006 Red

19.13.1623

Windy fir woodlands.

STARING at her rippling reflection in the cup, she paused to take in the progress; or lack thereof. Frustrated, Vaiu pondered, wondering why she longed for the mundane when the very world was her oyster. Even for one such as herself, life was too short for all the lives she constantly dreamed of living; searching for feelings that she knew might one day destroy her. Around her the world changed and was changing still; she could see it but barely remembered, grasping for a past long gone.

A gulp of aged wine, a sigh, a feeling of restless anticipation bubbling. Vaiu observed from the threshold of wakefulness as twilight, then dawn, passed in a chaotic blur, and, as startling as a falling pan in the dead of the night, day arrived; with it the burdens of her title.

"—liness? Your Holiness?"

"Y… es?" Vaiu drawled, her mind temporarily reverting to a state of coherence. Before her was a smouldering fire. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the morning fog, with it the chorus of a waking forest; chirping birds, scrambling squirrels and the muted footfalls of servants and guards at work on the camp.

"This is important," came an exasperated sigh from the one beside her. The matriarch blinked, her head swivelling slightly to glance at her niece, who stood arms crossed, staring at her in disapproval. "Forgive me, Lovell," Vaiu said, gesturing mildly for the younger lady to continue as she reached for the half-empty bottle of wine in the hands of someone standing behind her; Vaiu was unsure who; not that she thought it mattered though. "I spaced out for a moment there. You were saying?"

"...Are you drunk, My Lady?" asked Lovell. The matriarch emptied the rest of the wine into her cup; a goblet of intricately crafted gold; the younger woman observing worriedly as Vaiu tossed the now empty bottle into a pair of waiting hands.

"No."

"...If you say so, Your Holiness," came another sigh. Vaiu watched, a hint of fond amusement creeping into her restless heart as Lovell's attention returned to the parchment slip she held; the maiden's dainty features scrunching up into a slight frown. "Well," Lovell began, "Prince Everhard's control of Bycrest has been consolidated; over the past week, several Algrian lords have received letters in the prince's name—likely from his aide, Ser Richard, given the prince himself is, at the moment, too preoccupied with hunting Princess Iris to do anything else—imploring them to put down their arms and send their oaths of fealty as well as tributes to aid post-war efforts in restoring the capital. These letters have been mostly ignored, with more attention being paid to an ongoing conflict between the lords of Claula, Erytria and Kinsmouth over a series of large ruby mines previously controlled by the crown along the borders of the fiefs concerned. The lords of Algrim in general remain indecisive on the matter of mustering an army in a campaign to drive the Hertaleans out of Bycrest; with the king in captivity, and the likelihood to remain so for the foreseeable future, many question the legitimacy of his only heir citing they refuse to send their men to die on a battlefield only to put a fledgling girl-child on the throne."

"Ugh," Vaiu groaned, emptying her cup in a few inelegant gulps. The Matriarch dropped the now empty utensil in the hands of the girl standing behind her; whom she now realised was one of her maidservants. "Annoying," she muttered. "I take a few brave men of divine lineage have come forth, offering to so righteously take the burdensome mantle that is the crown?"

"More than a few, Your Holiness," Lovell quipped, giggling at Vaiu's tone. "Nine have risen, announcing their candidacy; Duke von Berat of Stotford, the wealthiest and most powerful of the lot, Duke von Deniz of Manchesto, third uncle to the king, and Duke von Emre of Alismouth, cousin twice removed to the deposed heiress: All of whom have garnered significant support from more than a handful of other noble households. The six other aspiring candidates are unimportant in the grand scheme of things; a rather varied gathering of ignorant old slobs and deluded young men lusting after power beyond their ken. Though with so many kinglings now running around vying for support many fear another civil war is on the horizon."

"A civil war?" Vaiu's attention peaked at the words. She turned around as she began to walk away, leaving behind the warmth of the smouldering campfire. "I can imagine the Hertaleans, Verumittes and their allies would be quite pleased to see that happen."

"Indeed,' Lovell replied. "Our spies have gathered substantial proof of Verum's involvement in the sudden collapse of Bycrest defences; everything from bribes and threats to assassinations—some even fulfilled by members of the Creed. The Verumitte crown approved numerous materiel loans, ship leases and monetary sponsorships from certain vassals to ensure the success of the war effort. They also announced that their Second Fleet, which aided in the moving supplies, and Verumitte mercenary troops under Hertalean contract, will remain at the Ignis basin; I quote, 'they are to anchor off the coast of the Cinden islands, indefinitely, to support the "reformation" of the "rogue" state, Algrim, and ensure the "safety" of their allies inland'. In response, a marriage proposal on behalf of the Hertalean crown prince, Everhard Wesselbutum to Verum's first princess, Alina Scymaester, was made by the Hertalean crown imploring that the marriage would further unify their kingdoms' bonds. Verum has yet to respond, though I suspect the proposal might be supported by King Lendar given how beneficial it would be for his son's reign in the end.

"Shortly after this announcement, Luscan raiders, given free passage through The Gulf of Manley and The Black Sea by Aries, attacked Hertalese and are currently ravaging its western islands and coastal regions. With the Hertelean first and second fleets invested in the war effort, the affected regions are incapable of mounting an effective defence. Verum's First Fleet attempted to intervene but was routed by a joint fleet of the Arien Second Fleet and a contingent of Luscan raiding vessels; both sides lost a total of twelve ships in the confronta—My Lady!"

