“How much of an example?” Elliot asked.
Axel sighed. “Should I draw you a picture?”
“No, sir.” Elliot’s gaze lowered. He shook his head.
“There’s no better way to sharpen Morgan Booth’s blade than with the blood of a traitor,” Axel noted, his spirits already perking up at the thought.
It was always good to take control.
“What if I’m not certain?” Elliot pressed him.
“Then you keep that to yourself. Put the fear of God into any spies who may be contemplating remaining here—render them useless—and, as important, reassure everyone else that we are completely in control.”
Elliot was frowning. “What about Prince Jared? He should be back in court any day now. He was none too pleased when you brought forward the execution of Michael Reeves. The Prince does not like any deviation from protocol—”
Axel put his hand over Elliot’s mouth. “Remember this—Cousin Jared is not returning to court as ruler.” His eyes bored into Elliot’s. “It’s time to move into the endgame here. Tomorrow, I’ll put forward my vote of no confidence to the Twelve.” Slowly removing his hand, he smiled at his deputy. “So you need have no worries on that score.”
Elliot looked bemused. “Surely now is the time to bring all this cloak-and-dagger stuff to a close and focus solely on the external threat?”
Axel sighed. There were those who cracked under pressure, and those who allowed it to transform them, like diamonds. Elliot had revealed himself as belonging to the former camp, but Axel was made of superior mettle.
“Can you even be sure that you have enough votes to carry this motion?” Elliot pressed him.
Axel clenched his fists. “Those misguided fools loyal to my cousin are about to have the rug pulled out from under them. Jared Wynyard is an ill-prepared boy. He does not have what it takes to negotiate with the barbarians of Paddenburg. I, on the other hand—”
“You mean to surrender?”
“Surrender?” Axel spat the word out. “I said ‘negotiate.’ I might be a pragmatist, but I’m not a pushover. Paddenburg will not be allowed to simply ride in and gather its chosen spoils. Archenfield will fight.” Turning from Elliot, he walked to the bureau and reached for the decanter. “Given our diminished army and the complete absence of any strategic alliances—for which I hold Prince Jared entirely responsible—it is looking increasingly clear to me that negotiation will ultimately be our only real hope of survival. And I am the best one to secure the optimum terms for our people. I really can’t see anyone arguing against that. Can you?”
Elliot shook his head slowly.
Axel lifted the glass of aquavit to his mouth and let the liquid tumble down his throat, carrying fire to his insides.
“You sent for me?” Asta Peck looked anxious. As well she might. Axel gazed across at her, from behind his desk, saying nothing for a moment. Let her think he was onto her. He was onto her: her and her petulant scheme to bolster support for his incompetent cousin.
“I have a job for you,” he said at last. “Do come in and take a seat.”
He watched as she settled herself uneasily in the chair across from him. He realized that he still thought of her as the Physician’s apprentice, rather than the Poet—his putative equal on the Council of Twelve. How could she, with her youth and inexperience, ever be considered his equal?
“How can I help?” she inquired.
“Cometh the hour, cometh the Poet,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “I believe I have found the perfect opportunity for you to deploy your unique talents and experience.”
Her eyes met his. “What is it, exactly, that you would like me to do?”
He leaned back in his chair, making a steeple of his fingers. “You’re going to write me a speech,” he said. “To a very specific brief.”
He was gratified to see that she reached for a pen and paper, holding them poised to take down further instructions. At least now it was abundantly clear who was calling the shots. “You have eloquently expressed the feelings of those in the settlements,” he continued. “Your speech will connect with these people. Your first objective is to stem their panic.” He waited for her to finish her note. “Second, you will rally them to bear arms—with a greater fervor than ever before.”
She glanced up from her notes. “Which settlement specifically is this speech for?”
“Galvaire,” he told her. He had to give her credit for asking the right questions. “As you know, they are one of the westernmost settlements. Their closest neighbors, Vollerim and Lindas, are about to bear the brunt of an attack from Paddenburg—”
“From the west?” Asta gasped. “I thought the attack was coming from the south.”
“We all did,” Axel replied. “But we now know that they are preparing to invade on both fronts. Your job is to convince the good people of Galvaire to put up the strongest possible fight against the invader. They must not flee. An empty settlement only opens up more routes into Archenfield for Paddenburg’s advance.”
Asta made another note, then raised her pen again. “Do you have anything in particular you think I should say to motivate them?”
He smiled. “You’re the Poet, Asta,” he said. “Far be it from me to put words in your mouth.” He paused. “That said, I think you might want to tell them that if they can hold off the invaders for a couple of days, their ranks will soon be swelled by one of the alliances Prince Jared has secured.” He saw the sudden shift in her features at the mention of her precious Jared—her face was suddenly transformed, like the sun breaking through storm clouds. Pathetic, really.
“Prince Jared has concluded an alliance? No, you said ‘alliances.’ So he has secured alliances, just as he set out to do?”
Axel nodded, smiling. “Yes, that’s the kind of thing you should put in your speech.” He gestured with his hand. “But, you know, work it up a bit more. It’s certainly the aspect you should stress.”
