Novel 2. Royal Justice

Part Three. The Last Order

Chapter 14

Armando did not immediately recognise the room — cramped, small, sparsely furnished. Two narrow bunks against the walls, two chests of drawers, a rickety table under the only window, and a couple of stools. It seemed to be one of the guest bedrooms of the palace guard barracks, where the young bailiff had lived for the first time after his arrival in Daert. Only Armando clearly remembered that he had shared it with a scraggly young nobleman, even poorer than de Gorazzo himself. Now... Sitting on the made-up bed, Armando stared dumbfounded at Queen Octavia across from him. The black-haired girl, dressed in a hunting costume familiar to the bailiff, looked a little tired and sad.

— Your Majesty... where are we? — He finally squeezed out an idiotic expression.

— Honestly, Don Armando, I don't know, — the queen said quietly, looking round with interest. She was sitting on the edge of the bunk cross-legged and with her thin gloved hands folded on her knee. — Something from your memories, I suppose. This is your dream, after all.

— Ah, it's a dream... — de Gorazzo stretched out, feeling no small amount of relief.

— This room is, yes, just a dream. I am not. — Octavia's face became serious. — Don Armando, I realise this is difficult, but please accept that I am real. We're really talking now.

— So you are alive, Your Majesty? — A faint flame of hope flared in the bailiff's soul. Octavia shook her head with a sigh:

— Alas, no, Don Armando. I'm sorry.

— So you're a ghost now?

— Ghosts don't talk, — the queen reminded him.

— Then... I don't understand, — de Gorazzo surrendered.

— I can't really explain it myself. — The black-haired girl waved her hands guiltily. — Now in front of you... a soul, I guess. I don't know... I am me. The things that made up me when I was alive, besides my body — personality, memory... all of that is with me now. As far as I can tell.

— But you're not a ghost?

— Ghosts are souls who stayed in the world of the living for some reason. And I... — The queen lowered her eyes. — I'm leaving, Don Armando. But I have been exceptionally allowed to linger on the threshold to do something... something to tell you last.

— I'm listening, Your Majesty.

— Armando, do you mind if I ask you to stop calling me that? — The girl raised her head again. — Titles are... inappropriate here. I've told you my real name, haven't you forgotten it?

— Of course... Letitia. — De Gorazzo felt terribly awkward, but the Queen was undoubtedly right.

— Do you remember what we were talking about before?

— About Gotech?

— No, the outsiders. Remember when I swore to you that I would kick them out of our world?

— Yes. — Of course Armando remembered. Here, Octavia held out a fist of blued steel to him, here he was, touching the gauntlet, swearing an oath. It had happened so recently — but it seemed like half a lifetime ago.

— And then I died, having done nothing to fulfil my vow. — Octavia-Letitia tilted her head to her shoulder. — And so it was. Just so you know, Armando, the oaths of true kings have a special power in the eyes of the Creator. And I was a true queen, after all. I even had the blood of the first emperors in me, albeit diluted and thin. That blood does not give me the privilege of cheating death and staying behind to fight alongside you, no matter how much I want to. But before I go, I'll leave you a small gift. Not for you personally, for your... squad. A gift that you can only use in one way — to fulfil my oath. — The girl grinned unhappily. — That's a bit selfish, isn't it?

— I have no words to thank you... Leticia. — Armando did not yet fully believe that what was happening was real, but he decided that politeness never hurt. — What is it?

— This is not the treasure trove of small coins and glass brooches that I buried under an oak tree as a child. — The queen's smile turned less sad, her blue eyes sparkling. — Something else. Useful. You'll see for yourself soon enough, I suppose. Let there be a little intrigue, all right? Just know that I won't leave you without help. As much help as I can give you... in my present state.

They were silent for a few seconds, looking at each other. Eventually the pause became awkward, and Octavia, still smiling, said:

— You seem in no hurry to wake up, and I'm in no hurry too, so... we can still talk.

— This conversation is very strange, — de Gorazzo admitted. — I mean... this is not at all how I imagined such... things... a conversation with the spirit of the dead queen... it's a bit too much....

