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Lord Storm Nattas
The Queen’s son
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The palace guards’ officer stared him intently under his thick brows. Storm wondered, whether there were still pieces of brain, or other bloody and mushy body parts on his hair. He’d went home to clean himself up and change clothes, now sporting a gray and silver lighter doublet over his black pants and high leather boots.
“I’m expected,” Storm said feeling his legs heavy, especially his maimed one, but surprisingly not hurting despite not bringing a cane with him. “To the King’s council.”
“The council is over,” the officer replied almost offended he had to inform Nattas. “The King has departed for the Summer Hunt.”
Flavia’s arse!
“Can you get ahold of the Mayor for me?” Storm asked after the small internal outburst, crossing both arms on his chest.
“The Mayor is accompanying the King. Most other officials left as well last night. It’s the great summer—”
“Yes! Yes, the Hunt. I heard you,” Lord Nattas interrupted him a little frustrated. “The Captain of the city guard then, you can find him, right?”
The officer run his hand over his short-cut black hair and nodded. “Aye, Lord Nattas. I will sent a runner for him. He’s at the East Gates, I believe.”
“Right. Well, give the man a horse that’s half the city he’d have to run,” Storm replied, but the officer’s frozen expression, left no doubt their talk was over.
His jesting anything, but welcomed.
By the Old Gods, Storm thought and walked towards the throne room, the doors open and the big hall empty and poorly illuminated. The old stone throne, half-covered in darkness, but easy to spot in the center of the room. He walked there, his leg holding up surprisingly well. Storm wasn’t about to start running any time soon, but the fact he could stand on his two feet without assistance was a pleasant enough surprise.
What wasn’t as palatable, was seeing that woman melt away, better yet… pulverized, by… whatever the fuck that was. Uher’s Light in a vial, he thought with a shudder. What had these fanatics, gone and found? Abrakas helps us all!
Storm stared at a large covering on the wall, depicting the Kingdom of Regia and the border territories. The Scalding Sea’s blue had turned to a washed out aquamarine with old age that reminded him of her eyes.
“Lord Nattas?” The servant asked, forcing him out of his reverie.
Sneaky son of wayward goat!
“That’s me,” Storm replied more than a little tensed.
“The Queen asked for your presence in the garden,” the man droned tonelessly.
“In here,” Nattas asked with a frown.
“Yes sire,” the servant said patiently.
Right. It would have been weird if she was in any other garden.
“Lead the way,” Storm said, assuming an indifferent manner himself.
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“So you heard about Uher’s Light?” Storm asked the servant –one of Queen’s people brought from Cartagen- as they walked towards the Palace’s gardens. These were smaller and internal to the building itself and not the Spring Gardens, where the ill-fated engagement had been held, more than a month back.
“Word came about a witch,” the man replied indifferently. “Punished by Uher.”
Okay, I’m not convinced.
“Pretty horrible,” Storm commented and the servant gave him a side glance, as they reached the door leading behind the palace premises and the garden. The absence of guards telling. Miranda trusted only her own people.
“I wouldn’t know,” the man replied defensively and Storm offered him a warm smile. It wasn’t well received, his reputation probably scaring the staff. “Is her highness here?” He asked and the servant nodded.
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Queen Miranda -wearing a lovely yellow striped summer dress- was sitting near the small pond, her sandals next to the stone bench in front of it, both her feet cooling inside the water.
It wasn’t a sight one could enjoy every day.
Storm approached her walking slowly, but with more confidence. Each new stride, an unlikely treat he expected for all his adult life, but strangely dampened now at the regal woman’s presence.
He was in trouble.
Miranda sighed, long legs scissoring and splashing at the water, dress pulled up to leave them uncovered. Storm needed to talk and stop gawking at the Queen of Regia like a love-struck idiot, before someone caught him doing it and sent him to meet Arietta’s fate.
The memory of the explosion shocking enough, to snap him out of his trance.
