“Neral of the Dark was a fierce Daeli commander, whose achievements could only be compared to those his ancestor, Dael himself, is famous for. The details were lost with the ages, but Neral was known for fighting his battles at night, using unpredictable tactics and revolutionary strategies to challenge and overcome disadvantageous odds. The legend says that he received a blessing from Atharemine – eyes capable of seeing through darkness as if it was daytime. Some still wonder if he was a chosen of the night goddess, in which case he must have had a reason to hide it from everyone.
-Tarhas, History of the Known World”
* * *
Ezveril
She gazed at the sails dyed in purple and gold spread across the strait. Ocia's navy was imposing, and surely it must have been even more intimidating for the ships coming from the Grey Sea. Paarese ships and their yellow sails returning to their homeland, but also boats coming from all over the eastern world – from Tehen, from the Summer Dominion, even from beyond, perhaps.
Not that anyone is passing through the strait, now, she thought as she glanced once more at the blockage before studying the port.
Ezveril spotted a large ship, also with yellow sails, but she knew this one wasn't transporting merchandise. This one belonged to the Paarese delegation.
Hilne walked to her side, one hand resting on the pummel of her sword, the sun shining against her breastplate. “We should get back to the palace, your highness. They're probably there already.” She motioned for the carriage behind them, and Ezveril silently complied.
They left the port and Ezveril watched the streets through the carriage's windows. That extravagant display of wealth and flesh she saw in the palace when she first arrived, two moons ago, was nowhere to be seen. Sure, this old yet elegant sir riding his horse, for instance, was certainly rich – Ezveril guessed it from the servants accompanying him, from the bodyguard at his side, from the velvet doublet he wore. But there was no courtesan walking with him, no jug of wine held in his hands, no bellowing or cackling.
And this young girl here, she was doing a honest work. Carrying water for her family, surely, instead of shaming her name by selling her body. She would have liked to step out of the carriage and help that girl, perhaps out of genuine kindness, perhaps out of desire. Desire to be acknowledged by the inhabitants of Ocia.
Tomorrow, she promised herself. There's no time today.
“You seem happy, princess,” Hilne observed. “I expected you to be nervous because of the meeting.”
“I am nervous,” Ezveril said before glancing away from the streets and staring at her knight. “And I am relieved, too. The people in the palace, and the people in town... They have very different lives.”
Hilne gave a faint sigh and smiled. “You may have heard many things about Ocia and the Vieran cities, your highness. Some are merely rumours. Some are true in regard to certain places, and false for others. More often than not, the world isn't as simple as people make it out to be.”
“...I wonder if the Vieran temples are indeed brothels as they say,” she said, but Hilne's stoic expression somewhat answered her question.
The knight replied nonetheless. “I do not know.”
“What does the goddess think about these practises?” she kept on, frowning. “About courtesans and concubines being called priestesses of Viera?”
“It is a question for priests and churchmen, your highness. You cannot deem their culture and their traditions improper simply because they don't fit your views. Viera is the goddess of pleasure and beauty, in the end.”
“...You're right,” Ezveril eventually said, looking at her feet. She could dislike their ways if she wanted to, but to her knowledge Ocia had never brought the gods' wrath upon itself. It isn't Viera who is offended, but me. It was unbecoming of her. The nervousness got to her, that she was aware of.
The carriage climbed the hill where the palace was overlooking the city, and at the gates they found another carriage – not lady Atricia's, nor lord Vierodel's. The Paarese, she guessed. The guards at the entrance bowed as she went in, something they had begun to do only recently. She repressed a faint smile as she saw some of them still eyeing Hilne with a mix of awe and wariness.
As far as Ezveril was concerned, her dear lady Neraldes had always attracted the curiosity of the many swordsmen she met. They looked at her and saw a woman worthy of admiration, or disdain, or sometimes both. It's been some time since I saw such faces. The people in Dael had grown used to seeing Hilne, or at least they knew her by reputation, and were less surprised when they met her.
In the palace, a servant found them and confirmed their suspicions. The Paarese delegation had called for a meeting, and the Vieran regency was already here. They were all waiting for Ezveril, even though they shouldn't require the presence of a little girl to begin their negotiations.
In front of the doors leading to the meeting room, Hilne placed a hand on Ezveril's shoulder. “Don't forget,” she warned, as if she was reading her mind, “once you step inside this room, you represent the crown-prince, and they are aware of it. They'll still see you as a puppet, and you'll let them believe that, but keep in mind one important thing, your highness. The ruler of this city isn't Atricia, or her son, it is you, they simply don't know it yet. Speak very little, but lend an attentive ear.”
She took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said, then turned the door handle and entered.
Vierodel of Ocia was laying conformably on a divan, playing with his hair, while his mother stood by the many arched windows and stared down at the city. Saerge Segheon was here, too, and he seemed like the only person in the room who was ready to deal with the group of displeased Paarese sitting on the divans in front of him.
