Pherenike - Chapter 130

“A cursed business, indeed.”

“But do not worry, Your Majesty.”

The old chamberlain addressed her not by the revered title used even by the king himself for the sacred sanctuary, but simply as his lord’s wife—as if even the highest honorific would turn to scorn in her presence.

Pherenike’s lips curled faintly.

“This royal fortress where Your Majesty resides is surrounded by high double walls, our lines of defense are efficient, and there’s not a single crack for Paetusa’s vermin to slip through. Apart from the soldiers left to defend the northern ramparts, all troops have fallen back within these walls.”

“And the people of the capital?”

“What does Your Majesty think? Would the Lord of Paetusa really delight in spilling innocent blood? No one knows the King’s brother better than you.”

His words, respectful yet barbed, pricked at her. She replied without emotion,

“It has been so long since I last understood him, I no longer remember what kind of man he was.”

“…”

“I can only hope he isn’t that kind of man.”

The chamberlain nodded.

“If that base and greedy man truly desires to become the King of Evdokia, he won’t dare harm the people too greatly. But of course, that is unlikely to happen.”

Pherenike nodded slightly as she washed her hands in water drawn from the urn beside the altar.

Though the guards had drawn back the curtain, sunlight from outside could not reach the inner sanctuary. Only the flicker of torches on the walls cast a grim light on the soldiers’ faces.

“Our soldiers will do nothing but defend this fortress, and protect Your Majesty and the princess.”

“Do we have enough provisions?”

“The king will soon return with the elite troops. We need only hold out until Nikandros’s reinforcements reach Lykke. That will be enough.”

“It doesn’t sound like enough.”

“Do not worry. This fortress, where Your Majesty resides, is more secure and wealthy than any place in the world.”

The old chamberlain smiled. Pherenike returned the smile, then let her gaze drift past him to the silent centurion standing at his back.

“So, you mean I should simply continue my prayers? Lord Talon.”

“It is all well and good to pray for Kybellar’s mercy, but with the king absent, it is only right that Your Majesty act as his regent—governing the fortress and leading the soldiers.”

“To act as regent?”

Pherenike did not bother to hide the mocking smile twisting her lips.

“That is why we have come to escort you, Your Majesty. By now, the dear princess will have awoken as well. You must be at her side.”

“That almost sounds as though you intend to lock me away with the princess.”

As if on cue, the soldiers closed in around her. The chamberlain let out a quiet laugh.

“And what do you think, Your Majesty? Do you still believe yourself a valuable hostage to the Lord of Paetusa?”

“…”

“It’s all rather convenient, isn’t it? That just when the king empties Lykke of his elite troops—even his most trusted chamberlains knew nothing in advance—the King’s brother strikes at exactly this moment.”

Pherenike jerked her arm free from a soldier’s grasp, turning her expressionless face to the chamberlain. He practically spat out his next words.

“For a wife to betray her husband—her own lord—how unthinkable.”

“Are you so certain of everything you say?”

“What do you mean?”

“That I’m one of Paetusa’s rats to the fact that Aktor Nikandros is my lord.”

Pherenike bared her teeth in a fierce smile and, in one swift motion, snatched the sword from the belt of the soldier beside her.

“Kybellaune!”

The centurion pushed urgently through the ranks of soldiers. She dismissed him with a small, careless jerk of her chin, and, despite being a large man of about forty, he halted at that mere gesture.

“It’s dangerous, Kybellaune.”

She gave a dry laugh.

“Funny—when I’m the one holding the blade.”

“If you handle weapons so carelessly, you’ll end up hurt. Please, for the princess’s sake, set aside your anger…”

“You should be worrying less about me and more about whoever happens to be standing closest right now.”

Even as Pherenike spoke, she slashed at the thigh of a nearby soldier. He didn’t scream, well-trained as he was, only staggered back with a low grunt at the sudden wound.

“He’s the unluckiest man here, that’s all.”

She didn’t spare the injured man a glance as she held up the bloodied sword. The centurion’s eyes flicked to his wounded subordinate, then returned to Pherenike. He was still more concerned for her than his own man. That look sparked a faint memory in her: yes, this was someone who owed her a debt.

She had saved this man’s life twice—once, when he was run through with a spear, and again, when his youngest daughter was burning up with fever. She remembered him, weeping with gratitude and clutching his child, unable to say enough thanks.

“Kybellaune…”

“Enough of that! Escort the queen back to her chambers at once.”

The soldiers hesitated, unsure what to do. The king’s chamberlain had given the order, but their real commander, the centurion, had signaled for them to hold. Besides, this was a sanctuary.

Who would dare defy the daughter of the goddess Kybellar beneath her sacred image? There was hardly a greater sacrilege.