— Ordinary? — the girl guessed. — Perhaps it depends on the circumstances. Or the personality of the deceased. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I can start talking in metaphors, riddles... and wails. I'm not sure that would work, really. I've never been much good with metaphors.

— Not at all, — De Gorazzo hastily objected.

The queen squirmed on the bunk, resting her palms on it:

— Tell you what, Armando. I think we have just a few minutes left. I sense something's weighing on you. Would you like to talk? I promise you, whatever you say right now stays between us. You understand why.

The bailiff chewed his lip, looking out the window. Instead of the dusty street of Daert behind him there was a whitish haze, like a dense fog. At last he made up his mind, and the words poured out of Armando like water breaking through a dam:

— Your Majesty....

— I told you.

— Leticia... I... I'm... I'm frightened by powerlessness. I couldn't protect you.

— No one could, — the queen interrupted him gently. — Everything that's happened to me is my fault. I didn't care enough about myself, and you had nothing to do with it.

— Yes, but it's not just that. Ever since the day Gotech and I went to investigate that case... ever since the first attempt on your life... I've been carried away like a hurricane. It's such a feeling... — Armando's throat suddenly constricted, and he looked round for a jug of water or a bottle of wine, but there was nothing of the sort in the room. Swallowing, the young man continued: — I am no longer master of myself. I'm being led by circumstances... not even led — dragged. Fate decides for me. I am glad that I saved you then, and I am glad that I helped you later, but I did not decide where to go and what to do — every time circumstances chose for me. The circumstances were such that I had to go and do it, even if I didn't want to. And it's the same now. I don't want to get even deeper into this outsider thing, but there's no choice — any other option is worse. I feel like a puppet, a pawn on the board. As if nothing depends on me. I'm being pulled by strings without being asked. Leticia... do you know what I mean?

— Uh-huh, — the black-haired girl rubbed her chin and furrowed her brow. — Yeah... I'm probably not the right person for you. You should talk to someone more... wise. But you know what, Armando? You're missing one detail.

Octavia pulled off the black leather gloves embroidered in gold on the cuffs, leaned forward and took de Gorazzo's hands. The touch made the official shudder. The young queen's fingers were thin, but strong and warm. Just like a living person's. They were also covered with small, hard calluses, the kind of calluses that come from frequent exercise with a sword. And this detail finally convinced the bailiff of the reality of their conversation. If it had been a figment of his imagination, the Queen's fingers would have been as soft and delicate as silk — Armando had never thought that they could have calluses.

— You don't choose the tests that fate puts before you, — the black-haired girl said slowly, looking the bailiff in the eye. — But it is up to you to overcome them. You could have failed a thousand times and died, but you are still alive — because you coped, overcame, got out of it. Because you tried. And it's not about the circumstances, it's about you. Your strength, your agility, your smarts, your courage. Your ability to choose your friends. And your ability to use circumstances to your advantage, among other things. You may be carried by the current on the river, but it depends only on you — will break your boat on the rapids, or you will overcome everything and come out on calm water. So don't talk rubbish. A lot depends on you, Armando. Even if fate has brought you and your present comrades to confront the strangers, it is you, not fate, who will defeat them. If you win. I believe in you, though.

— Thank you, Leticia. — De Gorazzo swallowed the lump in his throat. The bailiff thought he was about to cry again, as he had recently done over the queen's body. — You are right, of course.

The room shimmered with a whitish haze, as if the fog outside the window had seeped in from the street. Octavia noticed it too. Letting go of Armando's hands, the girl stood up and picked up her gloves from the bed. She said:

— Well, that's it, I've got to go. I won't be seeing you again for a while.

— And... where are you going now? — The question sounded impossibly stupid, but the queen understood it correctly.

— They wouldn't let me into the Gehenna, and I'm too restless for the Creator's Gardens. — Octavia pulled on her gloves and winked at de Gorazzo. — I can hear a hundred banners fluttering in the wind.

— The Last Army, then?

— Yes. I'll meet you there, Armando. Don't go to the furnace, I'll be waiting for you. Live your life... properly.

— Leticia. — The young bailiff rose, seized by a sudden thought.

— Yes? — the room around him finally melted into a white mist, but Armando could still clearly see a slender girl in a black hunting suit and high leather boots.

