Father stared thoughtfully out the window at a day promising to be gray and rainy. “Tell your pri… king, we agree to his terms. That will be all.”
Five minutes. For which Father made Draylon wait at least an hour. “As Your Imperial Majesty wishes.” Draylon didn’t leave the office. Father’s mood seemed neither good nor bad. While posing the question on one of the man’s good days boded better for success, Draylon needed to act soon.
“Is there something else you wish to say?” The words held a note of challenge.
Draylon forged ahead. “As I’ll be stepping down as commander, I recommend Captain Rufe Ferund as my replacement.”
Father’s face purpled, his hands fisting on the desk. “A bastard and a possible enemy? You know anyone allowed to return after abduction is likely sent here as a spy.”
Rufe hadn’t beenallowedto return. Draylon and his forces killed twenty Craician soldiers to gain Rufe’s freedom. “That happened once, generations ago, and the responsible kingdom is now part of the empire. It’s not likely to happen again. Herix is too fond of our protection.”
Father waved a hand, dismissing the objections. “I’ve already picked a candidate.” He appeared far too smug.
Dread pooled in Draylon’s stomach. “Who?”
“Captain Illa Trandores.”
A person Draylon would never even consider. “The butcher? I thought she’d been dismissed for unnecessary brutality.” Draylon signed the order himself.
“She has her uses and gets the job done, no matter how messily. This new garrison will need a strong hand. I’llallowCaptain Rufe to remain but make no mistake. Illa will be in command.”
Oh, great. Not only did Draylon have a kingdom to run, but he’d also be hard-pressed to keep his word to Yarif. While the army’s rules didn’t allow for barbarous acts toward civilians, Captain Trandores believed herself above any laws but her own and the emperor’s, whose ass she kissed.
Rufe was to be used as leverage. While Draylon wouldn’t wish harm on his father, he lived for the day his brother Avestan took the throne.
If either of the younger Aravaids lived long enough.
Chapter Nine
Wheninsearchofdistractions, nothing beat ledgers. Plus, few would search for Yarif in his office, otherwise known to one and all as the dragon’s lair. Especially after he’d run the emperor’s people out. If rumors continued, he’d soon be said to spout fire and eat miscreants for breakfast.
A rumor he’d do his best to cultivate.
An understanding, forgiving man by nature—usually—all bets were off if one meddled with Yarif’s recordkeeping. At least the interlopers hadn’t returned, though Yarif still labored to repair their harm.
Sadly, his usual assistant fled days before the battle for Renvalle Castle, so there was no pleasant company to occupy the time. The children were at their schoolwork, leaving a visit out of the question.
So here he was in his office, before breakfast.
The secretary Draylon assigned to Yarif preferred to sleep in a chair by the wall rather than work, which suited Yarif, and the guard waited outside the door.
What Yarif wouldn’t give for a few moments alone—or rather, truly alone. Here he sat with a cup of tea and missives from far-flung villages in the kingdom. He returned to his discarded inventories while his new “secretary” emitted a snore.
One report showed inventory far below typical levels for this time of year. The kingdom wasn’t experiencing drought or famine. There should be plenty of stores.
The first missive gave troubling news: the storehouse had been raided on the route between Cormira and Renvalle, rations for the emperor’s soldiers. They’d been hungry. Crops not destroyed by the battle and siegeworks looked plentiful this year, so there would be some time to replace the missing supplies. Wheat could be replaced by surpluses from other villages.
None should go hungry this winter unless the emperor chose to punish the villagers for their king’s treachery.
No. He might not have much power, but Yarif could leverage more demands from his soon-to-be husband and king.
Or kill him in his sleep. Yarif could run the kingdom for months without Draylon’s input. What kind of leader would Draylon be anyway, a man more used to fighting wars than negotiating peace?
Three villages to the north, between Renvalle Castle and the Delletina border, should have ample supplies to share.
But wait! What was this missive from a village magistrate? Granaries raided? Missing livestock? In far more significant amounts than the emperor’s troops required.
Quantities had been left, enough to last through two seasons if rationed, so not raiders intent on reselling stolen goods and taking everything possible. They wouldn’t bother to ensure the village survived, and they’d have also pillaged.