“Your Grace,” Storm said calmly and Miranda recoiled, lovely feet pulled out of the water, the garb’s edges soaking up, when she dropped it to cover them up. Her eyes are much more vivid than in that drawing, he thought.
“Lord Nattas,” Miranda gasped, a blush rushing up her cheeks. Abrakas, you piece of vile shit, Storm thought realizing that his darn stupid cock, after failing to react and wasting his coin earlier, was now granite hard. “I didn’t hear your…” she paused, with a light frown -the cutest fucking thing- Storm had ever seen, an anxious tick appearing over his left eyebrow. The Queen examined him closely. “You didn’t bring your cane, I see.”
Storm could see as well.
A cane would have made it, one stick… too many, Storm thought, pressing two fingers on the annoying throb to stop it. The last thing he wanted right now, was bursting a vein and dropping dead in the pond at full fuckin’ mast.
It would be nigh impossible to explain away later.
“I was witness to a miracle, your Grace,” he said instead, all other topics open for discussion potentially lethal.
“Oh,” Miranda uttered and stared at him curiously.
Every innocent gesture a blasted tease!
“Uher’s priests executed a witch today,” Storm said, the matter grave enough to scare his mind away from his lewder desires. “Using Uher’s Light apparently.”
Miranda raised her hands to cover her mouth.
“That’s horrible. Surely it was a trick!” She gasped theatrically.
Ah, Abrakas followers are not easy to fool, Storm thought proudly.
He had to admit though that his opinion was extremely biased on the matter.
“They used something,” he replied. “I don’t know what, but the effect was… impressive and lethal.”
“Kelholt will try to kill everyone, if they let him loose.”
“What does the King say?” Storm asked, taking a deep breath.
Miranda rolled her eyes and got up. “The King went hunting, not to be outshined by Jeremy.”
“He thinks it will run its course and they will move on,” Storm translated. “But they won’t. These cretins are chomping at the bit to burn anyone they don’t fancy. This is political, as much as it is about religion. The Issirs control Uher’s priesthood.”
“Antoon does love his priests,” Miranda noted, staring at her sandals and then at her naked feet a little apprehensive.
“How about sending them to fight at Raoz then? Plenty of degenerates there,” Storm jested and stooped to help her wear the strappy matching shoes, without first thinking it through.
By the time he did all Storm could see and think, was her expertly gold-painted small toes.
Aah.
“I can call a servant, dear Nattas,” the Queen said standing tall above him, but it was a weak protest and didn’t object further, when Storm proceeded to strap the sandals on her ankles -one after the other- the soft skin wet, but warm to the touch.
“We are all servants, your Grace.”
Get up.
Let go of the bloody shoe, you stupid hog!
Keep your fuckin’ nose away from her royal thighs, for goodness sake!
Storm pushed himself upright, knees protesting but miraculously holding up, as if he’d managed to cross an unseen line and after so many years his injury had finally gotten better.
The unmoving Queen had some color on her cheeks, blue eyes inquisitive, until she caught herself and stood back to examine the quiet garden with newfound interest.
“We should return,” she said simply, after the moment was gone.
Lord Nattas offered a sharp curtsy. “Of course, your Grace.”
No one talked as they slowly made their way towards the door leading inside the palace. It was Miranda that broke the awkward silence, stopping just before the exit.
“It is torture staying inside, in this heat,” she said sounding miserable all of a sudden, looking at the closed door.
Nattas smacked his lips, unsure what to answer, but the Alden Queen continued after that brief pause.
“I wanted to visit the beach. It’s the summer. Staying here is a constant reminder,” she gasped, a shudder running through her and Storm made a superhuman effort to keep his eyes on her face. “I will never see her again,” Miranda turned her head away, trying to find her wits.
“Why not do it?” Storm offered instead of keeping his mouth shut. “Aldenport is but hours away.”
And closed mouths catch no flies idiot! He cursed himself.
