The Poisoned Throne

Chapter 31

Aryavan

The morning of the battle seemed eerily quiet. The men lay sleeping in the alleys after what was possibly their last night on earth - spent, of course, drunk and in the company of spirits, hoping that they might forget their worries for that last night.

Aryavan walked through the mist that lay as a silencing blanket over the dormant town. The holdfast rose above him like a shadow. He could reach out and touch its walls before it stopped being vague in its shapes and began looking like actual stone.

“Don’t you think it would be a good idea to postpone the battle?” he asked when he entered Evelyn’s solar.

A servant was fastening the shoulder clasps of her armor. Underneath, she wore a crimson dress, and her hair was braided back. She shook her head. “And let Elizabeth surprise us with an attack in this fog? We wouldn’t see her coming.”

“But on the other hand, your soldiers won’t be able to see each other in this sort of weather,” he argued.

“Then it’s good I overpower her with at least two thousand men.”

“But…”

Evelyn stopped him with a sigh. “I already had this debate with Amalia.”

He frowned. “Really?”

“She wanted me to stay in safety,” she said, shrugging. “She’s being stupid. I won’t even be close to the battle.”

Even through all of her distaste for stupidity and fear, there was an indulgent way in which she sighed and the hint of a smile. “You are very good friends, aren’t you?” he asked.

“In a word,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him as the servant moved around her to check all the clasps and fastenings. “Although she is very angry with me,” she continued. “I should have sent letters, she says. She forgives me, though.” Evelyn smiled at him. “But only if I don’t survive.”

Aryavan chuckled. “Of course.”

She tilted her head. “Don’t you have friends to say farewell to?” she asked.

“Most of them will be going to battle with me,” he said.

“Oh, that’s right. You Kaharis actually fight with your men.” She said it as though there was some joke in it.

He nodded. “Which is why I must be heading back.”

“But you just arrived.” Her voice was flat. Even a person who thought her to be a decent human being would have known she did not mind him leaving.

He bowed. “Goodbye, Your Grace.”

“I’m afraid I can’t curtsey in this heavy armor.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry.”

Back in the camps, the men were beginning to rise, moaning and groaning and preparing for battle. The first man he met who was not hungover was Emeka, who was standing outside the entrance to Aryavan’s tent.

“Can I speak to you?” he asked.

“Of course.”

He cleared his throat. “Can we walk?”

Aryavan’s answer was the same, and soon, they were reaching the western edge of the camp. “What did you want to say to me?” he asked when the silence began to feel uncomfortable.

“I wanted to say that I’m leaving,” Emeka said, and it sounded as though the words burst from his mouth. “I can’t let Nyema leave on her own. I can’t… not be with her. She needs me.”