Chapter Six: A Feigned Alliance
I
The Chapel at Es Ludo Palace in the Twelfth City of Northern Perscilla
“Is my memory failing me? I thought I ordered that you stay confined to your residence, Aurion Gravis Drake.” Cassandra fixed him with a withering stare.
“Your memory serves you well,” Drake replied, unruffled. “I am cognizant of my rudeness, but this is a matter of the greatest urgency.”
“The greatest urgency, is it?” Cassandra said. “Oh, very well. Out with it, then.” She yawned lazily, then recrossed her voluptuous legs.
“A messenger came to report that the Northern Perscillan Army was defeated by the Royal Army. Argerion Gravis Arthur was killed in battle, along with well over three-quarters of our soldiers.”
He had received the report an hour earlier. As the news brought by the messenger from Fort Safar made all too clear, its contents were horrifying.
Cassandra stared blankly at Drake for a moment. “Is this a joke?” she said, forcing the words from her lips.
“As you well know, Your Majesty, I never joke.”
There was a pause. “If, hypothetically, we had lost to the empire, that I could understand. But not against the half-dead Royal Army.” Cassandra seemed to seize upon this as she went on. “Yes, yes—that must be it. The messenger gave you false information. Our mighty army would never lose!”
Cassandra’s usual mask of arrogance fell away before her desperate refusal to accept the defeat of the Northern Perscillan Army. Without a word, Drake shook his head, then requested the lady-in-waiting who stood at his side to pass on the box he carried. She took it with an air of puzzlement, then lightly ascended the stairs and knelt to present it to Cassandra, who rested it on her knees.
“What is this?” she demanded, staring intently at it.
“Open it, Your Majesty, and you will see.”
Cassandra raised her hands uncertainly a few times, then with trepidation, she opened the lid. Immediately, a piercing scream burst from her, and she flung the box away. Halfway through its tumble down the stairs, its contents spilled out and the lady-in-waiting, seeing what it was, let out a wail just as earsplitting as her mistress’s.
The lurid image of Arthur’s severed head as it rolled back towards Drake would not soon leave them.
“Are you convinced now?” he asked.
“H-How? How could our army fail...?” Now that she’d had the proof thrust before her eyes, Cassandra seemed at last to accept the reality of their defeat. Drake exhaled, relieved that now they could have a sensible conversation.
“You have no ideas, Your Majesty?” he asked.
“It’s because I don’t that I’m asking you!” Cassandra snatched a glass of wine, then threw it at Drake, hitting him square in the face. Red liquid trickled from his forehead. Cassandra was breathing hard, overcome by rage, while her lady-in-waiting stood by in obvious consternation.
“Very well. I shall tell you,” Drake said. “The Royal Army was stronger than the Northern Perscillan Army. It is as simple as that.” Cassandra’s face contorted unpleasantly at this deliberately concise summation. “Three times I warned you, my princess. I told you it was dangerous to go after the Royal Army. If, emboldened by this victory, they mount a counterinvasion, we will not be able to hold them off.”
The lady-in-waiting went pale, perhaps imagining what would follow from that.
The Royal Army would have to take either Fort Safar or Fort Idola in order to take Es Ludo Palace. Under normal circumstances, an adequate number of soldiers would be deployed at both forts, but Arthur had pressed them all into his army. Even if they barricaded the castle, it would scarcely buy them any time, and besides, they had already lost the majority of the soldiers they might have relied on to relieve a siege. If Es Ludo were besieged, they would have to fight on the assumption that all they could hope for was an honorable death.
“I am your queen. Do you mean to threaten me?” There was a flicker of a shadow in Cassandra’s narrow eyes.
“I have spoken nothing but the truth.”
“Then call for aid! The Third City could make it in time!” Cassandra’s voice grew shrill and hysterical.
“How should I beg for aid? Should I tell them that we took up arms against Fernest and were defeated, and now, faced with a counterinvasion, we want their help?”
“I-It is stipulated in the Charter of the Sutherland Thirteen that the coalition force will respond to an invasion. You must know that as well as I do. They can’t refuse us, regardless of the circumstances.” In an abrupt shift, a smile of gloating triumph spread over Cassandra’s face.
Drake let out a deep and obvious sigh. “If you are so sure, I suggest you make the appeal yourself.”
“I am ordering you to do it!”
“I realize that, my princess, but at present, I am confined to my residence,” Drake replied, keeping his expression bland. “I’m afraid, given my position...”
“Then I release you from your confinement!” Cassandra shrieked, the pitch of her voice climbing even higher. “Now, go!” She pointed at the door to the chapel.
Drake returned a polite bow, then gave his unreserved assent. He left the chapel alone.
The memory of this should keep Her Highness subdued for a little while, at least... he thought. That Arthur, that constant thorn in his side, had done him the favor of dying was an unexpected bonus. Still, he thought with a heavy sigh, the losses had been too great. Turning his mind to the future, including how they would rebuild their army, he sighed yet again.
“Yes, yes. At worst, we can summon an emergency Council of the Thirteen Stars, and—” Hearing Cassandra’s muttering voice from the room behind him, Drake was struck with a deep weariness.
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