“Ah,” lord Segheon exclaimed, “your highness, we were waiting for you.”
“I was taking a stroll in town, apologies.”
“Well, now we can begin,” a middle-aged Paarese said in Vieran, as he got up and bowed. Probably the chief of the delegation. “It is an honour to meet you, princess Ezveril. I happen to be Jehon of Paar, envoy of his majesty the king.”
The king of Paar, she commented silently, as they exchanged greetings. Ezveril was introduced to the others – they didn't matter, she knew that Jehon was the one in charge. They sat back, and Hilne stood behind, her back against the wall, her ever-alert eyes watching the whole room.
“Let's cut to the chase,” Jehon kept on as he stroke his mustache, and the lone patch of black hair on his chin. “It would appear that our ships, and all manner of ships bound for Paar, in fact, have somehow encountered trouble as they tried to pass through your beautiful city.”
“Ah?” Vierodel said nonchalantly. Jehon glanced at him once but paid him little attention after that.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“When my compatriots and me docked in Ocia earlier this afternoon,” the Paarese said with a fake smile plastered on his face, “we couldn't help but notice the blockade on the strait.”
“Vieran ships, if I recall,” one of his advisors added, to which Jehon nodded. His fake smile widened.
Atricia of Ocia gazed away from the windows at last, and shrugged. “Yes,” she said in her singing, almost merry voice, “perhaps you've heard of the recent events in Callir. Things have escalated, we fear there might be a war breaking out with them in the near future.”
Jehon's eyes were also smiling now. But Ezveril knew it was fake, too. Two black dots half hidden in these slits. “I see, a most worrisome situation. But I fail to see how it concerns Paarese ships?”
“Mmh...” Atricia let a languid grunt escape from between her purple lips, and shrugged yet again.
“Unfortunately,” Saerge Segheon pitched in, “we've discovered that the Callirian enemy was using yellow sails, among other colours, and had started to pass themselves as Paarese or Daeli ships. We could not take the risk of letting usurpers enter the Middle Sea or the Vieran ports, so we took action.”
Ezveril knew not if what Saerge said was true, but she was aware the blockade had nothing to do with Callirian ships. It was all about Paar, and everyone in the room knew it, especially the Paarese.
Vierodel took a fig between two nimble fingers and threw it in his mouth. “You understand that the safety of the Vieran city-states is of...” he paused and munched loudly. “...capital importance, for us Vierans.”
“As is the strait of Ocia for us Paarese,” Jehon said tensely. He paused, looked at Ezveril, and this time he had his fake smile back. “Tell me, your highness, has your honourable father told you about this?”
Ezveril gave a fake smile of her own and shook her head.
“I'm sure you had competent teachers in Dael. They must have told you that we Paarese have to import most of the grains and wheat we eat.”
“Of course,” she said innocently. “Everyone knows that. Paar is a country rich in ores, but lacking enough arable lands for its population.”
“And, surely, they also taught you all about the trade route. Going from the eastern cities and the Dominion, passing through the Grey Sea, then Ocia, then the Middle Sea... And eventually reaching the kingdom of Paar, the theocracy of Irixil, and your native country, the kingdom of Dael.”
The way Jehon spoke and how he treated her condescendingly annoyed her, but she wouldn't let it show. She would not frown, nor would she clench her fists or purse her lips. He would notice it. He must be doing it on purpose.
Vierodel, on the other hand, didn't bother to hide his displeasure. “I'm sure there's a point you wish to make,” he said, “and I believe you were the one who said to cut to the chase...”
“Out with it then,” said Jehon of Paar, who directed his glare toward lady Atricia. “You made a deal with Arthian Agelien. In exchange for an alliance, you're to prevent food shipments from reaching our kingdom. Dael perhaps hopes to weaken and pressure Paar, but you should all know that we won't stay quiet. Ocia has been neutral for a long time, and it has allowed everyone to prosper. Now, you've sold away this neutrality by complying to prince Agelien's demands.”
He glanced at Ezveril as he said that last line. As if she was the guilty party in all that. She couldn't help but sigh. “It's only a matter of time, the route shall reopen as soon as the matter with Callir is settled. Why don't you cross from one sea to another by land, meanwhile?”
Jehon said nothing, but he probably thought some insult deep down. His advisor, however didn't stay silent.
“Cross how?” he spat. “The other Vieran city-states will just follow your example, they won't let foreign caravans cross their lands, because of so-called Callirians in disguise.”
She acted flustered, and was quick to suggest another way she knew to be impossible. “Why don't you take a detour through the Southern Seas then? Surely the mighty Paarese have the means to defend their ships against pirates.”
Pirates were the least of their problems. The Paarese weren't on friendly terms with the Crescent Isles, and their navy could probably block any ship coming from the southern seas if they wanted to. If the Paarese somehow managed to sail through the south. Pirates were bad enough for unguarded ships, but Ezveril had heard other tales. Explosions under the sea creating immense waves, curses and inhuman whispers causing the sailors to turn mad...
