Post by opalgirl on Apr 20, 2010 9:23:25 GMT 10
Title: The Empress Mourns
Rating: PG-13.
Length: 1,242 words.
Summary: After Tortall falls to the combined forces of Tusaine and Scanra, the conquerors choose to notify the remaining members of the former royal family.
Notes: Set within Mandi/journeycat's 'The Last Conte' AU universe.
The thump of something striking the floor of the Empress’s private study made everyone look up. Princess Fazia shook her head and resumed reading to young Binur, who listened intently to his grandmother’s every word, as he was expected to. The footsteps of the nursemaid could be heard, as the woman ascended the stairs to the nursery to check on her charges.
Kaddar returned to his papers, doing his best to push the worries about his wife from his mind for the time being. There was little he could do for her. He had sent his own troops to defend his wife’s homeland—and it was certainly more than a gesture of goodwill towards his in-laws.
That wasn’t enough for Kalasin, though. She was an ocean away, yet spent nights up and about worrying for her kin and her birthplace, as if it would help. She’d lost interest in almost everything, including her charitable activities. She’d lost weight, only picked at her meals, and spared no thought to her appearance since word of the siege had arrived. She longed to go back, he knew, and would have, but for the children. Him, she might abandon, but never the little ones.
A shrieking wail echoed around the room, and Kaddar dropped the signet ring he held in his fingers, jumping at the sound. He heard the doors to the Imperial apartments open, the sound of weapons being unsheathed, and the terse queries of the guards.
While the slaves fluttered about, unsettled, he tried to remember if he’d ever heard Kalasin make that particular sound. He hadn’t. Not even during the births of their children. He shoved himself away from his desk and went to her.
She was on her knees on the stone floor of the room, her head bowed as she nearly curled herself over into a ball. Her long, dark hair hid her face from view, but he could hear her sobbing, gasping for breath through her tears.
Somehow hearing his step, she lifted her head and looked at him, her face showing her grief plainly. Kalasin shuddered, gasped, and dissolved into sobs again. In one quivering hand she held what looked to be a letter.
“Kally?” he asked.
As if a string had been cut, she threw herself forward and began to pummel the floor with her hands and feet, striking at anything that came within reach as she wept. “Every last one of the murdering, gods-cursed bastard scum ought to rot! I’ll see to it that they do rot!”
Kaddar felt ill, realizing what that might mean. “Kalasin!” he said, raising his voice to get her attention, in her hysterics. “What is it?”
She lifted herself from the floor, slowly, and looked at him. She tried to speak, then shook her head and offered him the crumpled letter. “All of them,” she said, her soft voice trembling and hoarse.
The letter was mockingly official, from the Crown of Tusaine, bearing news for the Empress. They had conquered Corus, the Tortallan capital, and executed every member of the Conte royal family. His wife’s parents, her brothers and sister, and her sisters-in-law – had all been executed, most likely in attempt to break the people loyal to the monarchs.
Kaddar growled, and Kalasin snatched the letter back from him. Conquerors often did such things, but it was impossibly cruel to inform a surviving child they’d executed her entire family with an official letter, dripping with seals and formality.
“I hate them,” she hissed, her expression nothing if not dangerous. “All of them.” Her head snapped around and she focused on him, suddenly serious. “Find the Marenite ambassador and tell him I want my sister out of Maren. Now. I don’t care what he has to do, if he has to bring her here, or if he breaks up her marriage. No doubt, they’ll kill her too, given the chance. What good are a dead man’s alliances, anyway?”
She laughed, a strangled sound, and dissolved into more tears, bordering on hysterical in her grief. Kaddar could hear his mother’s orders to the slaves and Binur’s protests as he was removed from the room.
“Out.” Princess Fazia swept into the room, her gaze softer than usual as she looked upon her daughter-in-law. “Leave us.”
“Mother,” Kaddar began, “she’s my wife….”
His mother pushed him towards the door. “Out. Now,” she ordered, in a tone worthy of the best of his commanders. “There’s little enough I can do for her. I have sent someone after the ambassador, as she requested, and sent for Zaimid.”
Kaddar sighed, peered around the form of his mother at his wife, who’d curled herself into a ball on the floor once more, and shook his head. “I’m not leaving, Mother. She’s my wife, the mother of my children.”
Fazia’s eyebrows rose and her dark eyes flashed. “Out,” she ordered once again, and this time, Kaddar went. It wasn’t as if he could do anything for his grieving wife—he had never had to feel such grief in his lifetime. The door shut firmly in his face and he was left to listen to the murmur of voices.