At last the penny dropped. The sun disappeared again and the storm clouds returned. “This is a deception, isn’t it? There are no alliances—you plan to send the people of Galvaire into battle with a lie.” She shook her head with unmasked disgust.
“Do you think you can rein in your righteous indignation for just a moment, Asta, and consider what the alternative is here?”
She set down her pen. “That we tell them the truth?”
“Interesting. By all means, give that a go. Tell them that Paddenburg is attacking on two fronts. That, by a conservative estimate, the enemy army is four times the size of our own fighting force. That Prince Jared, to the best of my knowledge, has not managed to secure a single workable alliance… Yes, by all means, put all that in your speech and see how motivational it proves.”
“Don’t you think these people deserve to go to their deaths knowing the truth?” she said.
“How tediously predictable you are,” Axel said icily. “The irony is that you think you’re doing them a favor by being open and transparent with them when, in fact, you are the one taking away their hope. In contrast, I am proposing to instill in them fresh hope.” His eyes bored into hers. “When people feel hope pulsing through their veins, they are capable of transcendent acts. You seem to be convinced they will be hurtling toward certain death. That is not a view I share.”
Asta was frowning, but she had picked up her pen again and made a fresh note.
“I bow to your greater experience,” she told him. “I’ll write just what you say.” She let out a sigh. “At least I’m only writing the speech,” she said. “Whereas you are the one who is going to have to sell them this lie.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Asta. Evidently, I was not clear before. I do not intend to give this speech myself. I cannot leave court at this crucial time. No, it will fall to you to deliver the speech, as well as to write it. I am dispatching you to Galvaire with immediate effect. You’ll find a horse saddled in the stables and a party of escorts ready to journey out with you.??
? He rose to his feet—it was time to bring this meeting to a close. “You will be gone for a day and a night at the very least. But, assuming you are successful—and I have every confidence in you—I may have cause for you to address other of the settlements.”
Her face registered raw fear now. “I could be gone for days,” she said.
“Very possibly.” He smiled. “This is all well within the remit of the Poet. And, as I said before, this is an ideal way to capitalize on your talents and insight.”
And to ensure that there is one less vote in Jared’s favor tomorrow morning, he thought, but elected not to add.
Axel could tell that she wasn’t far from the same realization—he had to give her her due. She had played the game, but she had been outclassed.
Just wait until she discovered which side her new friend Koel was really playing for.
ONE DAY UNTIL INVASION…
THIRTY-THREE
The Market Square, Galvaire, Archenfield
ASTA STOOD ON A SMALL STONE PLATFORM IN front of the settlement church, rubbing her hands together. Although she wore several layers of clothes, topped off with her riding cloak, she still felt cold. She suspected her internal chill might stem as much from tiredness and fear of what lay ahead as from the westerly wind, which whipped around the square.
She and her escorts had arrived in Galvaire at dawn. Already many of the settlement dwellers had been up and about—spurred out of their beds not only by the pressure of their daily duties but by the gnawing question of what was happening in the south. And as the new morning light had lifted from the low hills, the view had given them an ominous answer: plumes of black smoke were visible in the distance. They might as well have been funeral pyres for Galvaire’s southern neighbors.
News that a visitor from court—a member of the Twelve, no less—had come to talk to them had spread swiftly from door to door: clothes had been thrown on with little care; children had been swiftly dressed; animals had been fed at record speed. All that mattered was getting to the market square by the time the Cook’s Bell chimed, to hear how the people of Galvaire were going to be spared the terrible fate of their neighbors to the south.
Now Asta gazed out at the crowd, keenly aware of the depth of expectation in their eyes. There was no delaying the moment any longer. Even now, the priest of the settlement—a younger, more vigorous man than Father Simeon—had jumped up onto the platform beside her and was silencing his flock with a practiced hand.
“They are ready for you now,” he told her, unsmiling, as he stepped aside to allow her to be the full focus of their attention.
“Good morning,” she said. The words came out as a croak and she cleared her throat to try again. “Good morning! My name is Asta Peck, the Poet. I have come from the court to talk to you today—”
“But you are just a child!” came a cry from the crowd.
“I am sixteen years old,” Asta said, finding the face of the man who had called out.
“Like I said, a child!” he rejoined.
His words had a clear impact on the rest of the crowd. Some of them sniggered. Others began to mutter.
“I am sixteen years old,” she repeated, raising her voice to cut through the hubbub. “I am the very same age as Prince Jared, ruler of Archenfield,” she said.
“Ha!” It was a fresh voice this time—a woman’s. “Now she’s comparing herself to the Prince! Cheeky—”
“No,” Asta retorted. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What exactly do you mean?” the first of her challengers resumed.
Asta could feel a sense of unease spreading through her body. Her legs felt like jelly—she wondered if they could see how much she was shaking under her long cloak. She had traveled here all through the night, and her body, unused to extended bouts of riding, ached from head to toe.
