“No, Comron—”
“I’ve queried the barrister governor’s office and they have confirmed that if we proceed immediately—”
“You’ve overstepped your bounds.” Crausin poured anther drink. “I never gave you the authority to make those calls.”
“I needed to know if it was even possible before presenting the plan to you.”
Crausin downed his drink in a single gulp. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to marry Spira for the good of Nethic. That’s final.”
“No, I refuse!”
“Frithe’s gates, Com. I’ll never take her to bed again. Your eyes have been sufficiently opened to what she is.”
Comron’s face twisted in disgust. “Bend the slut every night for all I care, just as long as I don’t have to!”
Crausin groaned aloud. “Wasn’t it enough that your little Patheis excursion took twenty years off my life? And now this?”
“Release me from the betrothal, and I will never give you another moment’s trouble.” He grabbed Crausin’s arm and entreated him. “I’m begging you. Don’t force me to marry her.”
Crausin looked deep into Comron’s eyes and his tone grew heavy with menace. “Perhaps if you tried telling me the truth I’d be persuaded to consider your business proposal.”
Comron briefly averted his eyes. “I’ve told you my reasons.”
“What? That you suddenly don’t feel like marrying her anymore? This marriage alliance has absolutely nothing to do with feelings,” Crausin said angrily. “It has everything to do with duty and obligation. I married to save our house from destitution and you will marry to gain our seat on the reserve board.”
“We can still—”
“Enough!” The color rose in Crausin’s cheeks. “You will do as your Duke commands!”
Comron’s heart thumped madly and his chest constricted under the pressure. He felt as if he’d been thrust deeper into his gilded cage. Vaush would never consent to be his mistress. Like Grantham, he would become just another casualty of Vaush’s lofty principles, lying there, run through by the broadsword of her virtue.
“If you force me to do this,” Comron said in a grating tone. “I’ll never forgive you for as long as I live. Oath be damned!” he spat.
Crausin looked as if he’d been mortally wounded. “Com … you don’t mean—”
“The hell I don’t. I should’ve had the good sense to die on Patheis,” he proclaimed before storming toward the door.
CHAPTER 26
Crausin hurried after Comron and slammed the door shut, preventing him from leaving. “What in the devil has gotten into you? You’re not going anywhere until I hear the truth.”
“I have told you.”
“You’re lying to me!” Crausin growled, teetering on the edge of sanity.
Comron backed away, unnerved by the warning tone that preceded Edred’s daunting presence. When Crausin slipped into that mode, the insanity could only be quelled by extreme measures.
“What has given you the temerity to speak to me with such impudence?” Crausin’s expression was dark and his tone equally so. “What could have possibly compelled you to turn on me this way?”
Comron could feel the specter of Edred lurking in the shadows, aching to strike out violently against him. “I’ll do my duty, Sire,” he said, lowering his eyes. “As you command.”
But Crausin’s eyes already glistened with madness. “Oh, I have no doubt you will do as your Duke commands. But first you will confess your transgression.” He took a threatening step closer. “I will have the truth out of you one way or the other.”
All at once, Comron saw himself at seventeen again, locked away in the cellar with a violently deranged madman. Fear and loathing gripped him, for he knew that as an adept fighter, he could overtake Crausin and escape the study, but only to face a squadron of armed guards on the other side of the door. Once again, he would be thrust back into the south wing cellar and left to the whims of ‘Edred’s’ sadistic mercy.
“Forgive me, Crausin. I will end it,” Comron said in a small voice.
The anger broiling in his father’s face fell into anguish at the confession.
“Who is she?” he asked just above a whisper.
“I will end it, and then it won’t matter.”
“Won’t matter?” Crausin hollered. “You were willingly to compromise Nethic over her!” He seized Comron. “Who is she? What is her name?”
Comron tried to break Crausin’s grip, though the duke’s berserk strength made it difficult.
“It’s not her fault. I’m the one to blame,” Comron pleaded.
