The War of Queens

Chapter 55

Raynor

 By the time he reached Lionhall, he was so exhausted he felt he could not have moved another inch. He had ridden his horse day and night, too frightened to halt. The few soldiers he had managed to get together as a guard looked about to faint and so, he guessed, must he.

 Lord Niccolo was running out of the doors when Raynor entered the inner gates. He stopped his horse and dismounted quickly, noticing just how drenched it was with sweat.

 “Your Grace,” Niccolo said as he rushed towards him. “How happy I am to see you alive.”

 Raynor waved his hand when he was about to leave. “There’s no need for that, my dear cousin. You opened your gates for us, that is enough to show me your devotion.”

 “Your Grace, I’ve had rooms prepared for you and will have a bath ready for you, but first, there are things that need to be discussed.”

 Raynor frowned. “There are plenty of things that need to be discussed, but frankly, I fear I may faint any moment. I would prefer to be spared of that humiliation.”

 Niccolo did not laugh. “It is about your mother.”

 “Yes?”

 He looked down. “She has died. I do apologize.”

 Raynor narrowed his eyes. “Died? How?”

 “She hanged herself, Your Grace,” Niccolo said, not daring to bring his voice above a mutter.

 Raynor furrowed. “Suicide? My mother?”

 “I’m afraid so.”

 He searched his cousin’s face, but he found no trace of insincerity. He looked around, searching for something that might contradict those words. Of course, he found nothing. “My lord, I think I would like a bath and some privacy.”

 Niccolo bowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”

 A servant approached, but Raynor stopped him with a gesture of his hand. “And my sisters? What of them?”

 “They live,” Niccolo said, and Raynor let out a sigh of relief. “Evelyn is rumored to have left for her husband’s kingdom, while Mary and Helena have been given the opportunity to pledge fealty to Elizabeth.”

 Raynor nodded and gestured for the servant to take him away. He was led to a chamber that overlooked the city of Lionhall. A bath stood ready and he at once asked the servant to help him undress.

 Once he was in the bath and the servant had left, he laid back against the edge of the tub. Funnily enough, there were no tears to be cried now that he was finally alone. Instead he felt a tension deep in his muscles and his skin seemed to crawl, as though it did not fit. He growled and his arm flexed, sending a splash of water over the edge. He drew in a deep breath, controlling the sudden urge to smash something. Only then did the tears come.

 He slept the rest of that day, and the night, and half of the next day. When he woke up, he felt more tired than ever, but he forced himself out of bed. His body felt heavier than a mountain and he stumbled out to call for someone to assist him into his clothing.

 When he had finished dressing, his body seemed to have awoken and his mind was clearer. A servant came in, bowed, and said, “When you are ready, Lord Niccolo would like to speak to you.”

 “Take me to him,” Raynor said.

 He was led to a small, immaculate office in another part of the castle. Niccolo sat behind the table, sunlight spilling over his work from a large window behind him. When Raynor entered he stood up and bowed.

 “So, this is where you work?” Raynor asked, looking around. Books lined the walls, but there wasn’t space for much else. “It seems very small for the Lord of Tibera.”

 Niccolo smiled and gestured for a chair, which Raynor gratefully accepted. “My father always said that the only thing a lord needs space for is his own good senses.”

 Raynor smiled. “You called for me.”

 “Ah, yes.” Niccolo pushed a letter forwards. It remained unopened. “This arrived for you just a day before your arrival. Judging from the seal, I am guessing it came from the capital.”

 “Elizabeth,” Raynor concluded and began opening it.

 “If you’d prefer it, I can leave while you read,” Niccolo offered, already halfway standing.

 Raynor shook his head. “No, stay.”

 He read the letter twice, just to make sure he had understood it correctly. When he looked up, he found Niccolo sitting on the edge of his seat.

 “It’s a peace offering,” Raynor said. “She wants to give me Tibera in return for that we sign a treaty and let her have the Kingslands.”

 Niccolo frowned. “What are you going to do?”

 With a sigh, Raynor rested his head in his hands, rubbing his temples. “I am inclined to accept,” he admitted and leaned back again. “However, she makes no mention of my sisters, or of my wife or daughter. If there is to be peace, there has to be equality. That means that she can hold no hostages.”

 “I should think that Queen Sybil will be in the hands of Caterina, not Elizabeth,” Niccolo said.

 “She’s still my wife, and the mother of my only heir.”

 Niccolo regarded him for a moment. “And you’re ready to sacrifice peace for that?”

 Raynor shrugged. “If Sybil should wish an annulment - and I am sure there are the necessary grounds for it - then I won’t stop her. But if she wishes to return to me, then I cannot negotiate peace with those who would stop her. The same goes for my sisters. There can’t be peace if people are robbed of their freedom.”

 “I can have my assistant draft a letter for you, if you wish,” Niccolo offered, “but I do believe you should be more careful. Elizabeth has the upper hand here. This peace offering is only in your advantage. I would not put this offer on the line.”

 “What do you suggest?”

 A corner of his lips tugged upward. “I suggest you go with me to the tower.”

 Where Westhall had a dungeon, the Lord of Lionhall kept his prisoners in a tower. This tower was reached by a narrow, rounded staircase that reached up more than a hundred steps. Up there, far, far above the ground, was the cell. It seemed like an ordinary chamber, with a nice bed, a window - barred, if only to keep prisoners from flinging themselves to death - and a fireplace. Raynor remembered this from when, as a child, his father had taken him and his brother. Usually, whenever a prisoner was locked in, two guards would be stationed outside. Today, however, there were five soldiers in the small niche just below the door.

 “Let us in,” Niccolo ordered.

 One of the guards pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. When Raynor entered, he saw the room had changed. The fire in the fireplace had been extinguished, there was no bed except for a stack of hay and the prisoner sat chained to the wall by his left leg.

 The prisoner himself was a man like no other Raynor had ever had the misfortune to meet. Even now, as he sat on the floor, resting against the wall, it was obvious that he was taller than most. His arms were as wide as Raynor’s thighs. Though his dark skin - not as dark as a Yaguar’s, but dark still - was parched and his lips were bleeding, he seemed stronger than any one man should be.

 “We found him on the beach, half drowned. He claims to be a friend of Elizabeth’s,” Niccolo said. “Perhaps, he could be used in an exchange of hostages.”

 Raynor nodded before approaching the man, careful not to step within his reach. “Who are you?”

 The man looked up, revealing a pair of dark red-brown eyes. When he spoke, his voice was deep and guttural. “My name is Shakan.”