— You'll see my father there... tell him... ah, well.....

— He already knows, Armando. — The young queen smiled broadly, and for the first time there was no sadness or weariness in her smile. — But I'll tell him, I promise.

De Gorazzo sat up jerkily, throwing back the thin blanket and resting his forehead against the rough fabric of the tent. He looked at his palms. He could still feel the warmth of Octavia's hands...

Chapter 15

Four days had passed since the battle in the Black Brooks Valley. The Imperial party, joined by Armando and Minerva, had been travelling in maddening zigzags, keeping off the roads and settlements, but never straying far from the unfortunate battlefield. The first nights the fugitives spent without fire, hiding either in a deep ravine or in a forest thicket. It was only at the last stop that Captain Valria allowed them to make a full camp. When Armando came out of his tent early in the morning, he saw that the fire in the deep pit was already burning, giving off almost no smoke, and the bearded master Carlon was putting a pot of water on it.

— Good morning, noble don, — the mage said, noticing the bailiff out of the corner of his eye.

— Good morning, — mumbled de Gorazzo, who had not yet fully recovered from his strange dream. The young official sat down on a cloth near the fire and rubbed his temples with vigour. He took a breath of air in his chest and told the imperial mage everything that had happened to him that night. The black-bearded mage curved his lips in disbelief, but eventually became interested:

— It sounds very interesting, but I don't know enough to understand it. I'm a practitioner, not a university archmage or a churchman. But I know someone who can help us, Don.

A quarter of an hour later Lady Maria, who was tending the horses, returned, and the bailiff repeated his story to her. The white-skinned girl listened to Armando with much less scepticism. She even asked to repeat the beginning of the conversation. Finally, after thinking over the story, she smiled her faint, inexpressive smile:

— You're in good company, Don Armando. There are half a dozen cases like yours mentioned in historical books and scholarly works. Of these, four are confirmed and unquestionable. In all cases, the deceased monarchs appeared in dreams to their close relatives. Usually to their heirs. That is, emperors, kings, princes, dukes.

— I am absolutely certain that my family has never been related to the royal family in any way, — Armando announced glumly, peering into the kettle, which was already bubbling with liquid porridge. The squad was running low on provisions.

— You can never be sure of such things, — the imperial mage said with a quiet chuckle, pushing the bailiff away from the pot with a wooden spoon. — But I think it's really not the blood, but the oath. Octavia's closest living relative is Duke Auguste. I have no doubt that the queen would be more than happy to appear to him in a dream, but not to have a peaceful conversation.

— More often than not, the spirits of the dead used the right of last conversation to inform their loved ones of important information that they had not had time to pass on during their lifetime, — Lady Maria continued. — For example, Julius the Third, who ruled before the collapse of the old empire, died without leaving a legitimate offspring, and appeared to his niece to tell her that in the south of the country lives his bastard, of whom no one but Julius himself knew. True, all this eventually led only to civil war, and the poor young bastard boy was crucified...

— But the queen didn't tell me anything important. — Armando mentally ran through the unusual conversation in his head. Unlike a normal dream, it was not forgotten after waking up — the bailiff remembered every detail. — So, the conversation itself was not the promised help... There was something else.

— Let's just trust Octavia, — Master Carlon suggested. He scooped up the porridge, sniffed it, and poured it back into the cauldron without tasting it. — The queen said we would soon see for ourselves, and I suppose we will. There's no need to guess at nothing. It's enough that we've seen that your conversation, Don, was in fact possible. You did not dream it out of upset feelings.

They had no time to eat breakfast before a corporal on duty in the top of a tall tree gave a loud hiss to announce the return of the scouts. Captain Valria and her trusty sergeant had left the previous day, just after setting up camp. The elven woman wanted to not only look around the area, but also to ask someone about news. There was, of course, the danger of being recognised — after all, the sharp-eared girl had been a prisoner at once, and her descriptions could be spread across the spy networks of outsiders. On the other hand, a young elven lady travelling in the company of a bodyguard did not attract much attention — young elves often went on long journeys to indulge their curiosity. So the captain found the risk acceptable. And this time she was not mistaken — the scouts returned at a quiet trot, without a chase on their tails. And in the company of an unexpected companion.