Royal Exile. Fiona McIntosh
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‘Are you so tired of life, Brennus?’
‘I’m tired of you,’ the king replied and his tone was caustic.
‘Yes, I’d noticed. But that’s another secret isn’t it?’
Brennus sighed, sounding bored. ‘You have visions of empire and yet you are not honourable enough to lead anything more than the pack of rats you call your people. We think of them as vermin. Don’t get too comfortable, barbarian. Someone, somewhere, sometime will deal with you.’
‘One of your own perhaps?’ Loethar asked, enjoying the conversation.
‘Who knows? I’d like to think so. I’d like to go to my god imagining a Valisar blade cutting through your head in the same way that you brutalised a good man just an hour ago. A man who did not deserve such an ignoble end.’
‘Your soulmate’s blood is on your hands, Brennus, not mine. If you had not insulted me he would not have had to die in the manner you describe. Your lack of courage killed him.’ He was amused to watch the king’s face redden with rage. It was obvious Brennus did not lack for courage but it was fun to bait him all the same.
‘You’re too good for beheading, barbarian. The Set will yield someone who will find a way to give you a death that you justly deserve.’
‘So you keep threatening, Brennus. I will not be quaking in my boots and looking over my shoulder, that’s a promise.’
‘At your own peril, then, barbarian.’
Loethar laughed. ‘You know what I’ve come for, Brennus.’
‘A wasted journey. I don’t possess what I assume you are referring to.’
‘The Enchantment is what I chase. With it I shall control the Set without so much as a squeak of trouble from its people. After I’ve finished with them they will be none the wiser that they ever had separate realms or royals. I will be their ruler, judge, jury and executioner.’
‘You are delusional, barbarian. I have nothing of what you seek and if I did I would die before I allowed you to use it. Surely if I had any power I would have used it against you already.’
‘Perhaps I am unreceptive?’ Loethar suggested.
Brennus smirked.
‘Well, at least you concur that such a power exists.’
‘If it does I have no knowledge of it. You are chasing an unreachable dream. None of the people of the Set will ever give you loyalty. They will bow to your supremacy, right now, I’m sure of it, but they will hatch plans around you. You are already a dead man. It is simply a matter of time.’
The king’s threat smacked of truth. Loethar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Bring me the queen.’ He watched all the bravado that had fuelled the king’s fighting speech instantly dissipate from Brennus’s eyes; although the king said nothing, his expression betrayed him as he warily looked to the doorway of the salon where he had been brought.
Loethar continued conversationally. ‘This is a magnificent chamber, Brennus. I applaud your realm’s artistic skills.’ The king ignored him, his eyes searching the doorway. ‘I thought Barronel had enviable style but I’d hazard Penraven has everything a barbarian tyrant could possibly want. I’m going to enjoy making this my seat of power.’
He watched Brennus fight to find anything to say and then lose the battle, his shoulders slumping as Iselda was escorted in, her hand tightly holding that of Piven, who was skipping at her side, heedless of the tense atmosphere.
‘Iselda,’ Loethar said, deliberately dropping all formality. ‘The descriptions of your beauty do not do you credit.’
The queen had eyes only for Brennus. She said nothing to Loethar. Vyk’s interest had turned to Piven; the bird swooped down to the boy’s head, hopping onto his outstretched arm. The boy seemed mesmerised by the great bird.
‘And this I imagine is the freak adopted son,’ Loethar continued.
Iselda’s jaw tightened. ‘Call your filthy vermin off!’ she said, flapping at Vyk, who swooped away, landing not far from the child. ‘This is Piven. He is a simpleton, yes. He is also harmless and deserves none of your attention.’
As if on cue, Piven broke from her grip and ran toward Loethar, leaping onto the man’s legs. Loethar, taken by surprise, was astonished that he managed to catch the child. He laughed as he lifted him into his arms. ‘Now you see, Brennus, if only all your people were cretinous like your son here, we could all be friends.’ He put Piven down but the boy continued holding his hand, smiling angelically. ‘I’m going to enjoy killing you in front of him.’
Loethar believed it was likely the presence of the innocent child that finally broke the king’s spirit. Without warning Brennus lunged toward one of the barbarian’s guards and grabbed a dagger. Plunging it into his own neck, he ripped it angrily across his throat, a guttural noise directed at his queen accompanying his final act.
Loethar was upon him in a moment, ignoring the queen’s shrieks. Piven, too, moved to the king’s side, dipping his fingers into his father’s blood as it spurted impressively from the king’s neck. The boy grinned vacantly toward his mother and back again at Loethar. Loethar stared down upon the dying king, angry that he had not suspected Brennus was capable of this.
‘Your days are already numbered,’ the king groaned defiantly, his eyes closing as death claimed him.
Loethar roared his anger and ripped his sword from its scabbard. With a howl of fresh ferocity he brought the blade down to sever the king’s head from his neck. The queen swooned but she clung nevertheless to one of her enemy minders, clearly determined to remain upright and strong in the face of such barbarity. She did, however, close her eyes as Loethar reached for Brennus’s head.
Holding it by the king’s wavy, ever so slightly silvered hair, he handed the head to Piven, who couldn’t hold it but dragged it over to his mother with a curious look of wonder on his face. Her husband’s royal blood streaked the bottom of Iselda’s pale gown as Piven tried proudly but failed to lift the head.
Loethar turned to Stracker and murmured, ‘You know what to do.’
Stracker nodded and left the chamber.
Loethar returned his attention to the struggling queen. She was pale and trembling, and seemingly too shocked to weep, but she impressed him all the same with her dignity.
‘You’ll have a chance to farewell your husband properly, your highness,’ Loethar said. ‘I will see you in a few hours. Take the time to compose yourself, change your gown, perhaps.’
He watched her take a long slow breath, her eyes still closed. He had imagined she would scream hysterically when he killed her husband before her. But it appeared the queen had gathered all her pain inside while forcing her courage to the fore. He admired that. She was certainly far more beautiful than he’d imagined. Valya would be even more jealous than she already was of the Valisar Queen.
‘Take the queen to her apartments,’ he ordered, ‘until I call for her.’ He watched as her husband’s headless corpse was unceremoniously dragged away by its feet, no doubt on Stracker’s instructions.
‘Come, Piven,’ she said softly, finally opening her eyes, looking only at her child, ignoring the object to which he clung.
‘I’ll be needing that head, majesty,’ Loethar said.
‘Leave that down now, Piven,’ she said to her boy, her voice as gentle as a soft summertide breeze. Her kindness reminded Loethar briefly of how he’d often wished his own mother had treated him. For a moment he felt envious of the halfwit.
‘Leave the boy, too, your highness.’ He raised his hand as she swung around, startled. ‘I will not harm him. He’ll be a nice playmate for my raven. They seem to suit one another, don’t you think?’
‘What do you want