillors.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Stephan shifted his weight. He wasn’t quite sure how much the council had learned about the situation in Roalas. He had sent a few letters while in captivity, and received some responses in return, far less than he would have hoped to. Most other Caytoreans had not bothered to write, but he couldn’t really be sure Commander Gerald had not manipulated them separately, without each of them knowing about the rest. So it was quite possible his friends on the council had shown equal prowess and ingenuity, and he was merely deluding himself about his hostage heroics.

  “I will support my daughter in whatever she chooses,” the lord insisted, still watching the bay. “Whatever. Only then will I consider the good of our realm. Second to her desires. She is my only daughter. I don’t have much in this world. My dear wife is…not well. Rheanna’s wishes are sacred to me. You will do well to respect that. And never underestimate her. Or me.”

  Stephan cleared his throat. “All right, sir. What do you want?”

  The banker turned, and his face glowed with victory. Stephan realized he wasn’t the only one who could bait people with clever remarks and touching stories. He must not underestimate this man. Indeed.

  “I want my daughter to be happy.”

  Stephan nodded carefully. “All right. How do I fit into that scheme?”

  Lord Malcolm walked around his massive wooden rampart, approaching Stephan. The man wasn’t alarming, but his presence was quite imposing. The masculine counterpart of what his ravishing daughter was. With her, you wanted to press yourself against that supple, warm flesh. With him, you wanted to dust the lint off your suit, stand, and salute.

  “You, Councillor, can help me take over all of the Eybalen businesses.” There was almost a mad glint to his eye. “I really have everything I need. More than I could possibly want. The only way to entertain myself is to try something new and different.”

  Stephan pushed the chair back so he could look at the banker more comfortably. “Well, I believe every wealthy man in the city shares the same ambition.”

  Malcolm shrugged. “I believe you aren’t the only potential suitor for my daughter.” He shrugged again. “However, you are the most brazen one, I have to admit. No other has dared yet step into my office and ask me to sell him my daughter. They probably think I would construe it as an insult.” He walked away suddenly toward a small padded door near the western wall of his office. He turned the gilt handle and pushed.

  A man stepped in. He was of average height, middle-aged, with receding hair that reached to his nape in wavy silver threads. It didn’t look very clean, that hair, and there was yellow woven through the strands, which could have been old, permanent filth. The man had no right eye, and a scar ran right through his socket, down his cheek and stubbly jaw. He was well dressed, but no one would mistake him for a gentleman.

  “This is Bader, the head of my security,” the banker announced happily. “When you said you had your own proposal, I thought it would be prudent if I elaborated on my own. I could ask Bader to take a handful of gold from the coffers in the vault below and buy the services of one of those Pum’be assassins. Then, maybe, the killer could handle whatever threat my daughter faces.”

  Stephan forced himself to smile. “I heard they are no longer offering their services in the realms.” He had tried. The moment he had heard about Emperor James. Only the legendary dwarfs would not accept commissions anymore. No one really knew why, but they refused to step anywhere near Parus, Eracia, or Caytor. Or Athesia. In another lifetime, that would have greatly worried Stephan, but he was too busy trying to scheme his way through political marriage.

  Lord Malcolm pursed his lips. “Alternatively, I could ask Bader to hire several thousand new swords and paint the city streets bloody. That would ensure some enthusiasm on behalf of the council as far as my daughter was concerned.”

  Stephan exhaled slowly. “That would not be the best outcome, I’m afraid.”

  The banker was unfazed. “Indeed. So I will ask you once again, Councillor. Why do I need you? What value do you bring me?”

  And I thought I was a good negotiator, Stephan mused. “Well, I believe we should definitely let Lady Rheanna make her own choices, be it Athesia or Caytor. However, we should unreservedly help her, make sure she is safe and well protected, so that she can act without fear. I would be honored to offer my assistance. In return, I would merely ask that you mention my selfless act before your daughter, should the occasion arise.”

  “Our first worry is to find her,” Malcolm insisted.

  “I have already put my best efforts to that,” Stephan promised. What do I gain here? A kind word by a crazy father, if that? I have come to this man to get his cooperation. Instead I have pledged myself to his service. For free? Am I mad? Or is this man a genius?

  “Councillor, I have yet to find a man who has impressed me with his wit and daring. Yourself included. But I can appreciate your candor, and your avarice. They are most commendable. Choosing allies in business is a very tricky ordeal. At the moment, I must choose between cowards scheming in the back rooms of their guilds and lavish villas, and you, a brazen, forward, unscrupulous son of a bitch. I guess that will have to do.”

  Stephan waited, wondering if the man might say something else. Apparently, he would.