She had spent the entire ride trying to find the right words with which to address the people of Galvaire, but now it seemed they were not even going to give her the chance to make her speech. She might as well summon the escorts and hasten back to the palace for all the good she could accomplish here. Asta felt water pricking her eyes but refused to cry in front of this crowd. She thought of Elias saying that she was too young and too inexperienced to take on the role of Poet. She had to prove him wrong and vindicate Prince Jared’s faith in her.
“I have been dispatched to talk to you in my position as Poet on the Council of Twelve,” she said, her voice gathering volume. “Yes, I am young—there is nothing I can do about that. Nor can I claim to have much experience of life in court. In truth, I have been there only six months.” She looked around at the quieting crowd. “I did not grow up in court. My home is Teragon.” She took a moment to allow her words to sink in. “I am a girl from the settlements. As such, as far as I know, I am the first girl from the settlements to have a seat at the Prince’s Table.”
“Bully for—” a voice began, but was silenced by the thrust of a neighbor’s elbow.
“I’m not looking for congratulations,” Asta continued. “My point is that I understand what life is like for you—in peacetime and during conflict. My family and neighbors were on the front line during the war with Eronesia. Our homes were destroyed. Many loved ones were lost. My community has done what it can to rebuild itself but none of us who lived through that time will ever be fully able to remove the imprint of war.” She allowed herself to take a breath. “I see it as my job to represent you and your views at court. This is what I have done in my short time on the Council of Twelve and what I will continue to do as long as I hold the Poet’s Chair.”
“Forgive me.” A new, kindlier voice piped up from the crowd. “I know that you are only laying out your credentials and that you have been delayed in doing so by frequent interruptions.” Asta found the speaker’s face. He was an older man and, judging by the expressions on his fellows in the crowd, a figure of respect within the community. “But what we need to know right now is what military help is being dispatched from court. We have all seen and smelled the black smoke rising from our neighbor settlements in the south. Archenfield has been invaded. We need to know the plan.”
Asta nodded. “Yes, of course you do,” she said, doing her best to think on her feet as her mind and body recoiled at the news that Paddenburg had reneged on the terms of its own ultimatum. “The first thing to say is that you should not consider flight. You need to stay here in Galvaire and prepare to defend yourselves against the invaders.”
She saw heads shaking, including that of the man who had just addressed her. “If you run,” Asta resumed, “the enemy will surely follow. How far are you prepared to run? Into the arms of the Eronese?”
“Are these our only options?” the man asked her, his voice still kindly but now cut through with undisguised gloom. “To wait here for the slayers of Paddenburg, or flee north toward our former foe?”
Before Asta could answer him, other voices threw yet more questions at her.
“Where are the soldiers of Archenfield?”
“Where are the forces of our ally Woodlark?”
She opened her mouth, framing a response, but was drowned out.
“The soldiers of Archenfield are deployed on the southern borders! What is left of our Princedom’s army is fighting to protect Grenofen and Inderwick. We’re on our own, just as the people of Vollerim and Lindas were!”
Asta wanted to argue that this was not the case but she could not. She knew that news traveled slowly to the settlements and that they did not know that the alliance with Woodlark was broken—unless, by some miracle, Prince Jared had managed to resuscitate it—but in their assessment of the deployment of the army of Archenfield, they were right on track.
“They’re not sending any help,” someone else cried now. “They’re leaving us to the hands of the invader.”
“We don’t have a chance!” came a fresh cry.
“Yes, we do,” Asta rejoined. “Even now, Prince Jared is across the border building alliances
with others of the Thousand Territories.” This at least was the truth, but in seeking to reassure them, she only succeeded in unlocking a new concern.
“You mean that Prince Jared is not even here, on the soil of Archenfield, while we face the threat of invasion?”
“No,” Asta swiftly responded. “He is not because he made the courageous decision to go to seek fresh alliances, while leaving his Edling and Captain of the Guard, Axel Blaxland, to manage the military campaign.”
“Great job he’s doing of that! Couldn’t he have predicted the attack via Tanaka?”
“Perhaps he could,” Asta answered, her voice growing hoarse from straining above the mutterings of the crowd. “But he did not. I will not lie to you. The simultaneous attack took us all by surprise. But he and his teams are working night and day to ensure the best possible deployment of the troops we have.” She paused, gathering her breath, knowing that she did not have much more fight within her. “Your neighbors in Vollerim and Lindas were taken by surprise. They had no time to prepare for attack. Here in Galvaire, you have some time—not much, I grant you, but enough. You are a fighting community. We believe that you can see off the invaders. I am here today to ask you to defend your settlement and, in doing so, silence this threat from the west.”
She had no more words for them. Had it been enough?
After a few moments, Asta heard the crowd begin to chant. At first their words were unclear to her. Were they mocking her?
“Death to the Paddenburgians!”
No, it seemed that—against all odds—her talk had sown the necessary seeds of fight in the settlement dwellers.
“Death to the Paddenburgians! Death to the Paddenburgians!”
What had begun as a lone cry was now taken up in unison and volume. The chant rang in her ears, and the arms of the crowd began punching the air above them to punctuate their cries.