Crausin cracked Comron across the face with the back of his hand. “Didn’t Edred’s lesson teach you anything? The girl pays!” He slammed Comron against the wall. “What is her name?” he bellowed.
Comron felt his father’s mind probing deeper into his, searching for the name his son refused to surrender. He could feel himself losing the battle; Crausin’s mind had always been stronger than his.
“Countess Emilia Brimfell,” Comron lied, yet she was still a memory Crausin could search out and verify as a recent tryst of his.
Crausin grabbed his face and squeezed it. “You’re still lying!”
“No, we started seeing each other at the start of the fall festivals. We were going to end it before the wedding, but after I returned from Patheis, she decided she could not part with me, and insisted that I marry her instead.”
Crausin released his grip. “What?”
“She threatened to go to you if I didn’t call off the wedding,” Comron lied as the duke continued to breathe fire, his face twisting in derision.
“How did you allow that pinched-faced bitch to manipulate you this way? You’re smarter than this.”
“I know now that I should have come to you with it, but after Patheis my mind was a mess. I-I panicked.”
Comron thought he saw a glimpse of empathy in Crausin’s eyes. Had he succeeded in holding Edred at bay? Comron held his silence, awaiting the verdict.
“What you’ve done is completely reprehensible on so many levels, but I should make allowances for your recent trauma. All will go according to schedule and we will never speak of this again.”
Comron could take no pleasure in the small victory. “Thank you for your understanding and compassion.” He tried to ignore the harrowing wailing inside as he felt Vaush slipping through his fingers; the pain was crushing.
Crausin staggered back against the desk as if he had been assaulted. His eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You love her.”
A dreadful fear came over Comron as he realized that in his enormous grief, he’d let his mental guard down.
Crausin’s expression soured incredulously. “Emilia Brimfell? Really?”
Comron’s emotions turned cold at the mention of her name and his expression registered his indifference toward the woman.
Observing this, Crausin’s eyes burned with rage and indignation. “You no more love Emilia Brimfell than you love Spira!”
Closing his eyes, Comron raised his mental defenses and prepared himself for the physical assault that was sure to come. There was only one comfort to him now. Vaush wouldn’t suffer; her identity remained hidden.
“I will permit you until the end of the week to end this accursed affair,” Crausin said.
Shocked, Comron stared cautiously at him in silence.
“End it or I will end her. Do I make myself clear?”
Comron nodded, unsure of what to make of Crausin’s unprecedented rationality. When he started to speak, Crausin cut him off. “I don’t want to hear another word out of your putrid lying mouth. Get out of my sight!” Crausin barked, jamming a finger toward the double doors.
Before the duke could change his mind or Edred could come forth, Comron made haste from the room and didn’t stop until he arrived safely at his apartments and locked the doors behind him. Left with no other choice, he began to conspire as to how he could permanently rid himself of
Spira before their dreaded wedding day.
CHAPTER 27
The morning after their heated quarrel, Crausin and Comron attended the high council meeting to discuss the tumultuous affairs of state. Rebellion was becoming widespread in the old country even as the great cities rallied in support of their duke. News of the emperor’s grave health only fanned the fires of rebellion; the last great advocate of the masses would soon depart this world.
“Just as swiftly as we round up the leaders, new ones spring up to take their place,” explained the minister of the interior, a frail-looking man with gray thinning hair. “There is talk of cessation and cries of independence.”
“The ignorant fools require a sharp lesson in our national history,” Crausin snapped. His mood had improved little since he’d last spoken with Comron. “How conveniently they forget the horrific days of civil war when the streets ran red with the blood of their brothers, the harsh famines, and the proliferation of disease. Is that what they want?”
“We still have the majority support, Sire,” the Minister of Holy Sanctum said. “The high church demands allegiance of the faithful, and the informal inquiries show support holding steady at sixty percent.” The tall, slender man leaned forward, elbows on the table, his priestly long hair pulled back from his face.