  “If my daughter chooses to marry again just so she can advance her agenda, then she will make her own decision who might best suit her in that role. One councillor or another, it probably won’t matter. You aren’t any better than the rest. However, you may choose to prove you’re more than just a money-grabbing fop. That’s my advice to you, Councillor.”

  “Thank you,” Stephan said, his eyes on Bader. The man was wearing a sword at his hip, and despite an elaborate silver buckle and thread, it looked like a well-used tool.

  “Your knowledge of the court intrigue in Roalas could be valuable. Although I doubt it will help much now. Perhaps it can be used to leverage the Parusite threat. Or mellow Empress Amalia’s heart. I leave the tactical decisions to you. I would be glad to help finance your endeavor. You will definitely need help. Including troops.”

  Stephan frowned. “I am not quite sure
I am following.”

  Lord Malcolm pointed at his one-eyed henchman. “Bader will accompany you on your journey. Searching for my daughter while safely lodged in Eybalen smothers the sense of urgency in the task. You will find yourself far more resourceful on the road. I expect you to find my daughter and form a solid plan that will ensure her success. No matter what she chooses.”

  “You want me to search for Lady Rheanna across Caytor?”

  “You expect me to vouch for you before my daughter, Councillor?”

  Stephan slumped. He held power in the city. He controlled information. Leaving all that behind would make his work that much more complicated. He did not like the prospect. But then, he had come to this man to ask him for his assistance, to buy his support. Well, he had expected the old banker to just accept his sophisticated story and lend gold. He should have counted on more from the man who had educated Lady Rheanna, the woman who had tamed Adam’s son.

  “All right, sir. I could do with an excursion. We’ll be having autumn storms anyway, soon. The port might close, and it will get quite boring.”

  The banker walked back to his place by the window. “If you ask me, the most favorable resolution would be to make peace with both King Sergei and the young empress. Alas, that cannot be. And we must not choose the Parusites, because they will never relinquish Athesia. The only way we can ensure the safe return of our lost trade and territories is to win over Empress Amalia. That will be a difficult task for you. And even more difficult for my daughter. Two women fighting for power. That cannot be pretty. There’s your opportunity, Councillor. She will need a man’s insight into how to resolve this thing. Women are cruel, relentless. If you leave it to her, she will fight Amalia to the death. We don’t want any of that.”

  “King Sergei might be inclined to appease us after the fiasco with the Oth Danesh,” Stephan supplied, trying to sound smart and not intimidated.

  The banker waved his hand dismissively. “He might, as long as we do not interfere in his conquest. But since we are going to do just that, all the goodwill we might have earned by being a cowardly nation incapable of defending itself will be lost the moment we try to side with Amalia. I’m afraid he knows that, so he might decide to stop his bloody war and reconcile with the empress himself. We must get there first. Otherwise, we will have lost not only Athesia but all the men the council had so generously sent to fight with Emperor James, too. And we might end up having another civil war.”

  Stephan was looking at Bader. The other man had only one eye, but he could stare well. He was doing just that, staring back, without blinking, watching him, judging his reaction to Malcolm’s words.

  “Do you know why I never replied to your letters, Councillor?” the lord asked.

  Stephan narrowed his eyes. “You have received them, then.”

  “Yes, everyone has. Whoever held you captive made sure they did get delivered. I never responded, because letters get read. Do you understand?”

  Clever, but it didn’t really help me when I was locked in Roalas. “I see.”

  “You were the only one to send those messages. It shows you have initiative. Maybe even some daring. Backbone. Balls.” He cupped his hand against the deep-blue sky of the Eybalen bay. “Definitely greed. I like those qualities in people I choose to conduct business with. It shows character. You have ambition, and it will drive you toward making sure my own needs are fulfilled.”

  Stephan wiped any smugness from his face. Time for grinning and smiling was over. But he was that much gladder to learn he had been the only Caytorean to try to exploit the captivity to his advantage. Well, their advantage. He had sort of assumed leadership of all the hostages. Not unsimilar to what he was doing now.

  “Thank you.”

  “I like the way you think. So I expect you to use your cunning to help my daughter.” Lord Malcolm seated himself again. He looked even sharper and more cunning than before. “You will have ample funds. Soldiers. Anything you need. Just ask Bader.” Stephan wanted to speak, but the man resumed as if he hadn’t noticed. “Remember, Councillor, when no one suspects you, you are free to do anything you want.”

  “I will probably need a cover story,” Stephan mumbled. He had completely lost control of the meeting.

  “We will think of something. The High Council is too divided anyhow. They might not even notice. I’ve spoken to some of your colleagues recently. I must say I’m not impressed. Guild Master Curtis, Guild Master Uwe, that awful man Dietrich. You have a golden opportunity, Councillor, and you must not squander it.”

