Chapter 23

Rognar

I sit on my throne in a foul mood. Days of trials have passed, more sniveling human courtiers than I can count, whining their way through speeches, trying to squirm out of punishment. None were dignified, none of them taking their judgment like an orc. None challenged me either, not outright, too afraid to face me on the field of combat. Though one almost tried, before finding out that he would have to face me himself, none of this “choosing a champion” nonsense. He backed down pretty quickly after that.

After that brief amusement, there has been nothing but droning politicians, pathetic pleas and the passing of judgment. All the Houses that had members involved with the Cabal have had to forfeit some choice lands, pay fines of gold and have their names shamed in public announcements, proclaiming them to have housed traitors. I would have gone further and executed their Heads of Houses, making sure that the snake that was the Cabal was well and truly dead, but my queen stayed my ax. After interrogations and investigations, no further trace of the Cabal has been found and so, to not make further enemies, Adalind cautioned me to be lenient.

Now all that is left is the trial of Duchess Grimble. To her, I will show no mercy. She not only tried to kill me and my queen, but previously had tortured Adalind, whipping her during meetings of the Cabal. There are more sins as well, from Adalind’s childhood, that should be addressed. Hers will be an awful death, long and painful. Let the humans see what happens to abusers and traitors.

The double doors to the throne room open, and Dame Zera enters, dragging a chain behind her. Led on the chain is the duchess, looking completely different from the last time I saw her. No longer haughty and proud, confident in her power, she is wan and overly thin. Her complexion is sickly and her shoulders stooped, as if with age. Months of torture did not agree with her. I find myself pleased she has experienced some of the pain she meted out on others and a small, cruel smile finds its place on my lips.

Next to me, Adalind sits ramrod straight. She is strong to face her abuser like this, even as her past fears fill her heart. I can feel it through the Mating Bond, her apprehension. Sending a wave of comforting love toward her, I try to help her conquer her fears and she briefly flicks her lavender eyes to me. I feel an answering call of love come back to me. I am proud of her.

When the duchess is positioned in the center of the room, the rest of the courtiers go silent. This is the main show that everyone has come to see, after all.

“Tamasine Grimble,” Adalind begins. “You stand accused of attempted regicide, conspiracy against the crown and the torture of innocents. Do you have a defense?”

The stooped human woman pulls herself up to her full height. Though her body has broken under the constant torture and questioning the last few months, ?her spirit is not entirely crushed, as she looks at Adalind with a seething hate in her eyes. “I have no defense,” declares the duchess, “because I am not in need of one. Everything I did was in service of Adrik and its true king, Yorian. The gods will judge me as just and my eternal rest will be within the paradise kingdom of the Nether.”

Her words simultaneously amuse and disgust me. That she believes her rot is obvious. People like her, narcissists to their core, will never think they are in the wrong, no matter what they’ve done. But that she thinks she will go anywhere but to the Void where demons dwell, is astonishing.

“You will have to explain to Karnia, as did all your comrades, about how your Cabal released one of the archdemons from their prison,” I say, grinding out the words in my ruined voice. At Adalind’s encouragement, I have been speaking more in public and it has helped me to accept my lack of sibilance more. I watch the duchess closely for her reaction .

The duchess goes still. “An archdemon was released?” she asks in a desperate tone. “Which one?”

“The Cabal unleashed Grazrath, Lord of Pain and Misery, before they were all killed,” Adalind says somberly.

Looking stunned for a moment, Duchess Grimble suddenly cackles, the sound of a madwoman. “Oh, how delicious!” she crows. “Then my revenge will be complete! Grazrath will never let you go unpunished. Especially not you, Queen Adalind.” She practically spits the title out like an expletive. “No, you were always his favorite sacrifice. The one capable of unending pain!”

This has gone too far. I won’t let the wretched woman have any more time to spew her poison. “Since the members of the Cabal are all dead, you have no more use to me, Tamasine Grimble. And since you have no defense, I do not need to deliberate on your judgment,” I decree, shutting up her laughter. “For your crimes, you will be loosed in the warbeast pits; there they will tear you apart. Your remains will be scattered in the forest, your name scrubbed from records and forgotten, your lands forfeited to the crown. And duchess? Warbeasts like to play with their food. I expect you to survive for at least an hour before your suffering is complete.”

Duchess Grimble goes pale as I speak her sentence. Likely she thought she would get the mercy of the ax, as most nobility do, but I am not merciful. Not to one such as her. She opens her mouth, to plead, argue, or grandstand, I do not know, when the doors to the throne room crash open.

I stand quickly, my hand going to my ax. Who would dare intrude on a trial like this? Is it an attack? But no, it is merely Gunag, shoving his way through the courtiers. He pushes past the doomed duchess, panting as if he has run full speed for some reason.

“What is it, Gunag?” I inquire. “What is the meaning of this interruption?”

“A thousand pardons, my king,” says Gunag, slightly out of breath. He gulps down some air and then says, “But, my king. Dura . . . she’s alive!”

