Perjury of the Past - Part 5

Odimar Castle

Tahdet, Vukland

~

"Damn it all!"

The chief's growl echoed throughout the chamber, reverberating down the stone halls, letting anyone with ears know of his rage.

"Petrov!" His wife snapped, partially in surprise, as he threw the parchment to the ground. It was sun-dyed again and again until all of the natural color was reduced to a sickly looking pale. Upon it, the Seal of Casteria. Her heart pounded at the sight of it. Nothing good came from the south. "What has gotten into you?"

The sound of her voice alleviated the chief, if only a bit, but a bit was enough.

"What do the Casterians want?" Darya continued, watching her husband as the ire settled lower and lower into his belly. Her mother always said, when anger is felt in the head, violence is born. When anger is felt in the belly, retribution is sweet. Petrov had a short temper, but Darya was quite skilled in moderating all the explosive emotions that roiled within him.

"Fucking Bozhidar," he bit. "The bastard is dead."

"Bozh… Isn't that a good thing, my love?" Darya enquired, knowing damn well it wasn't. Bozhidar was the most stabilizing madman she knew - or knew of, at least. His presence in the continent fortified the borders of both Rodakrov and Vukland. Even with her daughter fleeing from him, Bozhidar never gave Petrov any inkling of animosity. The Vuklandish consulate within Rodakrov never lost its status or protection. Ambassadors were always met with goodwill.

Darya saw that as a miracle gifted by the gods - Petrov only saw it as an insult. He took personally the fact that losing Katka meant very little to the Mad King.

But the vital part - that part that only Darya seemed to understand - was that there was an heir. Whether he had the name Kazbirati was irrelevant, because he had Odimar blood, and the ability to pass it on.

Darya loved her son dearly, but she was not so stupid as to assume that he would somehow make a miraculous recovery and bear a son himself. What was more - even though Katka had more children, one of which was a son, the rightful claim went to her eldest, no matter who sired him.

Nikolai was inevitable, despite how desperately

Petrov huffed. "Not when it invites Casteria into the winter lands. That damnable emperor is sending his snot nosed cavalry commander to take the throne."

"Emerentius III?" Darya demanded, brow pressed. As if he had the gumption to do so. Still, perhaps sending easy prey to the maws of Nikolai would be a blessing.

Petrov exhaled his frustration. "Yes – Rens of the Golden Cavalry. And the displacement of Nikolai will cause nothing but chaos. I don't need the emperor to tell me that Bozhidar's boy is just like his cursed father. The emperor had audacity to warn us like this - as if there was no choice to be had."

"Warn us?" Darya asked, watching as her husband paced about the room, red faced. "About what?"

"Yes, warn us." He spun to face his wife, his gaze sharp, almost panicked. "Warn us that when they take the Krovic throne from Nikolai, he'll turn to Vukland in search of power. Vlad's power."

That didn't make sense to Darya - the Casterians were insinuating that Nikolai would go after Vlad. Kill him for the right of succession. But to create such antipathy over something that would eventually fall into his lap anyway was not the way of an intelligent man. Certainly not the way of a Kazbirati.

"Nikolai wouldn't." She murmured it, and while her lack of confidence in her statement made her seem meek to her husband, it was likely better that way. She loved Petrov - they were soul mates, as much as two creatures could be so - but he riled quickly. It was useful while reigning over the Vuklandish tribes. It was not so much when dabbling within the politics of the western continent.

"Of course, he would, Darya," the chief scoffed. "If he got the chance. The boy does not see us Odimar's as blood, just as Bozhidar didn't see Katka as his wife. We were a political necessity. That is all."

His wife brought a hand to her mouth, mind whirring with thoughts - probabilities.

"He has no army without the crown of Rodakrov on his head," she mulled. "Nor can he call upon any allies."

"No," Petrov agreed. "But mad or not, Bozhidar was a political genius – just like his father, King Novak. He not only continued the foreign alliances inherited through the generations but also made his own. Eurakos among them."

"Eurakos has been engaged in battle for years," Darya refuted. "And if Casteria will soon be backed by the power of the Krovic army, there is little doubt of their defeat. That friendship would be useless."

If there were no additional discrepancies to be considered. But there were. Well, one, at least. And a formidable one at that. At twelve Nikolai stopped an onslaught of rebellion with his own devices. She couldn't imagine the awesome power that four additional years of studying and blossoming would've provided him.

"Numbers mean little in the game of war, dear." Petrov crossed for a cushioned chair and collapsed onto it. "Soldiers do not win battles, tacticians do. Have you so quickly forgotten the Bull's Rebellion?"

"Oh, yes," she placated with efficiency. "But that was luck, Petrov. Even you admitted such. Much more than mere luck will be needed to overcome the combined might of Casteria and Rodakrov."