Miranda made a grimace of discomfort. “It is untoward for a Queen to be seen bathing,” she droned, as if quoting another’s words and added. “When in mourning,” Miranda released a rugged breath and stared into a transfixed Lord Nattas eyes. “Before that, it was unseemly dressing like an Aegium girl, or swimming alongside the populace without the king present. The King is rarely present, preferring a hunt to get his mind off our troubles, or a tourney, since that’s always a better use of his time, than winding down with a girl by the water.”
Get back on the bloody subject!
Speak fool!
Make it long!
“It is the priests,” Storm blurted out, clenching his jaw to keep his mind focused. “Judging ruffians are abound at this moment. More chance steeping on one, than squashing a cockroach under boot—”
“I can’t stand this city,” Miranda interrupted him. “It’s suffocating and too close to those hypocritical… I fail to recall your word from earlier,” she added with a blush.
Storm’s cock came alive again.
“Cretins,” Storm helped her with a croak.
“Yes, those Uher-loving Issirs have ruined Lorians,” Miranda continued. “The South wasn’t like this.”
“Can you not return to Cartagen?” Storm asked unable to stop himself.
She shook her head, long blond ponytail dancing on her back.
Abrakas give fortitude!
“I can’t. It will reflect bad, abandoning the King here. Of course the one stuck inside this mausoleum is myself. Even my Jeremy got seduced with the hunt,” the possessive pronoun wasn’t lost on Storm. The young Queen had basically raised King Alistair’s third son, despite them being ten years apart in age.
Miranda was looking at him all serious now. What? Nattas wondered. “What have you found?” She asked.
Ah. There it is, Storm thought and stared at his boots and well… her toes, nicely visible through the open summer-sandals.
It was all his fault. Staying in Alden was a mistake.
Was it though?
“Assassins from the guild made the attack and not some group of Old God worshippers,” Storm replied.
A mostly truthful answer.
“How do you know?” Miranda probed, now curious.
“I discovered one of them.”
“Is he dead?” Miranda asked him, her face hardening.
“She’s not. But she did say some things of interest.”
You shouldn’t have said that.
“You found out, who was behind it then?” the Queen asked.
Storm sighed, he had to give her something. “I didn’t. Not yet. But there is one group that benefited the most.”
Miranda stood back alarmed. “What group?”
“Kelholt’s,” Storm Nattas replied coolly. “It was nothing sort of a miracle for him.”
In his mind that was one miracle too many.
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Secundus sucked his teeth in, lips wrinkling all over and his mouth turning into a monkey’s arsehole, while Sudi almost collapsed on one of Storm’s old canes -the half-breed looking like he had a foot in the grave already- just grunted, but said nothing.
“What is it?” Lord Nattas barked not likening the look on their faces.
“The Captain was busy, milord,” Secundus reported.
“His pregnant wife is due?” Storm chanced.
“Who knows? He told the boy his hands were tied,” the hired blade replied.
Storm blinked and glared at both of them.
“Is one of you looking to keep Titus company?” He asked. The former soldier of fortune, was still locked up in Lord Nattas’ cellar. “I better hear what happened soon lads.”
“The city guard is actively searching for suspects,” Sudi said tiredly.
“What suspects?” Storm snapped. “We caught them all!”
“Apparently, some might have slipped through the noose.”
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“Bah, that’s bullshit!” Nattas hissed and checked about them for any onlookers. “Who gave the order?”
If the order had come from the king, there was nothing Storm could do.
“The man didn’t say, chief,” Sudi said and started after a cursing Lord Nattas, the latter walking briskly towards his house, despite a little discomfort still there. Actually a whole lot of discomfort, but Storm was so fired up to finally be able to walk on two feet, he could endure a little pain gladly.
“I’m going to get a good rest,” he told his men at the entrance. “Make sure no one sneaks inside to slit my fucking throat and so long as I ain’t murdered, wake me up the instant something of note happens.”
“You want to narrow it down a bit, boss?” Sudi probed annoyingly. “The ‘something of note’ part?”
Storm threw him a stern stare and thought about it some, before replying.
“No, I don’t.”
