RE: Monarch - Chapter 219: Fracture XXIV

Maya released the slaver’s shoulder. The man’s forced optimism disappeared instantaneously, light gone from his eyes before he hit the ground. His hands curled painfully as he writhed on the stone floor of the balcony, a violent seizure ravaging his nerves, once confident voice reduced to painful hitches and animalistic moans.

I watched him struggle silently. Then slowly looked towards Maya. “Looks like you overdid it.”

“Unfortunate.” Maya said, her expression cold and emotionless. “For him.”

In a fraction of a second, Balan was on his feet and racing forward, face twisted in grief and shock, chair overturned in his wake. “What have you done!” He snarled, kneeling above Scyld’s head and attempting to cushion his neck from further shock. “You fucking monsters. The fool told you where she was. Gave everything you asked for.”

“Ah ah,” I stood and approached the balcony, taking in the last vestige of sunset before the light disappeared over the horizon. “That’s not entirely true.”

A thrill washed over me, uncharacteristic as it was unexpected. It took little imagination to picture how many lives House Westmore had ruined. A mass graveyard stretching from one massive peak in the distance to the other, each grave unmarked, a mess of human and nonhuman bodies fertilizing the wilderness. In part, the thrill stemmed from the justice of it. But there was another aspect. A part of me that almost reveled being on the winning side of an exchange going from bad to worse. From the beginning of my second life, Thoth, fate, even the gods themselves had dropped the floor out from underneath me more times than I could count.

Being on the other side of it felt…

Good.

Right.

In a way that made me uncomfortable to think about.

“He’s dead.” Balan leaned back from the pale, stricken body on the floor, his expression a mix of horror and hatred. “Well done, noble prince. Well done. You’ve made an example of the only noble in this house willing to work with you. You fucking idiot.”

“Tell me, Balan.” I mused, surveying the burning out warehouses one last time before I so much as glanced his way. “Before your hapless heir inserted himself into our discussion, what demands did I make of House Westmore?”

I waited for his seething to lapse, and when it did long enough for him to process my words, his mouth dropped open.

“Exactly.” I snapped my fingers and turned to him with a congenial smile. “Scyld was helpful. Quite helpful, in fact. Especially by House Westmore standards. And for his service…” I knelt down and brushed his eyelids closed, observing an angry twitch from the House Lord the moment my hand made contact. “He was rewarded.”

A bitter chuckle forced its way out of Balan’s throat, his mouth frozen in a rictus of rage. “And the people think the King of Whitefall is a delusional monster. You’re no better, boy.”

“What scathing insight.” I rolled my eyes. “Recognize mercy when it is given, Lord Balan. In more ways than not, your son’s death was a kind one.”

“Kind?” Balan choked.

“Indeed. Life magic, when turned to purpose, kills almost instantly. He never felt his heart stop, and the tremors we witnessed took place after his soul left his body.”

“So I should thank you because it was quick?” Balan whispered, his voice raw.

I shook my head. “You should thank me because Scyld died believing that the end couldn’t be further away. That his intercession on behalf of his house succeeded. A gamble hard argued and narrowly won. I saw it in the way he looked at you, hoping his actions had earned approval long denied. For a moment in time—mere minutes in the scope of eternity—he was a man fulfilled. Something many seek and few find. The only tragedy here was the fact you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him, sparing nothing but derision and insults, rather than the validation he so desperately craved. And that denial is all he will carry of you into the afterlife.”

Balan’s fingers lingered on the fallen boy’s face, his throat clicking from dryness. His shoulders shook. And for a moment, I thought the patriarch had broken. Then something changed. In a blur of speed impressive from a man his age, he shot to his feet and charged towards me.

Maya tensed, and I held out a hand to stop her just before the impact. Lord Balan tackled me, wrapping his hands around my neck, his gnarled fingers digging into my flesh and tendons and squeezing. Countless swords were drawn, and I watched through fading vision as Maya relayed my instruction to stand down.

