The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) (29 page)

One of the two Naum men said something. The other made a rumbling noise of agreement, a man’s signature expression worldwide. She stole a quick glance toward Sheldon. Yes, he was watching them, and his big eyes were lit with clarity. He fully understood what they were saying. She ought to be proud of her child, but all she could summon was fear and worry.

Enough
, Nigella thought, rubbing her back again. She had collected a fair share of herbs. After she dried them, she would have enough to last her through the winter. Still, maybe she would visit the countryside a few more times before the autumn set in.

Rising, dusting herself off, she spared another glance at Marlheim, a living, breathing scar on the face of Caytor, a reminder of what her lover was doing. She wanted to feel disgusted, repulsed, and terrified by his heartless actions, she wanted to feel sympathy for her fellow citizens, but she could not summon anything of that sort. Her heart was empty of sorrow and her cheeks dry of tears for people who had never quite treated her as an equal. The fact Calemore planned to reshape the realms did not really bother her. Not as such…

What did was her role in the scheme. What would become of her?

She still tried to wrap her mind around the unease left from the last reading. Calemore would change the land forever. He would carve a new reality. And she would have to find her place in it. That was a part she still couldn’t fathom. Her future was a dark shadow, a vague swirl of shapes that hinted at bad things to come. She wanted to hope, to believe they would end up together as a couple, chained by love and understanding, sharing passion and ideals. She knew that Calemore was cruel and vain and treated humans worse than insects under his boots, but he also had a soft, gentle side. He could be considerate when he wanted to. He had shown her appreciation, and he was genuinely interested in her. Unlike all the others. No one had ever done her any favors. Maybe he was a wild, violent man, but how was he any different from any other male out there? And he had never lied to her. Of that much she was certain.

Perhaps she didn’t deserve a prince from ancient tales. Perhaps she needed a brutal, hard man to complete her. That was her burden, her ordeal, her destiny. She could flee, like she had always done before, slink away from danger, challenge, and confrontation, take the easy way out. Or she could toughen up
and face the ordeal. The price of love. No one said it would be simple. Then, no one had ever told her the life of a mongrel in a magic-hating country would be easy. Not after Rob had left her with a child, not after James had broken his promises, never.

It would be fatally romantic, she thought, almost misty-eyed. It would be like no other story told before. There was only one problem.

From everything she had read in the book so far, it seemed her future might never come to be as she imagined. Instead, she would get a more sinister version. One without regard for her love and dreams. Now
that
was the price of love, it seemed. The more she read, the worse it became. The message, ever elusive, cryptic, but unmistakably dark and troubling.

What will become of me
, she wondered.

She had to figure it out, for herself. She had to.

Pouches bulging with herbs and flowers, Nigella retreated to her cabin. Sheldon looked at his stick, tossed it away, and followed after his mother.

CHAPTER 20

S
tephan entered the bank. He had not entered a bank in years. Once you got sufficiently rich, money sort of started gravitating your way, like lumps of rock cascading down a cliff into a lake, a lake that was your wealth. With hardly a splash, the surface swallowed it all.

Moreover, influential people had cronies to take care of their business, from secretaries, lawyers, and diligent clerks to mercenaries, all of whom had a role in making your money reservoir more efficient, more lucrative. At a certain point, you even became redundant, but the idea of your wealth kept thriving on its own, sustaining itself like a living organism.

Today, though, his visit had nothing to do with money.

A polite clerk in spotless livery led him upstairs to the personal office of one Lord Malcolm.

Father to one Lady Rheanna.

Guild masters would sometimes wait in the lavish foyer outside the man’s opulent office. Merchants, traders, shipmasters, and awfully rich businessmen would sometimes wait for weeks before their appointment could be granted. Even then, they might end up being declined at the last moment. Lord Malcolm could afford to disappoint his customers now and
then. His institution had enough funds to patron a few slapped wrists and a handful of wasted hours.