> You need to start working out more, he thought, looking at his rubbery belly. Storm wasn’t fat and he’d lost a lot of weight, courtesy to Maja’s poison, but he needed to strengthen his core and his legs. His eyes searched the bedroom, the floor moving as if it was alive all of sudden, thousands of tentacles slithering about, glued to one another, a bizarre and horrifying vision surely. Everything smelled like the sea. The lights flickered, a pungent smell reaching his nostrils and he heard Abrakas heavy breathing, coming from the depths.
>
> Storm recoiled in horror as his bed had started shaking, but as soon as it did, the tremors went away and Miranda wearing a shrill red nightgown, a leg folded at the edge of his bed, the other unseen, naked thighs toned and long hair the color of pure gold, smiled a seductress smile seeing his body’s reaction. She climbed on the bed fully, moving with the feline grace of a belly-dancer and reached for his throbbing manhood.
>
> “Shall I take care of it, Storm?” She purred.
>
> Please do, he replied numbly and the next moment panic seized his heart and jumped up.
>
> NO! Storm yelped, kicking with his feet and hands to get away from her.
>
> Stay the fuck away fiend!
>
> Abrakas, you despicable monster!
>
>
With a desperate strangling sound, Lord Nattas woke from the disturbing nightmare… of sorts, drenched in sweat and his whole body shaking as if he had a strong case of fever.
Storm tried to speak, but realized he couldn’t his mouth all gluey, so he placed both legs down first and then –unsteadily- got out of his soaked bed. There was a bronze pitcher of water on a night-cabinet and he drank a good amount to quench his thirst, the heat coming from the open window quite strong.
It was late noon.
For fuck’s sake.
“SUDI!” Nattas yelled livid. He dressed as fast as he could and rushed downstairs, found Sudi asleep on a chair in the kitchen, jaw touching his chest.
Secundus marched through the door leading to the street, a loaf of bread in his hands and paused seeing him up and about.
“Milord,” Secundus said, placing the bread on a table, next to the sleeping lackey. “You are awake.”
“No, I’m not,” Storm jested sourly. “I’m sleepwalking.”
The hired blade nodded, as if it made sense. He pointed at the sleeping Sudi, saliva drooling out of his half-open mouth. “Is he dead?”
“I sure hope not,” Storm deadpanned. “I’ve paid him yesterday for the whole fucking month!”
“Warned ye milord, twas a risk.”
“So is leaving me sleep until noon, Mr. Sorex,” Nattas countered.
Secundus shrugged his shoulders, as if he wasn’t as sure.
Right.
“Any news from the hunt?” He asked next, giving Sudi a good kick to wake him up.
“The King is back,” Secundus reported. “Apparently they got a blacktiger on the first day.”
Well, Storm thought a little relieved, proceeding to give Sudi another kick, as the first one hadn’t worked. That’s a piece of good news.
As it happened, nothing was further from the truth.
King Alistair was sitting on his stone throne, old stout face barely keeping his rage in control. The Queen, dressed in a light-blue tight dress, ending in a sheer bodice darker at the low-cut front and embellished with numerous turquoise sequins, was sitting on his left side, her own throne made of pine wood and much more comfortable.
Jeremy was present, his youthful Alden face flushed, clad in a fine leather armor vest and pants. His dark blue eyes and combed black hair, reminded Storm of a young Lucius, but for his less square jaw.
Jeremy, Sir Rottas Barnard, first of the King’s bodyguards, recently promoted but a member of the royal knights for years and three palace guards were standing in a group, before the King and Queen of Regia.
Nobody in the room seemed happy to be there.
Sir Rottas, groomed beard impressive on his face, made another attempt to convince King Alistair.
“Your Highness, it’s customary to reward a young warrior for finishing a hunt,” the sturdy knight said respectfully.
“How did he finished it?” Alistair snarled.
“He got the kill, my King.”
“What kill?” Alistair snapped, eyes locating Lord Nattas standing further back and staying on him for a long moment. “The beast was gravely injured!”