Nobody really knew what caused these ships to disappear, but one thing was sure – they disappeared. It got worse near the coast, where the old temple of Viera supposedly stood once. Anyone sailing further south would encounter more pirates, and more importantly, lose more time.
The Paarese had no time to spare.
“We will give you a week,” Jehon of Paar said after a short silence, not even bothering to answer Ezveril. “By then, you must decide. Allow our shipments to pass through your city, or turn this foolishness into a diplomatic incident and make an enemy out of Paar. Think carefully, and choose wisely.”
Jehon and his group rose from their seats and left the room shortly thereafter. Before long, Atricia went somewhere, but not without giving Ezveril a glare first.
“Would you like for us to dine together, this evening?” Vierodel asked her with his usual smile.
“Ah, of course,” she replied in kind. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“I'll be expecting you at sunset then.”
Finally, only Hilne, Saerge Segheon, and herself were still in the room. Lord Segheon approached her, and she could smell a perfume of sorts on him. The same the pleasure slaves wore.
“Are you worried, your highness?”
“No,” she said flatly. “This is all going according to my father's plan, isn't it?”
“Most certainly. Our guest good lord Jehon was smart enough to understand that we wouldn't budge. Or rather, I think he never expected anything from us to begin with.”
“What do you mean?”
“He gave us a week, as if we had something to discuss about. This meeting was a joke, we only held it for appearance's sake. The Paarese want it to look like they tried to negotiate before taking up arms. They want the foreign onlookers to see Paar as the provoked party, not as the aggressor.”
Do they want to appear righteous? Ezveril shrugged. “But they'll definitely aggress, in the end.”
“Of course. It's as your father wishes it to be. Paar will use this week to make preparations, if they haven't done so already, and they will try to regain control of Ocia before it's too late. Before they are forced to attack the neighbouring countries to conquer more land and food.”
Ezveril frowned. Her father wanted them to attack – either Dael, or the Theocracy, or the Crescent Isles. By breaking the pact of non-aggression, Paar would be surrounded, with enemies on all fronts. Then it was only a matter of time until the Paarese king surrendered, and his territories shared between the victors.
After that, Arthian Agelien would perhaps do the same trick again. Ezveril knew her father wouldn't stop with Paar. He would go on, he would make new allies, and provoke another rival nation, force it into an impossible situation, break it, consume it at last. And each time, Dael would grow – until the Middle Sea came under her father's control.
Ocia is the key in all that. Hilne had explained her already that the reason the Daeli didn't take it by force, but by forging an alliance, was to avoid provoking the other Vieran cities. If Ocia was sieged, the other Vieran armies would come to its rescue, no doubt. And it would spur all manner of feelings in the independents' hearts. They would rather avoid having to deal with Vieran rebels, in addition to the Paarese army.
Ezveril didn't need the military knowledge of Hilne to understand that. It was much better to have the Paarese use force first, therefore earning the wrath of the Vierans.
“The Paarese will try everything before resorting to force,” lord Segheon carried on. “And after everything fails – and it will, because we are expecting it – they'll most likely be sieging the city. When this fails, too, because of the combined Vieran and Daeli armies coming to Ocia's rescue, Paar will face a dilemma. Ask for foreign help, or try to conquer land and be crushed. I wonder what it will be...”
“Either way, it will be the end of their sovereignty,” she concluded, and Saerge nodded.
Ezveril couldn't help but think that it was cruel. Still, nothing could be done about it. And even if her father hadn't put his plan in motion, someone else would have had the same idea eventually. Ocia was the key to a vast treasure of opportunities, and that key had been laying unclaimed for a very long time.
Better us than anyone else.
Needless to say, corrupting Ocia's allegiance, or lack thereof, would probably not have been possible without the current lady-regent. Or rather, not without her twisted honour and her hunger for power. The Vieran cities had always resisted the influence of the western nations, hence their reputation of neutrality, but the crown-prince of Dael had found the right ally at the right time.
Ezveril stole a glance at Hilne Neraldes. Nobody had ever talked about what would happen, if the Paarese were to succeed in their siege, or find another way to take control of Ocia. She guessed – she knew, deep down – that this was also the reason they had sent her, the fourth princess, and not someone more important. The reason her father had sent a daughter he did not care about, instead of her older sister, or an unmarried eldest son from a prominent family.
Lady Atricia would have surely agreed to remarry with someone who would actually inherit something. But then again, important heirs were important assets that shouldn't be gambled with. Whereas Ezveril had a few siblings before her on the succession line, and a large gathering of half-siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles still lurking around.
Perhaps it was a groundless worry. Perhaps these black, dark thoughts were only the result of her nervousness. Still, she was wondering. If Ocia is sacked, and I die, who will care?