“What?” I feel the earth shift beneath me, my shock is so great.

“It is true, my king! She is here, at the gates, saying that she must speak with you. And she’s with a blond human male.”

Adalind starts, rising from her chair. “Blond . . . Marvik?” Within a second, she picks up her skirts and starts running out of the throne room.

That gets a reaction from Duchess Grimble. “Marvik? Marvik is alive?” She turns as she would start running as well, but Dame Zera cruelly yanks back on her chain, making her stay where she is.

“It doesn’t matter if he is or isn’t,” says the human knight. “For you will be dead shortly and you’ll never see him again, regardless.”

“Well said, woman,” says Gunag admiringly, looking at Dame Zera with heat in his eyes.

“Piss off, orc,” returns the human woman, glaring daggers at Gunag.

I don’t have time for their antics. I take off after my wife, running to the main gate. Dura? Alive, after all this time? What could this mean? Could this really be true?

I burst outside, on the heels of my wife, who runs up to a strange man dismounting a war beast and throws herself into his arms. Through the Mating Bond, I feel her relief, joy and confusion. I look up at the top of the warbeast and see Dura, my emotions mirroring Adalind’s. She dismounts and takes a knee in front of me, her fists up in the sign of respect.

“My king, I have much to report.”

“Dura,” I begin, at a loss. “Where . . . ? How . . . ?”

“That must wait, my king. We come bearing heavy news. The demon Grazrath has taken over Barakrin and has declared war on us. Their goal is to take sentient blood slaves. They began their assault in Grimblton on the night of the new moon. We left before the assault to bring you word, but we left the protection of the people in the hands of Verog ka Roknir. Reinforcements were called to drive away the vampires, but there is no telling if they were successful. Troops must be moved to the border immediately.”

I am stunned. Not only at the news, but at the messenger carrying it. My brain can still not wrap around the fact that Dura, after all this time, is still alive. Not only that, but we are at war? With Barakrin, that peaceful country? But I know Dura and she would never lie to me, especially about something this grave.

That is the easier part to deal with, for now. I turn and see more people spilling into the courtyard. Pellia and Verrick are at their head, the Regents of Adrik.

“Warchief Verrick,” I command. “Rally your troops and send them to the Barakrini Border. Warn them to expect hostilities.”

“Yes, My King,” says Verrick, who strides off.

“Regent Santir,” I say to Pellia, “send a message to Orik. The Northern Horde needs to be on the march.”

“Right away, Your Majesty,” she says and also leaves.

I turn back to Dura. “How did you come to find this information?”

She looks up at me. There’s a wariness in her gaze that I am not used to seeing. After a brief hesitation, she replies, “Sir Marvik and I ran across the warband in the forest to the east of Grimblton. They captured him and we were able to ascertain their plans before I was able to free him.”

None of this makes sense. “How were you in the forest to the east of Grimblton? I still do not understand how you and Sir Marvik are alive.”

Dura looks down, her gaze on the ground. Her posture is tense and her fists squeeze tighter even as they are still in the sign of respect. She says, “I have never lied to you, My King, and I will not start now. I cast myself upon your judgment.”

The golden-haired man that is standing next to Adalind, an arm around her, starts forward .

“Dur — ”

“I cast myself on your judgment, My King,” Dura repeats louder, talking over the human. “I deserted at the Battle of Fort Attis to save an enemy soldier. I have no explanation worth hearing.”

My heart sinks in my chest. I can’t be hearing what I’m hearing. A deserter . . . that means . . . no, I cannot even think about what that means. “I do not accept that you have no explanation,” I tell Dura, my rough voice angry. “I demand you tell me why you would do such a thing.”

Dura stays looking down, and I want to roar in frustration at my cousin. Why is she putting me in this position?

“I did this because I experienced the Recognition,” she answers me, her voice steady, even as the tension has not left her body. “That and the Mating Instinct both, telling me that the human was my fated mate. I chose to save him rather than kill him and left in the thick of battle. I chose my heart over my duty and I know that cannot be forgiven.”

There’s a murmur in the crowd, both from the humans and the few orcs that remain. The humans don’t understand the gravity of what Dura is saying, but the orcs do.

I whisper, “Please, don’t make me do this, Dura. Tell me another story, any other story.”

She merely shakes her head, still with her eyes on the ground. “I’m sorry, My King,” she replies. “All I have is the truth.”

The weight of my crown feels heavier on my head than it ever has before. I am the king, but the king is bound by laws and honor, or he doesn’t deserve the throne he sits on.

“Guards,” I order hoarsely, “arrest General Dura and take her to the dungeon to await sentencing for her crimes.”

The orcs in the courtyard lurch forward, grabbing Dura by the arms and hauling her to her feet. Dura doesn’t resist and is dragged away.

As I watch my cousin be taken away to the dungeon, my heart is heavy with mourning, knowing what must happen next. What sentence I must give her. There is no other way.

Some days, it is hard to be the king.