So he does have an edge.

“Think they can save you before your neck breaks?” Lord Balan seethed, flecks of spittle spattering my cheek and face. “How’s it feel, you wretched brat? To have the life squeezed out of you by one of your so-called lessers.”

Even as my vision blackened, I reached out to the air, summoning mana and rearranging it in a voice meant to carry a single word to Balan’s ears.

“Disappointing.”

I brought my boot down on his foot, then slammed my left fist into his jaw. I held back a bit so there was no risk the impact would kill him, but the result still sent him spinning to the ground, barely catching himself on his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his mouth, and he stared down at the ground in shock.

“As I was saying.” I crouched down next to him and patted his back. “Scyld was lucky in many ways. One above the rest. Because wherever he is? Wherever he finds himself in the afterlife?” I leaned in, mouth close to Balan’s ear. “He isn’t forced to watch what happens next.”

/////

My memory grows hazy around this point. I’m not entirely sure why. From a purely traumatic standpoint, I’ve been through the receiving end of much worse, some of which I recall in far starker detail than I’d prefer. There are aspects and unimportant details that stand out, parts of the proceedings I can remember with pristine clarity, others that blend together freely in an indecipherable amalgam of rage and cruelty.

I remember the soldiers of my regiment dragging Lord Balan inside and downstairs, back to the main hall where the rest of his House was lined up and waiting on their knees. I remember those same soldiers—many of which had secondhand experience with House Westmore’s trade, watching with grim satisfaction as I pulled aside the first few heirs and paraded them in front of Lord Balan before Maya’s touch sent them crumbling to the floor, lifeless.

And of course, I remember how that grim satisfaction faded to a numbness and concern.

Because I did not stop, at one, or two, or three. In the process I changed things up to avoid any discernible monotony. Sometimes I would make Balan argue for why a particular child should be spared. In other cases, I would present him with a group, and make him choose his favorite. In reality, none of his choices mattered. I denied his agency just as he denied the agency of so many others.

The feeling of catharsis had long since faded. And while I’d kept the demon-fire controlled, the walls and ceilings grew black from the heat.

“Who’s left?” I rubbed the sweat off my brow and squinted.

“No one of note, my lord.” Maya replied stiffly.

I scanned the bodies now littering the hall and frowned. “Surely there must be someone left.”

“Just… the younger children.” A member of my regiment said hesitantly, flinching when Maya glared at him. “The ones we’re keeping away from the smoke in the back.”

“As I said,” Maya growled, “No one of note.”

“Don’t be too hasty.” I said, leaning back on the hardwood stairs, idly passing my fingertips through the tongues of violet flame that had long since eaten away at the finish. “Are any of them interesting in any way? To us or our generous host?”

Balan had collapsed. After several increasingly animated cycles of anger, grief, rage, and even some bargaining, he finally settled on despair. Now he was staring blankly towards the broken door, no doubt wishing with all he had left that someone—anyone—might come to save him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maya shake her head. I addressed the officer directly. “I asked you a question, soldier.”

The man sighed. “Most of them are too terrified to do anything other than huddle together. But… there’s a boy that’s been asking to speak with you.”

“For how long?” I asked, a little surprised.

“Hours. Since they were separated from the others, your grace.”

“Cairn. He is among the last.” Maya said with heavy emphasis. From the tautness of her tail and the fierceness of her face I sensed she was angry with me, furious even.

“Far be it from me to keep a noble waiting, regardless of age.” I inclined my head. “Bring him out.”

Balan groaned, the sound that emitted from his lips more animal than human.

It took longer than I expected. Perhaps I’d taken things too far, and Maya wasn’t the only one chafing under the direction things were headed. In some ways, that was to be expected. Cephur had selected the members of my regiment carefully based on criteria we’d discussed together, and a foundational center of that criteria was that none of them were the sort that accepted orders and the leaders that gave them blindly.

I couldn’t fault them for that.