“At least that’s what they say to your face, Bishop Rayne,” Comron said. “But what do they say behind closed doors? Large numbers are flocking to the rebels. I dare say some of them sit in your pews.”
Crausin cast a dark stare at his son.
“To the contrary, Your Grace,” the Chief Bishop replied. “You’d be surprised how many confessions have resulted in the arrest of key members of the resistance.”
Comron nodded. “I am aware of that. Nonetheless, I urge you to avoid complacency and to remain vigilant.”
Rhayne gave a curt nod. “Naturally, my lord.”
“We require reinforcements, Sire,” said General Lugen Undersoll, the queen’s uncle and the man behind the attack on the royal family. “We have lost scores in battle and to defection.”
Comron glanced at Crausin. His father’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed a hair, barely registering the true extent of the blistering hatred he felt for the man. The general and his accomplices would all pay dearly for their high treason, but first Crausin would allow Lugen to become soundly ensnared by the elegant trap the duke had set for him. Then Lugen’s guilt would be fully exposed for all of Nethic to see.
“Then it is time we enact conscription for national service,” Crausin said. “All males between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five will be called.”
“Sire, the outcry.” The Minister of Societal Affairs was the sole female in the room. “Conscription hasn’t been enacted for nearly a century. The people already feel burdened enough and now to send their sons off to war?”
“Better a little pain now than the ravages of civil war later on,” Comron replied, before his father could. Crausin gave him a sharp look, but Comron chose to ignore it.
“Now that the Murkudahl Edict is sure to be overturned, we should gain some traction there,” said the olive-toned Minister of Natural Laws and Philosophy. “Parliament must approve the full funding of our endeavor. House Jen Tao will accept not a credit less.”
“They will have it,” Crausin assured the esteemed counselor. “The legislation will be ratified in the next parliamentary session.”
Eight billion credits was the entry price required to share in the scientific knowledge acquired during the Jen Tao expedition to the Murkudahl home world. Even then, they had only a fifteen percent stake in the venture.
Comron could not help reflecting on the conversation he’d had with Vaush. “Here’s to hoping we find a stick big enough to beat back our worst fears.”
“For eight billion credits, we’d better find something more than a bloody stick,” chortled Grimison Van Laven—the Minister of the Privy Purse and a close cousin of the royal family. They wouldn’t dare entrust the oversight of the treasury to anyone else.
Comron heard little of the last remarks. His thoughts were now consumed with Vaush and his plan to satisfy her demands. Soon he’d take Spira away on a brief holiday, ostensibly, to mend wounds before the wedding day, and while there, thieves would break into their suite and attack them, seriously injuring Comron but killing Spira. That was the arrangement—clean, simple, and effective.
***
At the noon hour, the duke’s administrator, Marbury, popped his head into the council chambers as the morning’s meeting adjourned. “Sire, Lord Overcrom is here to see you,” the older man said in an urgent tone.
“Lord Overcrom? I wasn’t expecting him.”
“He begs your pardon, Sire, but he said it is imperative that he see you immediately.”
Comron exchanged glances with his father. “What is this all about?”
“I have no idea,” Crausin said looking equally concerned. “I just spoke with him yesterday morning and he made no mention of a visit.” He glanced at Marbury. “Have him meet us in my private study.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Whatever it is, I hope this won’t take very long.” Comron glanced at his wrist chronometer as they headed to Crausin’s private offices. “I’m scheduled to meet Spira in thirty minutes to finalize the plans for Tristain Hall.”
Crausin turned sharply to face him. “What sort of fool do you take me for? One second you’re cursing me to hell for making you marry her, and now you can’t wait to go pick out floral patterns with her?”
Comron nodded. “Forgive me for losing my temper with you. Sometimes I need to be reminded that my duty is to Nethic and my Duke. All else is inconsequential.” They entered the private study. Comron lowered himself into one of the finely appointed chairs. “From this point on, I will be all that Spira requires of me, at least until those deposits are legally ours.”
