Modina walked forward and looked out at the sky. Breathing in the fresh air, she fell to her knees. The window 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 might douse herself with water. Until that moment, she had not noticed how starved she had been for fresh air and sunlight. Amilia might have spoken to her, but she was too busy looking at the sky to notice.
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 in a crevice above one of the other windows that dotted the exterior wall.
She did not know how long she had knelt there. At some point, she realized she was alone. The door behind her had been closed and a blanket had been 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’re disappointed.” She recognized the fatherly tone of Regent Saldur. “Still, you have to be mindful of the big picture. This isn’t just some wild landgrab. This is an empire we are building.”
“Two months at the head of an army and he acts as if he were a war-hardened 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’re lost because you were preoccupied with taking an empty castle.”
“It wasn’t empty …” There was more said but the voices were 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 said, intervening, “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 Tomas. 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, and 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. From the courtyard below came the harsh shouts of soldiers in the process of changing guards. She had nearly forgotten about the conversation from below when she heard an abrupt communal gasp.
“Tur Del Fur? 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. “The Nationalists are marching north toward Ratibor. They must be stopped.”
“This is insane. I can’t believe you’re 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. “Then we’re all in agreement?”
A number of voices spoke their acknowledgment.