The boy that emerged was small, bookish, dark-haired and dark-eyed. He was dressed in House Westmore’s ceremonial robes, the same robes his grandfather wore for high-profile negotiations. His eyes lingered on the bodies as he was escorted past them, flicking between the carnage until they finally locked on me.

“Greetings.” He bowed. His voice was low-pitched for a child’s, almost monotone. After he rose he turned to Lord Balan and bowed again. “Grandfather.”

Balan murmured something unintelligible, then fell silent again.

“Sorry about the mess.” I said.

“Strange as it is to say,” He peered around, taking in the room. “With all the cackling and screaming, I actually imagined a lot worse. It sounded like they were being drawn and quartered.”

“Disappointed?” I spun the sword-breaker idly.

“No. Just surprised. My brothers and uncles, did they die well?”

“Some better than others.” I admitted. “The associated pageantry was drawn out. But the violence itself was quick. Painless.”

“Then for that…” the boy worked his jaw. “I am grateful.”

“The soldiers said you wished to speak with me?”

The boy nodded hesitantly. “At first I intended to parlay for my life, as well as the lives of a handful of others. Your views on indentured servitude and slavery are an open secret, and there are—were—several amongst my brothers and uncles that had either grown tired of the practice, or never supported it in the first place. But that all seems… rather pointless now.”

“Then why are you here?”

He looked me dead in the face. “It’s my turn, isn’t it?”

A heaviness passed between us. In his place, I’d tried to bargain, frantically negotiating for my life and the life of the family I had left. But somehow, this unknown child of a slaver had already accepted his fate.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“What’s your name?”

“Mateo.”

“Do you wish to die?”

“No, your grace.”

“Then why are you so convinced that’s how this is going to end?” I rotated the sword breaker in my hand. “Perhaps this is all just a straightforward method of separating the wheat from the chaff.”

“If you were a fool, I might hold that hope. But if even a fraction of the stories I’ve heard about you are true…” He slowly turned and panned the room again.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Explain.”

“There are a number of less volatile methods a king might use to hamstring a noble house that has fallen out of favor. Historically, the King’s preferred approach is dispersing members of a problem house amongst varying factions in the military, with orders to their superiors to ensure they are placed in the most unfavorable positions of the bloodiest battle. Efficient. Keeps the hands clean. But it takes time.” The boy cleaned his spectacles and replaced them on his nose. “And he does not balk at resorting to something more along the lines of what happened here if time is short.”

“So, you believe this is more intentional than it appears.”

“I do, your grace.”

I shifted on the stairs, subconsciously straightening my posture. “And what do you think of the practice of indentured servitude, Mateo?”

He smiled a bit. “My initial instinct is to spurn the practice, vehemently. My second thought is I am probably not the first to think of such a deceit, and I assume at least a few of the fallen found that avenue lacking.”

“Correct.”

Mateo fell quiet. I didn’t feel the need to jab or poke at him like I had the others. Their silence had been disingenuous, desperate, panicked. A frantic search for the magic words that would free them from their turmoil. Words that did not exist. By contrast, Mateo’s quiet felt eerily similar to Annette’s, when she was struggling to translate complex thoughts and feelings on a topic in a manner the listener would understand.

“I wish I could say that from the moment I was old enough to think for myself, I knew something was wrong. That even at a young age, I found the concept of one person—for whatever crime, cost, or tenure—owning another person to be intrinsically vile. If I intended to lie, that is the lie I would tell.” He bit his lip hard. “But it would be a lie. In truth, it was… normal. Expected. My mother and father believed it, as did most of my house, the people I was surrounded by on a daily basis. Why would I assume they were wrong?”

“A product of your surroundings.”

“More or less. For a long time, it felt like a good thing. There were always people around the house I could talk to, servants willing to whip up a late-night snack. Ex-tradesmen all happy to share their expertise when I asked. Still, I wasn’t completely shielded from the unpleasantness. Lash marks and bruises fade slowly. Disappearances fade slower still. But it wasn’t until they brought in tutors and teachers that I started to gain awareness.”