"And Vukland," the chief amended, bringing a hand to the bridge of his nose and squeezing, as if trying to relieve an onset headache. "If, of course, we agree to the emperor's terms."

Darya narrowed her eyes. She should've suspected something.

"Terms of what, Petrov?"

"It is true that luck seems to be attached to Nikolai at the hip, but I fear it is for valid reasons, my love," Petrov granted her, as if she needed the reassurance that her opinions were valid. "If Nikolai is given free rein to do what he pleases, I have no doubt that he will manage to muster an alliance against us. Emperor Emerentius II and his grandson... well," he sighed. "Soon enough, king, I suppose, ask that we not withdraw our alliance with Rodakrov, even if our grandson is dethroned. They ask that we offer our navy to aid in their seizure of Eurakos. If we accept such terms, they will make handle Nikolai and the issues that would arise due to him."

Darya tensed. "Handle him? As in murder him?"

Petrov exhaled, casting a weary gaze her way. It was irksome to her, since it was clear she was performing all of the legwork.

"I do not know, Darya, what their intentions are. And nor do I care, if I'm speaking candidly."

"You do not care?" She bit at him. "And what of his mother? What of Katka? You would put your daughter through that, Petrov?"

"Katka is remarried, Darya!" The chief snarled his riposte. "She has children to look after. Children that are as sane as the sun is bright. Cruelty is forcing our daughter to engage in such affairs - resurfacing the nightmares she so vehemently buried in the past."

Darya loved her daughter with everything she had, and all that was a part of her. That was why it angered her so that Katka did not possess that same maternal drive. Whether mad or dumb or deaf or crippled, a mother's love is unconditional.

But she abandoned him before he even knew her face, before she knew his smile or cry or giggle. A nightmare could not be formed out of nothing.

"And you believe that child haunts her?" She questioned.

"A constant reminder of her marriage to that lunatic?" Petrov cocked his brow in a purposefully antagonizing manner. "Use your wit, Darya. Madness is passed from parent to child. That boy is infested with insanity."

"You cannot know that, Petrov." Darya lowered her tone so not to make a game out of their ascending argument. "The Aquiladessi heirs are not mad."

"Nor was Bozhidar when he conceived them," Petrov countered, as if awaiting that very question. "It was the death of that Casterian heiress that did his mind in."

"He's but a boy, Petrov," Darya pressed. "We cannot have his blood on our hands."

"A boy that will gladly have our blood on his." The chief ran his fingers through his hair as he relaxed into the seat back. "And his own father's, as it happens."

Darya started in surprise. "Pardon?"

Her husband looked over, as if taken by her reaction.

"The emperor claimed Bozhidar was poisoned, Darya," he informed. "Nikolai killed his own father for the throne. And you wonder if he would do the same to us without an iota of thought?"

She looked away. Poison? Why hadn't they been notified of this? The consulate had officers within Castle Mechi - officers that were provided accurate and timely information on any vital changes within the castle. If this detail was omitted, it was of Krovic design. Nikolai's design.

"The Casterians," she began after a long minute. "It is they who would do such atrocities to our grandson?"

"We would have no hand in it, my dear," Petrov assured. "We must only turn a blind eye."

"And we are to send our navies south," Darya added.

The chief nodded, eyes on his wife, though she refused to look back.

"Fine," she conceded, reluctance evident on her face. "But Katka is never to find out about our involvement, Petrov."

"Never," he agreed.

"And when the boy is dead, you are to tell her immediately." Finally, his wife raised her gaze, settling it sternly upon him. "That truth is one that I will not allow to be kept hidden from my daughter."

"As you wish, my dear."

"And tell those damn Casterians that they may keep our alliance, but it is purely political. We owe them nothing for the murder they wish to commit. They are no wetworkers and we are no desperate weaklings demanding their service."

Petrov smirked, his affection for her warming his eyes.

"Perhaps you should act as chief in my place, Darya, dear."

"I will do what is needed for family and country, Petrov," Darya informed succinctly. "And being in Casterian debt is not among such necessities. I will not have them portray that Nikolai's death as a will of ours or of Vukland. Furthermore, they may have our navies for their conquest, as an act of our good-will, but any damages will be at their expense. And I would have a meeting with their senior tactician. They do not know the advantages of Vuklandish ships. Nor the disadvantages."

"All will be arranged, my love," Petrov promised. "Our ships will not launch without a plan approved by our own tacticians. And you."

Darya nodded, satisfied. Delaying the southern bastards was the best she could do for her grandson at the moment. It would have to do.

"Then we are at agreement," she concluded. "Have our terms scribed, my husband, and have it sent immediately."