“Lianne.” Kalasin leapt to her feet and rushed across the solar to her sister.
Princess Lianne de Aritza, as she was known to the Marenites, who had been Lianne of Conte prior to her marriage, embraced Kalasin tightly. “Oh, Kally,” the Crown Princess of Maren whispered, rocking her older sister in her arms. “Kally, I’m sorry.”
Kalasin clutched to the princess, who looked almost waif-like draped in her black mourning. The dark color and the lighting in the room only made the harsh, angular lines of Lianne’s face more prominent.
“I received this just before I left Berat,” Lianne said when they had finally pulled apart, “and was told to share it with you, in private.” From a pocket of her gown, she produced a packet of letters. “His Imperial Majesty, of course, may be privy to it.” She curtsied gracefully to Kaddar, who nodded.
“Sit, please, Your Highness. You have had quite the journey,” he urged, seeing the fire of Kally’s Gift flare out of the corner of his eye.
When they had settled, Kalasin skimmed the papers her sister handed her hurriedly, with no comment, although she visibly appeared to be holding back tears. Until she hit upon a particular passage, it seemed.
“Goddess!” she cried, stunned, and Kaddar noticed the grim smile on his sister-in-law’s face.
“I know,” Lianne said softly.
“Mother help her—and them,” Kalasin murmured. “And, gods above, how did Roald manage it?”
Kaddar could only blink, as Lianne added: “No one’s sure, but, Mithros knows, he loved that little girl.”
Kalasin’s jaw set, squarely. “She will claim her throne,” she said, through her teeth, “and what’s rightfully hers.” She turned her attention to her younger sister, worry plain on her face. “They would not attempt an invasion on Carthaki soil—but what about you, Lia? Maren neighbors Tortall—" the Empress’s throat worked, as she spoke, “—and Tusaine.”
The princess shook her head. “My husband and my father-in-law will both stand against Tusaine, if it should come to it. And they assure me I can stay in Carthak as long as I see fit.”
“My brother,” Kalasin said as she turned to him, her face tightening, “managed to smuggle his daughter out of Corus, and out of Tortall, before the city fell. She lives.”
Rating: PG-13.
Length: 1,242 words.
Summary: After Tortall falls to the combined forces of Tusaine and Scanra, the conquerors choose to notify the remaining members of the former royal family.
Notes: Set within Mandi/journeycat's 'The Last Conte' AU universe.
The thump of something striking the floor of the Empress’s private study made everyone look up. Princess Fazia shook her head and resumed reading to young Binur, who listened intently to his grandmother’s every word, as he was expected to. The footsteps of the nursemaid could be heard, as the woman ascended the stairs to the nursery to check on her charges.
Kaddar returned to his papers, doing his best to push the worries about his wife from his mind for the time being. There was little he could do for her. He had sent his own troops to defend his wife’s homeland—and it was certainly more than a gesture of goodwill towards his in-laws.
That wasn’t enough for Kalasin, though. She was an ocean away, yet spent nights up and about worrying for her kin and her birthplace, as if it would help. She’d lost interest in almost everything, including her charitable activities. She’d lost weight, only picked at her meals, and spared no thought to her appearance since word of the siege had arrived. She longed to go back, he knew, and would have, but for the children. Him, she might abandon, but never the little ones.
A shrieking wail echoed around the room, and Kaddar dropped the signet ring he held in his fingers, jumping at the sound. He heard the doors to the Imperial apartments open, the sound of weapons being unsheathed, and the terse queries of the guards.
While the slaves fluttered about, unsettled, he tried to remember if he’d ever heard Kalasin make that particular sound. He hadn’t. Not even during the births of their children. He shoved himself away from his desk and went to her.
She was on her knees on the stone floor of the room, her head bowed as she nearly curled herself over into a ball. Her long, dark hair hid her face from view, but he could hear her sobbing, gasping for breath through her tears.
Somehow hearing his step, she lifted her head and looked at him, her face showing her grief plainly. Kalasin shuddered, gasped, and dissolved into sobs again. In one quivering hand she held what looked to be a letter.
“Kally?” he asked.
As if a string had been cut, she threw herself forward and began to pummel the floor with her hands and feet, striking at anything that came within reach as she wept. “Every last one of the murdering, gods-cursed bastard scum ought to rot! I’ll see to it that they do rot!”
