Sergei ca’Rudka
“I WANT...TO SEND another . . . division of the . . .
Garde Civile . . . to supplement . . . our troops . . . there,”
Audric said.
The boy could barely
get the words out through the wheezing and coughing. The anger in
him seemed to make the affliction worse than usual, as if Archigos
Kenne’s prayers had done nothing at all.
Sergei forced his
features to close, to reveal nothing of what he was thinking. Let
the boy have his tantrum. But the words made him worry: this didn’t
seem to be Audric talking; he was hearing someone else’s words. Who
had been speaking to the boy? Whose advice was being whispered in
his ear for him to spout? One of the chevarittai, perhaps, looking
for glory in war. Perhaps Sigourney herself, since her brother was
commandant there.
Audric was staring
past Sergei’s shoulder; he glanced back to the grim portrait of
Kraljica Marguerite over the hearth. “I thought I had made my
thoughts on this clear to you, Kraljiki,” he said, his voice
carefully neutral, carefully bland. “I don’t think that’s wise, not
with the size of the army the Coalition could raise if they decided
to do so. This war in the Hellins is like a seeping wound; it
cripples us and takes our attention away from where it should be:
east, not west. We should be looking at what we can do to restore
the Holdings.”
The boy’s gaze
flicked from the portrait to Sergei and back again. “The Hellins
provide us riches and goods that we can’t find elsewhere.”
“riches . . . and goods . . . [cough] . . .
that . . . we can’t . . . find elsewhere.”
“Indeed they do,
Kraljiki, but we could obtain those goods by trade with the
Westlanders as easily as by war. Easier, in fact. Once the Holdings
are unified again, then will be the
time to look across the Strettosei to the Hellins once more. We
have lost too much ground there, because we can’t give the
territory the attention we should.”
Audric’s face was
flushed, either from the effort of speaking or from anger, or both.
“That’s not what my vatarh said when the Troubles started, Regent.
Do you think that because I was just a child then that I wouldn’t
remember?” “. . . just a . . . child . . .
then . . . [wheeze] . . . that I . . . wouldn’t. . . . remem . . .
ber?”
The mask of his face
showed nothing. “When the Troubles started, Kraljiki Justi believed
he had no choice but to respond. He believed what the a’offiziers
told him, that the Westlanders were little more than savages, that
they would soon be pushed back past Lake Malik. But I’d remind you
that I didn’t share that belief. The news continues to worsen
despite the best efforts of Commandant ca’Sibelli. We have
misjudged the Westlanders, and it’s time to save what we can from a
poor decision.”
“My vatarh
did not make a poor decision!” The boy
shrilled the words, managing to get them all out in one breath. He
coughed then, long and deeply, and Sergei waited. “I want another
division sent,” Audric persisted. “That is my will. That is your
Kraljiki’s will.”
“You are the Kraljiki,” Sergei told him. He kept his
voice low and soothing against the strident, high screeching of
Audric. “But the Council of Ca’ named me Regent on your vatarh’s
death until you reach your majority.”
“I’m nearly of age,”
Audric answered. His face was so pale that Sergei thought the boy
might faint. “Less than two years now. I could petition the Council
to have you removed, to be permitted to govern fully. They’ve done
that in the past. Maister ci’Blaylock told me: Kraljiki Carin
dismissed his Regent at fourteen, the same age I am.”
Sergei lifted his
hand. Gently. Smiling under his silver nose. “Yes, that’s been
done. But you and I needn’t be at odds here, my
Kraljiki.”
“Then don’t defy me,
Regent. I will go to the Council. I will. I will have you removed.”
The boy gesticulated wildly, and that sent him into another
paroxysm of coughing.
“Audric . . .” Sergei
responded patiently while the young man fell back on his pillow.
Marlon, lurking in the rear corner of the room, was staring
wide-eyed at Sergei, shaking his head. “Perhaps I’ve been remiss in
not engaging you fully, in not having you take part in all the
briefing and discussions. That can be changed; it will be changed. I promise you; if you wish to take
part in all discussions of state, to read all the reports, to
listen to all the councillors, to really see what it means to
govern, then I will accommodate that. But the Hellins . . .” He
shook his head. “It’s been almost seven years now, Audric. Seven
years and the Westlanders have taken back most of what we’d
originally gained there. Seven years, and we’ve lost far too many
gardai and squandered far too many gold solas and red blood trying
to hold back the tide. At the end of the day, I want what you want.
I want the Holdings to have the riches of the Westlands. I do. But
this isn’t the time. And this isn’t the time for us to discuss
this. Tomorrow, when you’re feeling better . . .”
“Then get out!” Audric shouted at him, loudly enough that
the hall attendant opened the door slightly to peer in. Sergei
shook his head at the man. “Get out and leave me alone.” He turned
his head, coughing into his pillow.
“As you wish,
Kraljiki.” Sergei bowed to the young man. As he turned to leave, he
saw the Kraljica’s portrait once more. She seemed to smile sadly at
him, as if she understood.