Crausin sat across from Comron, never taking his eyes off him. “If you’re going to continue insulting my intelligence with this subterfuge, I’d prefer you shut it.”
Comron held his silence.
“I only hope that one day the man I’ve called son all these years will finally return to me,” Crausin said somberly.
“I plan to redeem myself, Crausin,” Comron replied, “And I’ll start by mending fences with Spira.”
His father raised a skeptical brow.
“I’m taking her on an overnight holiday to Vagan Falls as stipulated in our contract. We leave in the morning. By our wedding day, she’ll be the happiest bride the world has ever known.”
They both turned when Marbury entered the room.
“Lord Overcrom is here, Sire.”
“This matter is not over.” Crausin’s eyes lingered on Comron before turning his attention to Telkuve Overcrom who entered with his usual aplomb.
He was a senior colleague of Crausin’s who hadn’t aged nearly as well. The gray at his temples, the wrinkles around his eyes, and sagging jowls betrayed his advanced years.
“Telkuve, this is rather unexpected,” Crausin said as he rose from his chair to greet the man with a curt embrace. He indicated he should be seated next to Comron.
“Lord Telkuve.” Comron nodded to him.
The man wasted no time on pleasantries. “I believe we’re in grave danger, gentlemen.” He took his seat, his face heavily creased with concern.
“And what is the nature of this danger?” Crausin asked, keeping the tension out of his voice.
“The Duke of Ti-Laros nature,” Telkuve replied.
Comron’s heart froze a beat. Had Vaush confessed their love affair to her father? Was that what had prompted Telkuve’s urgent visit?
“Earlier this morning I had an unexpected visit from Bastionli’s lapdog, Lord Fera Relledon. He’s in a state because it appears Larrs may be turning on him.”
“Really?” Crausin sat back, crossing his legs. “Do tell.”
“After the frightened idiot blathered on for a spell, h
e made the most interesting statement.” He glanced from Crausin to Comron. “Larrs’ youngest daughter is not his biological child.”
“You are referring to ….” Crausin snapped his fingers. “The one called Vaush?”
“Yes.” Overcrom glanced at Comron. “The one you recently encountered on Patheis. Apparently she’s his adopted daughter.”
Vaush, not of Bastionli by blood! Comron considered the possibility and what that could mean for their future.
“How did Fera come by this knowledge?” Crausin asked evenly.
“One night a few years back, Larrs had imbibed too much during a long game of doxise and disclosed this information to Fera. Not thinking anything of it, Fera just stored the information away. It was only in his rambling that he even mentioned it to me.” He handed a com-tablet to Crausin. “Here’s her DNA analysis. That girl is no more Larrs’ daughter than she is mine or yours.”
Crausin examined the data. “This is an interesting piece of trivia, but I hardly think it warranted a trip to Nethic.”
Comron was so elated to learn that he wasn’t in love with Larrs’ biological daughter that he failed to continue down the logical path.
“It’s when you consider the source of Fera’s anxiety. He’s afraid Larrs is planning something monstrous. It’s the way nothing seems to trouble him, even the overturning of the Murkudahl Edict left him undisturbed. He has never supported Thalonius’ enthronement and even speaks openly against the emperor’s son.” He looked intently at the two men. “It is my conjecture that there is a link between the two pieces of information.”
“Gods’ teeth, Telkuve. What more do you know?” Crausin said.
“Try thinking, Crausin,” Telkuve Overcrom said with the gentle chiding of an old friend. “Why would a crotchety old bear like Larrs Bastionli bother adopting a child to raise in his home as part of his royal household?”
“He already had sufficient heirs: Skarus, Hellena, and a close nephew,” Comron said letting his thoughts flow logically. “So what advantage could she possibly bring him?” He considered the nature of Vaush’s philanthropic endeavors. Was there some tie there? No, she kept that work hidden from Larrs.