“Husband, surely Jeremy deserves a reward,” Miranda intervened softly. Her throne was much lower than his and she had to look up to him, when speaking.
“A reward,” Alistair hissed, for some reason in a very bad mood. Not that the King was habitually in a better one. “Let’s Knight him, uh? What do you think Sir Rottas? The Queen endorses him.”
“He’s of age, my King.”
“Is that so? How many tourneys have you taken part son?” The King asked Jeremy and the young Alden frowned, not expecting the question and stalled thinking about it. “Do you want the Queen to speak for you? Or perhaps Sir Rottas. He appears willing… aren’t you Sir Rottas?”
“I plan to compete this summer,” A blushing Jeremy replied.
“How are you gonna compete? You’re not a bloody knight! Haven’t squired a day!” The King snarled and slammed his fist on the armrest. “Instead of following your older brothers around, you stayed with the Queen and played games! Fighting servants and even girls, I heard! Now you come here and kill a half-dead beast,” he glared at him pitilessly. “You think you’re better than your brothers? Hmm?”
“Ralph is dead for almost a year!” Jeremy snapped back at him. “Lucius is gone, for what? Six months now? Does anyone know, if he’s still alive? This is here. Now. I killed the tiger. I’m an Alden.”
King Alistair coiled on his throne ready to cut him down. Miranda got up and walked slowly towards Jeremy and stood next to him, her right hand taking his and holding it tight.
“Jeremy deserves a knighthood,” she said and King Alistair grimaced, trying to control himself. “He’s a Lord of Regia. Give him the city of Alden.”
“Have you lost your mind woman?” Alistair exploded and glared at her. “You’ll strip my heir from his title? My forebears’ seat? How about offering your brother’s then?”
What is this? Storm thought, surprised at the way the conversation was going.
“What if I did and he accepted?” Miranda insisted.
What are you doing? Storm wondered.
“Lord Doris accepted,” the King smacked his lips not believing it. “What about Sir Deimos, his son. Your nephew.”
“Sir Deimos is commander of the Legion,” the Queen countered.
“For five years,” Alistair stared at her warningly. “It’s not a permanent title. Perhaps you should sit down dear.”
“A Knight, a Lord of Regia and your Queen have endorsed your son King Alistair. My brother can knight him tomorrow,” Miranda insisted, what was obviously a rehearsed speech.
Why oppose the King here?
“Your brother will do nothing of the sort, if he wants to keep his head,” King Alistair threatened her openly this time. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
Miranda stood up straighter. “Regia has no heir,” she pointed in a composed manner.
What? Storm snapped his head her way, thoroughly shocked.
“Lucius, is my Heir!” The King growled and glared at them. “I will speak no more of this. Your request to return to Cartagen, is denied dear,” he told his wife. “Jeremy… will join the army to rack up on that missed experience.”
Then he stilled his eyes on an upset Lord Nattas.
“Nattas. You stay. Everyone else, the meeting is adjourned!”
Storm Nattas had never seen the King of Regia so troubled, or as angry. Alistair came down from his throne and walked to the big table, situated under the large map of the Kingdom, Storm had gazed upon the other day. He poured himself a goblet of wine, dropping the crown of Regia next to the bottle and turned to examine Lord Nattas carefully.
“You learned about the priests?” He asked him.
“I have,” Storm replied, shifting his weight from his hurting leg to the other. “I also witnessed the order of the Golden Spears execute a woman in broad daylight.”
“A witch,” the King corrected him and tasted his wine.
Nattas had serious doubts about that.
“The manner had me worried,” Storm pushed on, leaving that matter aside.
“Uher’s Light. Appius Gordian is telling me it’s a miracle,” Alistair noted.
“Gordian says what Kelholt wants you to hear, my King.”
“You don’t believe Uher has blessed the Order?”
“Uher might have blessed the Order, but whatever blew up that woman a weird monk had inside a vial. It looked like… a potion of sorts. Nothing Godly about it.”