"...Yes?"

Lovell frowned. "...Are you even listening?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Vaiu drawled. The Matriarch looked up to realise she was standing outside her tent, her feet had carried her there of their own volition. With a sigh of her own, Vaiu lifted the tent flaps, crawling underneath to lounge on the fur rugs that lined the floor inside, her dress of red satin undulating and clinging unto her sultry form; like ripples on a lake of blood underneath a moonlit sky; decadent.

A sigh came from behind the Matriarch. "Your Holiness," Lovell admonished softly as she crouched to help Vaiu pull off her moccasins before unburdening herself of hers as she entered the tent.

"Did I permit you to enter, Lovell dear?" Vaiu grumbled into a cushion as her niece settled beside her.

"I am not done with my report, Your Holiness."

Vaiu sighed.

Seemingly taking it as permission to continue, Lovell resumed speaking. "A detachment from Verum's Second Fleet has erected a naval blockade at the mouth of the Morgan Channel, and around the Algrian islands north of the Ionian Sea. Wary of a potential economic blockade at the hands of the recently militaristic Verum and Hertalese, the Ivonnian crown has begun stockpiling food and war materiel before which they had issued a call to arms to all the kingdom's feudal lords and knights. A fleet of Ivonnian warships is at the moment being mustered to sail north towards the Morgan Channel to negotiate safe passage for merchant vessels into Ivonnian waters. Tequila and Quilton also condemned the assault on Bycrest, describing it as "uncouth" and "grasping" going further to—"

"Your Holiness," another voice, feminine, called from outside the tent, interrupting Lovell; the young lady sighed upon facing interruption once again.

"Yes," Vaiu replied, her voice muffled by the cushion underneath her face.

"Pardon my intrusion," the voice said, "but the Nameless that were sent out three days ago have returned with your quarry, Your Holiness."

"Aden?" The Matriarch asked freezing in place.

"Yes, Your Holiness, the queen and heiress as well."

"...Where is he then? Bring him to me."

"As you wish, Your Holiness."

"...I thought you hated the duke?" Lovell asked hesitantly, a strange expression—something between a grimace and confusion—bubbling unto her countenance.

"I do." A pregnant pause followed her response.

Lifting her head slightly from the cushion, the matriarch caught the younger woman's doubtful stare trained on her. "I do!" she exclaimed.

Lovell raised her left brow at the comment, her expression morphing into one of comprehension. "...Right," the younger woman deadpanned. "Should I… leave?"

"No!" Vaiu exclaimed with a drunken burp. "Just… How do I look?" she asked, patting down her spotless crimson dress and adjusting her hair.

"...I am leaving," Lovell said rising as she reached for her shoes at the exit.

"What! No! You will not abandon me here!"

"Nay, 'ready have, M'lady."

"Get back here, you traitorous little thing! I said get back here, godsdammit!"

***

Aden heaved a deep sigh as he walked in tow behind the abbess who received him. Their Majesties were absent due to being forced to stay behind with another woman, and while he did feel uncomfortable about the arrangement, he was fully aware that there was little he could do but cooperate. At a moderated pace, he followed behind the woman through the camp. Though he called the arrangement a camp, one wouldn't be faulted for assuming it to be a military outpost of some sort. In the middle of the clearing were several large linen tents that appeared like they could be dismantled at a moment's notice, as well as nearly two dozen saddled horses hitched off to one side of the camp, the dim light of the rising sun reflecting off their beady eyes. While the campsite was sparsely crowded, Aden could still count quite a few other abbesses and members of the Nameless during their transit.

Moments later, the duke arrived at the entrance of a rather modest tent, in front of which stood a woman he assumed to be a priestess of high standing in the Creed given her vaguely familiar attire.

"You may refer to me as Priestess Lia during your stay here," the woman said tersely, confirming half of his suspicions. "I implore you to remain on your best behaviour in the presence of Her Holiness and throughout the rest of your stay in our care. I want to be of the assumption that you are already familiar with our rules?"

Aden nodded.

"Very well"—she said, lifting the entrance flap to the tent as she gestured for him to enter—"enter."

Aden complied, entering to the sight of a lithe woman lounging upon cushions in the centre of the tent. To one corner was a tray of wine goblets, a few empty wine bottles and a rather elegant napkin. The duke's gaze returned to the woman, locking with hers.

"...It's been a while," Aden said, breaking the tense silence. His expression was bland, but his eyes held a hint of a complex emotion. Forlornness? Unease? Caution?

"Yes," Vaiu said, her expression stoic. "Yes, it has." Her right index finger twitched nervously where it lay on her lap, a tick the duke was quite familiar with and quick to pick on.

"You look nervous," Aden commented with a crooked brow. For some reason, he found the sight of the nervous Matriarch, staged as it might be, amusing to watch.

"No," the matriarch denied consciously stilling her jittering digit. "No, I am not. Why would I be? You are the captive here, not me."

Aden fell silent for a moment before chuckling mildly, his gaze clearing and losing a bit of its edge for a moment.

Then he smiled, saying.

"How have you been, little red?"