Stephan was spared the ceremony of lounging in leather sofas and sipping expensive wine in the waiting room. He was ushered without a word into the den of wealth.

Rheanna’s father was standing near a huge floor-to-ceiling window, staring toward the docks. The panes were clear save for an odd gull dropping plastered against the wrought-iron frame. Stephan could see the slight resemblance to his daughter, the same nose, the shame sharp features.

“Where is my daughter?” the man said as a matter of greeting.

Stephan stopped and waited for the clerk to click the doors shut behind him. The moment they were alone, he eased himself into an impressive chair, the expensive leather creaking ominously. He waited for the man to turn and regard him fully.

“I thought you could tell me that,” he told the lord when he slowly spun around.

The man snorted. “Councillor, my time is precious. I have postponed several highly important matters to accommodate your visit, with a firm belief you had valuable information to share. If you intend to banter needlessly in rhetoric, we can end this meeting right now.”

Stephan grimaced. “I want to help you.”
I want you to help me
.

Grudgingly, Malcolm sat down behind his huge desk. It was empty, and it only served to create an impressive distance between himself and whoever sat on the opposite side. “How so?”

“Well, we both want your daughter found. Safe. Protected. And we want to make sure that her interests in the High Council are not compromised.”

“I can guarantee that myself,” the lord snapped.

“Perhaps. But it would not hurt if you had staunch allies among the councillors.”

Lord Malcolm made a weary face. “I see no point in all this drama. We have worked together before, and we know each other’s tricks all too well. What do you want?”

Stephan had hoped to draw out the meeting a while longer before making his proposal, but then, sometimes, the other party dictated the pace of negotiations. “I must ask you, do you know what your daughter had in mind when she married Emperor James? Do you know what she intended to achieve?”

Malcolm tapped the polished tabletop. “Not quite, I must admit. She had kept her affairs rather private, even from her father. But that is understandable. I would not expect her to chat about her designs until it was all well under way, or complete.” He looked away, toward a ceremonial bookcase on the left side of the vast chamber. “My daughter is a skilled businesswoman,” he added.

Stephan leaned on one of the armrests, but his elbow slipped, and his body bobbed awkwardly. He straightened himself. “I think she meant to get Athesia united with Caytor. First through marriage. Then, maybe as a commonwealth. Finally, as one realm. Once again.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s my daughter,” Malcolm announced proudly.

Stephan nodded. “I want to help Lady Rheanna achieve that goal.”

The lord was silent for a moment, watching him, thinking. “That would be satisfactory. But then, I would assume the High Council would fully support my daughter’s endeavors. Is that not the case?”

Stephan looked at the empty desk. He imagined a glass of some other expensive wine would be there, waiting to be tasted. But the banker didn’t seem to get it. Or pretended not to. “If the council really knew what it wanted, our choices would be much easier.”

“So you’re telling me the councillors might be split in their decision to support Rheanna? Some might decide to favor Amalia, is that it?”

“There are many possibilities,” Stephan said carefully. “We cannot possibly control all of them. Or even predict them. Therefore, we should focus on the one we desire and make sure it happens. In this regard, I believe our common interests are fully aligned.”

Malcolm smiled, a dry, perfunctory expression with a fixed rate. “You still haven’t told me what you want, Councillor.”

Some people really didn’t have the flair for negotiations
, Stephan mused, slightly disappointed. But trying to wheedle something out of someone like this slick banker was not going to work. “Your daughter is a widow. A beautiful, intelligent, powerful, highly desirable widow. Technically, she is eligible to the Athesian throne, which means Caytor gains access back to its lost territories. Well, to an extent. Some might say Empress Amalia has a much better claim.” He waved generously. “Going down that route will lead to bloodshed. We will never win a war where Caytorean troops have to fight over
Parusite
land,” he emphasized. “All Empress Amalia has to do to defeat us is to bow knee to King Sergei. However, we could perhaps convince Amalia she is better off with Caytor behind her, rather than those religious southerners.”

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.”