Alistair frowned and stared at the map for a couple of minutes.
Whatever it was he was contemplating, important enough to have him almost forget Storm was there. When Alistair spotted Lord Nattas waiting awkwardly for him to speak, the King grunted and made a gesture for Storm to take a seat.
Storm didn’t, since the King had remained standing and Alistair smiled at that.
“I haven’t heard from Lucius,” he finally said.
Nobody had.
“The High King writes me a letter, protesting and demanding compensation for Lucius aggrieving one of his subjects,” Alistair continued. “He’s either dead is the word, or he has sided with the O’ Dargans.”
“Whatever Lucius reasons may be, you know he’s in the right. Nine times out of ten,” Storm pointed.
Alistair grimaced. “That’s what I’m afraid.”
“You wanted him to win the North for you,” Storm insisted. “I don’t doubt he will.”
“You can’t appease the Issirs,” Alistair said, sounding tired. “Lorians don’t understand this, Lesia… well, they are merchants for the most part and our own Lords, want us to play it safe.”
“Perhaps staying neutral—”
Alistair cut him off.
“There’s no safe place anymore,” the King said and downed the rest of his wine. “No way out of the war.”
“My King,” Storm murmured. “We need to know more, before we commit.”
“The Khan sacked Rida,” Alistair said simply and reached for the engraved bottle. “Took the city, then burned it. A merchant wrote the piles of the dead burned so bright, the night turned into day. There were at least sixty thousand people in that city Nattas.”
Storm put a hand on the table to stabilize himself, the news devastating.
“How?”
“I don’t have an official report yet. Antoon’s plan broke down, the second Foot never reached Rida and the Duke for some reason, or other, decided to fight the Cofols in the open, outside the walls.”
Storm took a deep breath and tried to clear his head from the shock.
“Where’s the Legion?” He asked, forgetting etiquette. Alistair didn’t seem to mind. He swirled his wine, staring in the tall gold goblet for another moment and then took a sip.
“Can you walk without your cane?” The King asked him next.
Storm frowned. “I can, your Highness.”
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The Guardtower stood tall over the outer walls of Alden, reaching higher than the other large Keeps, securing the outer city walls four corners. Being located behind the moat and the inner ring of fortifications, it was probably the safest spot to stand on, in the whole city. Unfortunately that had turned out to be false. Maja and her killers had reached its top, commandeered a Scorpion and robbed Regia and King Alistair of his daughter.
Killing the Heir to Kaltha in the process.
A right mess, Storm thought looking over the parapets, to where the King had pointed. Between the South and East Keep, over the walls towards Maiden’s Bridge. A long line of square, sturdy carriages, had clogged up the road. It went on forever it seemed. Eerie similar, orderly. Alistair offered him a spyglass and Storm placed it on his right eye, to make sense of what was happening. The moment Nattas saw the burgundy square banners flapping in the wind, a large letter L written in gold on them and all other markings unreadable, he knew.
The Legion is here.
“Is this the supply train?” He asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the legionnaires, but failing.
“Aye,” King Alistair said. “They are building a Castrum about a kilometer from the river.”
“What does the High King want?” Lord Nattas asked.
“To send the Legion to Eplas.”
“Why?” Storm asked.
“So he can take with force, what the treaties removed from his control,” Alistair said matter-of-factly. “He’s willing to use Lucius as a pressure point for me to give in. Better to lose a Legion, than my Heir, he believes and he is right.”
“He can’t dictate, who will take the crown, right?” Storm asked.
“No, he can’t,” Alistair replied. “But he can make sure Lucius never makes it back.”
So there’s the Queen’s solution, Storm thought, now understanding what he didn’t earlier. Probably fueled by ulterior motives, simple pettiness, revenge, or just a sense of obligation to her own closest kin.
In simpler words, their Alden ambitions.
“You won’t knight Jeremy,” Storm noted.
“He’s not a warrior,” Alistair said. “He’s more the Queen’s son, than my own. I won’t put an Alden from Aegium on the throne. We hold a sword not a quill.”