  Stephan sighed, resigned. The leather chair was not comfortable anymore. “I will be ready to depart in two days, I believe. However, I am not quite sure where to go. Your daughter might be anywhere by now.”

  The banker was silent. Then, he began tsking, slowly, annoyingly, tilting his head left and right, and it seemed he would go on forever. “My dear councillor, I would have expected more from you. Now you do not think I would send you chasing a ghost of a rumor of a story of the whereabouts of my daughter across the realms? In autumn rains and winter blizzards? Do you really think we have time for that? You’re not Askel journeying across the four corners of the world with a pen in your hand and a song in your heart.”

  Get to the point, Stephan thought, becoming agitated. He loved the sound of his own voice like the next man, but it was no fun having to endure all this theatrics. “I see. Where should I go then?”

  Lord Malcolm leaned forward. “Pain Daye, obviously.”

  CHAPTER 21

  There was a loud knock on the door.

  No, no, no! Mali thought, trying to keep her thoughts focused. The thing was, it was somewhat difficult with a cock inside her.

  Bjaras was panting on top of her, almost dutifully, his curls all wet and plastered to his forehead, his muscles shiny with sweat and flushed with blood. He was quite heavy, but right now, it felt good, oh so good. He was moving in rhythm with her breathing, so she didn’t really need to fight for air. A refreshing change.

  Another knock, louder still.

  “Wait there,” she whispered. Bjaras plowed on. She tapped him on the shoulder. He frowned but stopped. Mali slumped her head against the rumpled sheets, inhaling deeply, trying to clear her head. “What is it?” she rasped.

  “There’s a battle coming. You’re needed, sir.” A muffled voice came through the rough planks, almost apologetically. Well, it was hard to miss the nature of the grunts from inside the room. Or the screech of the bed legs sliding across the floor.

  Battle? Battle? She groaned. Bjaras was still waiting, propped, his face mildly stupid, like all men in heat. “I will be there shortly.” Go away.

  She nodded at him, almost urgently. The northerner smiled, and then his face turned vague with lust, and he resumed his efficient pounding. Mali felt tingles up her ribs, up her arms, and she felt her eyes roll to the back of her skull, and her legs became custard. She whimpered against Bjaras’s hair.

  Then, just as she felt she could relax and let that blissful warmth wrap around her, his pace intensified, and she gasped with sweet pain as he climaxed. Damn, he was heavy.

  Groaning, Mali pushed him off. He flopped, dazed, disoriented, calm like a baby. The frogskin on his member looked like a forest mushroom. “I have to go,” she told him. “You stay here. Understand?”

  Of course he did not. Bjaras just raised his brows, which probably meant he was exhausted and not going anywhere. Just as good. She did not want her officers and clerks commenting on the handsome northerner leaving her chambers. Not that she had really tried to be inconspicuous in the past several weeks. Not really.

  Mali rolled over and wiped her body dry with an old, musty shirt. Then, she began dressing, knees wobbly, her privates on fire. She missed a trouser leg and almost stumbled into the small nightstand. Somehow she managed to roll the leather up her skin and buckle herself up. Her shirt fought her back, but she won eventually.

  “Stay,” she repeated and exited the room.<
br />
  Outside, a red-faced clerk was waiting, trying to look invisible. “Major Alexa wishes to see you, sir.”

  Mali brushed her hair back. She was winded and thirsty. And still somewhat confused. Her body and mind were not quite ready for anything serious yet. “What battle?”

  “Some of those strange northern people again, sir. A patrol from the south.”

  “Get me some water,” she ordered and lurched against a wall. “Please.” The clerk walked away toward the small canteen. Mali closed her eyes and breathed slowly, trying to calm herself. Outside the barracks, she could hear a noise intensifying. It didn’t sound like chaos, but it wasn’t a usual afternoon either.

  The girl came back with a large earthen jug. Mali drank eagerly, rivulets running down the sides of her chin, dripping onto her collarbone. “Thank you.” Bracing herself, she stepped into the main corridor and climbed down the flight of steps into the entrance hall of Lord Karsten’s mansion.

  Alexa was standing near an old statue, arms clasped in front of her, but she had armor pads on her. “You sure took your time.”

  “It was hardly two minutes,” Mali complained. “What is happening?”

  “We have engaged a large enemy patrol near the village of Narris. Must have come to sniff after their missing convoys. Well, three hundred strong, properly trained and with spears. All infantry, though.”

  Mali looked up and to the right, trying to imagine the layout of the land. “Where are Finley and Alan?”

  Alexa crossed her hands the other way. “The troops are drilling, mostly. Don’t know where the two of them might be. I thought to inform you first.” Her friend touched an old marble bust, forehead creased with thought. “And there’s another force coming, perhaps two thousand strong. We still have about a day and a half before they reach us.”