Kaddar felt ill, realizing what that might mean. “Kalasin!” he said, raising his voice to get her attention, in her hysterics. “What is it?”
She lifted herself from the floor, slowly, and looked at him. She tried to speak, then shook her head and offered him the crumpled letter. “All of them,” she said, her soft voice trembling and hoarse.
The letter was mockingly official, from the Crown of Tusaine, bearing news for the Empress. They had conquered Corus, the Tortallan capital, and executed every member of the Conte royal family. His wife’s parents, her brothers and sister, and her sisters-in-law – had all been executed, most likely in attempt to break the people loyal to the monarchs.
Kaddar growled, and Kalasin snatched the letter back from him. Conquerors often did such things, but it was impossibly cruel to inform a surviving child they’d executed her entire family with an official letter, dripping with seals and formality.
“I hate them,” she hissed, her expression nothing if not dangerous. “All of them.” Her head snapped around and she focused on him, suddenly serious. “Find the Marenite ambassador and tell him I want my sister out of Maren. Now. I don’t care what he has to do, if he has to bring her here, or if he breaks up her marriage. No doubt, they’ll kill her too, given the chance. What good are a dead man’s alliances, anyway?”
She laughed, a strangled sound, and dissolved into more tears, bordering on hysterical in her grief. Kaddar could hear his mother’s orders to the slaves and Binur’s protests as he was removed from the room.
“Out.” Princess Fazia swept into the room, her gaze softer than usual as she looked upon her daughter-in-law. “Leave us.”
“Mother,” Kaddar began, “she’s my wife….”
His mother pushed him towards the door. “Out. Now,” she ordered, in a tone worthy of the best of his commanders. “There’s little enough I can do for her. I have sent someone after the ambassador, as she requested, and sent for Zaimid.”
Kaddar sighed, peered around the form of his mother at his wife, who’d curled herself into a ball on the floor once more, and shook his head. “I’m not leaving, Mother. She’s my wife, the mother of my children.”
Fazia’s eyebrows rose and her dark eyes flashed. “Out,” she ordered once again, and this time, Kaddar went. It wasn’t as if he could do anything for his grieving wife—he had never had to feel such grief in his lifetime. The door shut firmly in his face and he was left to listen to the murmur of voices.
*****
“Lianne.” Kalasin leapt to her feet and rushed across the solar to her sister.
Princess Lianne de Aritza, as she was known to the Marenites, who had been Lianne of Conte prior to her marriage, embraced Kalasin tightly. “Oh, Kally,” the Crown Princess of Maren whispered, rocking her older sister in her arms. “Kally, I’m sorry.”
Kalasin clutched to the princess, who looked almost waif-like draped in her black mourning. The dark color and the lighting in the room only made the harsh, angular lines of Lianne’s face more prominent.
“I received this just before I left Berat,” Lianne said when they had finally pulled apart, “and was told to share it with you, in private.” From a pocket of her gown, she produced a packet of letters. “His Imperial Majesty, of course, may be privy to it.” She curtsied gracefully to Kaddar, who nodded.
“Sit, please, Your Highness. You have had quite the journey,” he urged, seeing the fire of Kally’s Gift flare out of the corner of his eye.
When they had settled, Kalasin skimmed the papers her sister handed her hurriedly, with no comment, although she visibly appeared to be holding back tears. Until she hit upon a particular passage, it seemed.
“Goddess!” she cried, stunned, and Kaddar noticed the grim smile on his sister-in-law’s face.
“I know,” Lianne said softly.
“Mother help her—and them,” Kalasin murmured. “And, gods above, how did Roald manage it?”
Kaddar could only blink, as Lianne added: “No one’s sure, but, Mithros knows, he loved that little girl.”
Kalasin’s jaw set, squarely. “She will claim her throne,” she said, through her teeth, “and what’s rightfully hers.” She turned her attention to her younger sister, worry plain on her face. “They would not attempt an invasion on Carthaki soil—but what about you, Lia? Maren neighbors Tortall—" the Empress’s throat worked, as she spoke, “—and Tusaine.”
The princess shook her head. “My husband and my father-in-law will both stand against Tusaine, if it should come to it. And they assure me I can stay in Carthak as long as I see fit.”
“My brother,” Kalasin said as she turned to him, her face tightening, “managed to smuggle his daughter out of Corus, and out of Tortall, before the city fell. She lives.”