“What’s the alternative, your Highness?”
King Alistair eyed him with such intensity, Storm almost collapsed on his hurting knees.
“I won’t let Antoon dictate any terms,” he replied, that emblematic resolve back in his voice. “The Legion stays here.”
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“You look much worse under this light,” Sudi said wryly, hours later. Storm rubbed his forehead with three fingers trying to alleviate some of the headache. Some of it from wine, some from problems ever mounting.
“How many warrior-priests inside the city?” He asked tiredly.
“About a hundred. It’s not easy to count them, under those robes they look the same.”
“They are with Gordian.”
“They’ve taken over the Dome,” Sudi added and gave him a suspicious stare. “Why?”
“We have to take the gloves off.”
“What did the King say?”
Storm sighed, his mind more on the Queen. “Alistair will not back down, the others I’m not as sure.”
“Nobody wants to fight,” Sudi agreed.
“The High King is losing the war too fast,” Storm explained. “He needs a win, or this will end badly for him. Since I don’t see how he can find a win with Rida gone, he may try something else.”
“The Holts will back the King,” Sudi said.
“Asturia is too far away and you don’t know that. Sir Deimos Alden commands the Legion.”
“Chief, it’s one thing to ‘disappear’ a sailor, another to…” Storm stopped him, with a gesture.
“A mere lord, won’t cut it,” He murmured.
Sudi stood back on his chair, across from Lord Nattas desk.
“Does the Queen know?”
Storm frowned at the unexpected query. “What does… what have you heard?”
“There’s word, you spent time wit her, in private,” His man said, picking his words carefully.
“Who spreads it?” Storm hissed.
“A palace guard.”
Great.
“Find out where he heard it from, then make him disappear,” he ordered and Sudi gave a nod with his dilapidated head.
Fuck.
“Is the rumor true?” Sudi asked, looking at him.
“Of course not!” Storm snapped at him, then threw him a suspicious glare. “I want you to get Titus out.”
“Sure.”
“Right away.”
“I will call Secundus. He has the keys,” Sudi said, getting up with difficulty.
“Why is Secundus holding the keys to my cellar?” Storm asked, taken aback.
“I asked the same thing,” Sudi replied, sucking the back end of his cheeks in, where teeth were missing.
“And?” Storm inquired, seeing him stalling.
“I don’t believe he gave me an answer, chief,” Sudi said with a shrug and walked out, using a cane for assistance.
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His eyes were hurting. The light coming from the two oil lamps a bright yellow. If Storm gazed at it for long, he could see gold curls swaying to the soft breeze coming from his open window. He sighed, a deep tired gush and tried to read some of the reports on his desk, the hour late.
Storm sifted through the scrolls, half-reading half-drowsing, until he went over everything, the last couple of vellums blank and unblemished, almost white.
Antoon knows the treaties are null and void, he thought, staring at the curtains flapping lightly across from him. He will move with that in mind and try to secure as much power as he can, before it is too late. What is his plan though?
Regia was a problem for him. How would he solve it?
Would he sacrifice Rida?
Storm rapped his fingers on his heavy desk and rubbed his nape with the other hand.
“Faerith K’lael,” he murmured to the empty room. “I ask for a Servant.”
He felt his heart beating fast and tried to listen for sounds. The minutes ticked away. Storm got up and walked to the window, pulled the drapes aside and stared at the dark street. He heard a horse clopping, but it was too far away and after a while he couldn’t hear it anymore.
Storm sighed quite frustrated and returned to his desk, twenty minutes later.
“Stupid lying cunt,” he cursed and collapsed on his armchair, puffing out hard.
Well, that was anticlimactic, he decided and reached for his cup of wine. Storm brought it to his face and gave it a thorough check to see, if anything had crawled up inside.
There was nothing in his wine, but the blank vellum on his desk had two words written on it now.
The ink black and old.
The writing archaic.
> Horned Hen.
The name of the brothel.
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