“Someone stood out to you?”

He shook his head. “The opposite, really. A slave is meant to be lesser. They are often talked about as such. And at some point it hit me. They cook our food, teach us things that we are ignorant of, raise our children, clean our mess and keep our surroundings pristine. Some are dim, yes, but others are far more clever than the masters that command them.”

“Perhaps it is their blood.”

Up to this point he’d been eloquent and controlled. But nothing about the frustrated scowl he showed was rehearsed. “That was always their answer, when pressed. No matter who. The blood of a noble and the blood of a servant is not the same. They’re more animal than human, stated as if it is some obvious truism that does not require evidence or proof. And one who cannot justify their actions with logic often falls back on arbitrary distinctions.”

“Well said.” I rose from the stairway and stretched, feeling drained from the ordeal and perpetual heat. “And what do you think of the actions I took today to correct this?”

He fell quiet again, considering. “That depends.”

“On?”

“The course traveled from here.” His gray eyes stared through me, unflinching. “No matter what happens next, this will change the way the noble houses view you. Referencing what little gossip I’ve heard, they will stop viewing you as a distant-but-idle-curiosity, and consider far more intently how much of a threat you pose.”

“If a House holds no slaves or indentured, releasing any they do in a timely manner, they should have nothing to fear.”

“They will not see it that way. You must know this. All they will see is a once functional and lucrative Noble House destroyed with no warning, at the whim of a volatile leader. Those clinging onto hope that the new king will differ from the last will lose it in short order. And as you lack the current monarch’s immaculate and storied military record, they will be far quicker to speak of you with treason in their hearts than your predecessor.” Slowly, he knelt. “But none of this is my place to say. Now less than ever.”

“What did we talk about earlier?” I smiled, trying to fall back on charm to lighten the heaviness in the room. It didn’t work. “Don’t be so macabre.”

“I refuse to cling to false hope pried from the fingers of so many others before they reached their end.” Mateo lowered his head. “My death is assured. If you left either me or the House lord alive after the events of the evening, the other houses would find that to be both cruel and foolish, rather than simply the former. If you intend to demonstrate mercy, it would be better served by allowing the women in my family to escape this harsh end. They hold no sway over the policies of House Westmore, and should not be held accountable for them. In many ways, they are not unlike the indentured you revere.”

“That’s what you came here for. To convince me to spare them.”

“Yes.” He opened a single eye, gauging my reaction.

I didn’t want to toy with him, the way I’d toyed with the rest. Whether the boy was the one golden thread in a House of corruption that he appeared to be, or a better liar than the rest combined, it didn’t matter. He was the only one who had not used his audience selfishly, lobbying for the mercy shown to others rather than himself.

Loyalty had to be rewarded.

There was a disturbance outside, barely audible. The squeaking of axles rolling on cobblestone marked the presence of a new arrival, and from the sound of it, many of them. I saw a flash of elaborate turquoise lace and gray through one of the windows.

With little time I leaned down and whispered in his ear. “If everything was as it appeared, you’d be right. But you will not die here today, Mateo. Do me a favor and play along.” Unable to wait for acknowledgement, I placed the sword breaker against his throat.

Lady Vasemoux stormed through the broken doorway, her expression one of fury—which immediately turned to horror as she surveyed the dead. “What… happened here?”

“Lady Melody.” I grinned at her, blade still pressed to the boy’s throat. “Unfortunately, the party is over, as is the feast. We’re just polishing off the leftovers before we go.”

Balan snapped back into lucidity, scrambling on all fours and crawling towards Melody, the abject picture of desperation. “Speak sense into him, my lady, I beg you. He will not see reason.”

Her expression was pale, and her eyes barely focused. “Why?”

