Empire of Ashes

Chapter LXXIV - Pied Piper

"Have an apple, Lyra," Herox said, pushing the bowl towards me.

"I am fine, thank you," I muttered. I had not eaten this morning, because I had no appetite, and the sight of an overripe, bruised red apple was not going to change that.

"Have an apple, Lyra," he repeated with deliberate slowness.

I frowned at him, noting the anger in his stormy grey eyes. He had been angry since the trial, I knew, and while it was not directed at me, that did not mean it couldn't stray. I took an apple. I did not eat it, but rather picked at it with a fingernail and rolled it from hand to hand. Herox had already finished his own apple, the core discarded on the table-top, where it was now browning.

We were back in his private chambers. I could hear the faint sounds of his children playing in the next room, and the occasional snapped rebuke from the queen. The noise grated at me in ways I couldn't explain, setting me on edge for a meeting upon which so much rode.

"Temris must die — and he will," the king began thoughtfully. "But you said, Lyra, that there is a way I can keep the northerners. That is a bold claim, so I have waited to see if I can trust you before hearing your idea."

"And?" I demanded.

"And I will hear it now."

I had passed every test with flying colours. I had convinced him, slowly but surely, that I was turning my cloak. Last night must have been a considerable leap towards gaining his trust, I imagined. He did not think I was clever enough to have seen the trap he had laid, and that arrogance and misjudgement would now cost him dearly.

"First, I will hear why you need the northerners," I said quietly. I set the apple down on the table. The leverage was mine, for a change, and I intended to use it. "I will hear why you have invaded every country you can reach. Because there is a reason, isn't there? There must be a reason."

The weapons had been sent east, after all. I wanted to know why. It had been nagging at me since Canton — the knowledge that there was a puzzle piece missing. And for some reason, Herox did not seem like a man who was motivated by simple greed — he was far too determined.

"Of course there is a reason," the king replied. There was wonder on his face. "You do not know? I... I suppose you would not."

Impatient, I scowled at him. News might spread like wildfire in cities, but it meandered slowly through my country roads and often got side-tracked along the way. It was not difficult to tell that the king was gutter-born.

"Across the Rip," he said, "there is a country known as Chalke. They control a substantial amount of land — twice Anglia, perhaps — and they have been expanding as of late. They have crushed all of their neighbours. Empire-building, it looks like. Only now the empire is surrounded by sea, and there is only one direction they can expand further."

"Aenmia," I said.

"Aenmia," he agreed. "It may be years before they cross the Rip, but it is inevitable. And when they arrive, they will turn our people to corpses and our homes to ashes, because there is no army big enough to withstand them. No army except, perhaps, the one I am building..."

I chewed on my lip. "Invade a country, press the men into service, take slaves to mine ore and forge weapons..."

Gods, we were not so different, were we? Two opposing sides, each trying to save their country from invasion and heedless of who they trampled in the process. The only difference lay in our methods, and there was not much in it, if I were being honest...

"Now do you understand why the loss of eight thousand soldiers is so problematic?" Herox demanded. "And why I must have the Cambrian troops to replace them?"