I dropped Mateo and raised my chin pompously. “Because they annoyed me. They entreated my father for my sister’s hand and threatened to withdraw their support if he did not cave to their demands. In the process they lied to me, attempted to bribe me with the very thing I condemned. More than that, I just don’t like them.”

You could see the moment Melody realized, the way she forcefully banished the shock and locked in. Her sapphire eyes reflected the fire. “If this were any other house, I could understand the reason though not the method. But this is House Westmore. Their food and basic necessities alone provide for over half the population.”

I shrugged. “They have various provision hubs in other cities, but most of their imports are housed right here in Whitefall. After House Westmore heaves its dying breath, we will seize their stores and the means of production. I see no issue.”

“Do you have soldiers at the ready, prepared to carry those orders through at this very moment?” Melody challenged. “Because even now, word of the fall of House Westmore is spreading. And if it reached my ears, it will soon reach the ears of others. There will be looting first, then rioting, with the fires and death that always follow. If you have not already put that into motion, the losses will be significant.”

Balan whimpered agreement.

“Ah. The eternal wisdom of hindsight. If only your advice was offered sooner.” I sighed, returning my blade to Mateo’s neck.

“Wait!” Balan and Melody said at the same time. Melody glared at him, then returned her focus to me, seeming to bolster her nerve. “I know you to be a good man. A reasonable man,” she said quietly. “It’s not too late to prove me right.”

“Many of House Westmore would disagree with you.” I clucked my tongue.

“Then allow me to offer a solution.” Melody paused to gather herself, hands clutching at her skirts. “A formal agreement forging two Noble Houses into one. This would of course be on our terms, given the circumstances.”

I looked down to where Balan still cowered pitifully at Melody’s feet, eyes wide as saucers. “Please. The House Lord is far too proud to consider—”

“Not at all.” Balan stammered. “By my authority, if this stays your hand, the survivors will serve as wards. Any remaining heirs will marry into House Vasemoux to formalize the agreement and follow the House Lord’s guidance.”

For the first time, I sensed no attempt at manipulation in Balan’s words. The event had broken him so badly he was acting entirely on instinct, desperate to ensure even a fraction of his legacy remained.

“And your assets?” I challenged.

“All assets, infrastructure, and trade routes will be theirs to further, maintain, or destroy.” Balan looked up at her, suddenly sheepish. “I only wish I’d seen the value of your house sooner.”

Melody chewed her lip. “My father will likely insist your House formally converts to the Church of Elphion. Is that acceptable?”

“It is.”

I didn’t like how relieved he sounded, how compliant he was. Unceremoniously, I released Mateo and stalked towards him, grabbing his neck and placing the edge of the blade against his face, tip a hair’s width from his eye. “You think you’ve fucking escaped me? That you can just sit back, in the shadows of another house, and bide your time until there’s an opportunity for recompense?”

Melody shuffled backward, putting herself clear of advance.

A man can always make more children. But he only has one set of eyes. He can make do with one. And if he loses both, the maiming will serve as a more permanent reminder of what he might have lost, after the smoke clears.

Thoth’s voice resonated through my mind.

“Please… don’t,” Balan groaned.

“Cairn. Stop.” Maya’s voice cut through my mind. I felt a weight on my forearm as she pressed my knife arm down, gently guiding me.

“Fine.” I hissed, dropping the sword breaker and walking back a ways before I let the rage and bile slip away. “I remand Lord Balan and the future of House Westmore to House Vasemoux, contingent on a sealed contract of absorption agreed on by both parties. A number of my regiment will escort you.”

I caught a brief sight of Kilvius, now clad in the armor of my regiment, joining the dozen or so men I selected. As we’d discussed, he’d be nearby, listening to the proceedings and reporting back to me if there was a problem.

Several of the soldiers half-supported, half-carried Balan as Melody led them to the door.

“Lord Balan.” I called after him, noting the way his shoulders tensed.

The soldiers helped him turn. He waited, anxious and shaking, for me to speak.

“As you’ve seen today, I am not a man opposed to simple solutions. And though you are obviously about as likely to lie to me as you are to breathe, it seems foolish not to ask.” I hardened my jaw. “Are we going to have a problem?”

For the slightest moment, there was a spark of rebellion in Balan’s eye. But it extinguished almost as quickly as it appeared as his gaze traveled over the dead and returned to me, empty and void. Defeat, as clear as it was total. “No, your grace.”

“Then get out of my sight.”

They bowed, Melody giving me one last concerned glance before she, Balan, Kilvius and the rest of my regiment disappeared into the night.

Maya approached me, fists clenched at her sides. It wasn’t like her to air out grievances in front of the regiment, but I’d sensed her anger for hours, and prepared myself for an onslaught, nonetheless. But Mateo interrupted, stopping the conflict short. He was staring out the door in confusion. “I don’t understand. If the intention was to force a merger from the beginning, why kill so many of us?”

I gave Maya an apologetic look before I answered.

“Who says I killed anyone?”

There was a sense of uncomfortable relief as Maya knelt at Scyld’s side. His face was pale, and his breathing was almost imperceptible. But his visage lacked the lifelessness of a man who had been dead for hours. And when Maya put her spell-lit hand on his shoulder, his eyes sprung open in shock. She murmured something about staying still.

“The terms with House Vasemoux bind all remaining heirs.” Mateo realized.

“All things have a price.” I echoed the House’s words, watching as Maya made the rounds, repeating the same steps she’d taken with Scyld on every other male of House Westmore. Many seemed to have trouble getting their bearings. But more importantly, now that the threat appeared to be waning, the sense of unity through terror had faded. They’d survived. But the memories of their patriarch’s choices that evening would not fade so easily. Exactly how much they were valued, and who amongst them was worth more or less, made clear, demonstrated for all to see. Even the most loyal amongst them would question Balan’s priorities now. This was the fastest way to sever the bonds between them.

Resolving this would never be easy. Destroying House Westmore entirely sent the message I was volatile and emotional.

Simply taking their information and letting them skate by with no consequences on excuses and technicalities sent the message I was weak.

This was the best option.

Between the warehouse fires, troop movements, and damage to the estate, there was evidence of the conflict, but all the other Noble Houses had to do was count heads. Even better, merchants hated being scammed. Their reputation was already taking a sizable hit from being folded into a House of lower standing. Any survivors clever enough to piece together what actually happened would be slow to share these theories in explicit detail. And in that void of detail, rumors and gossip would spread like wildfire.

I’d won.

And in the process, gained a more in-depth understanding of Thoth’s methodology than mere observation could have granted. From our brief encounters, she’d frequently danced between disruption and ruin, choosing one or the other seemingly at random. But it wasn’t random. They were two sides of the same coin.

Soon, I’d speak to Daloch about her to confirm these insights and hopefully glean more. But there was another matter I’d put off for far too long already.

With a sigh, I snuffed out the fire. The purple flame scattered around the walls and railings died, leaving many surfaces marred with blackened ash.

“The list you mentioned.” I put a hand on Mateo’s shoulder. “I’d like you to compose it after all.”

“What… list?” He asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the would-be resurrections.

“You mentioned presenting a list of your brothers and uncles who hold more progressive sensibilities. There will be plenty of wards, but I suspect House Vasemoux will have their work cut out for them deciding who is worthy of joining their house in a more official capacity.”

Mateo blinked, then bowed. “It will be done.”

“Good. Send word when it’s ready, and I’ll make sure it reaches the right hands.” I turned and addressed my regiment. “I need approximately half of you to stay. House Vasemoux will be sending additional transport shortly. Watch over them in the meantime, and once they are en route, escort them until they reach their new lodgings.”

“And the rest?” Mari asked. My banner-lieutenant seemed less concerned now that the dead had risen, but in its wake, still viewed me with a wariness that wasn’t there before.

“With me.” My expression hardened. “My sister has waited long enough.”