Chapter 23: - Scars

  The air in Lyubov tasted sweet today, and it wasn’t just because Ksenija was in the upper districts. She made her way to the Bezdna palace, scarf around her neck, bread in hand. It was a present for Exia and Navtej—she had to admit she felt somewhat guilty about them being stuck in that palace because of her.

  The bread would probably taste like tar to them, Ksenija realised. It made her almost decide to throw it away, thinking that the two upper class boys might laugh at her for even thinking she could afford to get them something nice.

  And then she remembered the way Exia smiled at her when she left the palace, and decided that they would accept the gift happily, and they would love it.

  Ksenija nearly hesitated as she got closer; Bezdna palace seemed to rise up from the ground like some colossal thing—big, broad and incredibly daunting. It looked like a great beast that one could get lost for days wandering around the inside of. To think she’d been inside was madness, to think she’d been allowed to leave after was an even greater insanity.

  Ksenija knocked on the gate, and it didn’t take long for a soldier to leave his post and begin walking to the door. This one was tall, handsome, and broad—Ksenija remembered him as one of the men that tended to her when she was stabbed. A warmth hit her at that, and she smiled. “I’m here to see the King.”

  He did not smile back. “The King doesn’t have any visitors scheduled for today.”

  Ksenija blinked then shook her head. “No. I think you’re mistaken. My name’s Ksenija, Ksenija Lyubushkina. I was here last weekend. Had a stab wound—”

  —”I know who you are,” the man growled. “And as I said, the King isn’t seeing any visitors today, girl.”

  Ksenija was starting to lose her good mood now. Her eyes narrowed on the cunt and she took a step forwards. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at sir, but I am allowed visits to Exia and Navtej on the weekends,” Ksenija hissed her words.

  The man’s lips arched up in a grin. “Go away. Or I will consider you a threat to the safety and health of the King. And then I must proceed to do whatever I must to neutralise that threat.”

  “Fuck. You.” Ksenija spat through the bars and in his face.

  The man turned red with rage. And she thought that was perhaps not the smartest thing she could have done. He slid his key into the gate, unlocked it, stepped out and began storming towards her on heavy feet. “Just because the King took a liking to you, don’t make you nothing more than a little whore girl—you understand?”

  Ksenija took a step back, but he caught her by the wrist before she could widen the distance between her and the man. He squeezed so hard that the bread fell limp from her fingers, and was replaced only with a terrible crushing pain. Ksenija pulled out her blade, brandished it towards him, but he didn’t flinch.

  He just grinned. And it was a terribly wide grin. He brought a heavy foot down on the bread, squashing it into the mud—ruined. “Go ahead then lass, spill red-grey blood all over the streets. See how far you can get before my brothers find you, see how long you last at their mercy.”

  Ksenija swallowed. “I…” she trembled, then thought, and spoke. “How do you think the King’s going to react if you touch his whore?”

  “You think the King holds any power here?” he laughed.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I think he holds enough power to make a petty gateman’s life a living shit storm if you motivate him.” Ksenija had seen the hate in Exia’s eyes. It was true malice, condensed, concentrated, and produced as violence when the time called for it. She had tried to ignore it, because in truth, it scared her. But if she knew Exia, and she thought she did, then the soldiers that watched over him would have noticed it too.

  She saw she was correct in the way the man hesitated, eyes considering. There was something she had miscalculated however, or perhaps something she’d missed, because he wrapped a hand around her throat, and went back to smiling. “Well, it seems like it’s my lucky day, love, because he clearly don’t want you anymore.”

  Ksenija frowned at the words, and he laughed at the sight of her confusion, squeezing harder around her throat, and letting the pounding in her head thump harder.

  He laughed. “Oh, you didn’t know that, did you? The King himself asked not to see you.”

  Those words were like a knife in her gut, and Ksenija searched the monster’s eyes for deception, found none. What she saw instead was a hot aimless cruelty staring down at its latest victim. Ksenija tried to pry off his hand, but couldn’t, she tried to push off against its owner but lacked the strength to overpower him. Could he kill her like this, in front of the palace? Yes, easily. His fellow soldiers would help him cover it up and she would be lying somewhere in a ditch, or a shallow grave, or just fed to pigs.

  It didn’t matter what they did after. The fact was, she would be dead, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  “Oi.” A voice called out. Gruff, and foreign.

  The man let go of her and turned to see anotherjust beyond the gate. If this newcomer could even be called a man. He had the face of a monster, and the frame of one as well. It looked to Ksenija as if someone had taken ten thugs and melted them down, distilling them into the core essence of violent masculinity before casting it back into a body altogether removed from ordinary human proportions. The soldier laughed nervously upon seeing the giant. It was like watching a cat come face to face with the tiger. Petty cruelty and sadism withering fast before sheer predatory mass and killing strength.

  “Nothing to worry about Captain, just—”

  —”Back to your post, Kuznetsov,” the giant ordered. He had a violence to each inch of him. As if every part of him were a weapon that wanted nothing more than loosing. It did not need to for the smaller soldier to scurry back behind the gate, and slide back into his post.

  Ksenija was on the floor, coughing, gathering her breath, and rubbing her raw neck. She looked at the bread—squashed. Not that it mattered anymore, not that any of it mattered anymore.

  The scarred man looked down at her with kind eyes. “Go home, girl,” he told her.

  And Ksenija did—She scrambled up to her feet and made her way from Bezdna palace. She had come here happy, but in the end she left with nothing—no bread, no breath, and no illusions.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

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  Governor Kudrin had the most humble office of all Governor’s offices Sasha had had the displeasure of being forced to sit in. That wasn’t saying much, an office could be draped in more exotic furs than she could name and still be cheap by Governor standards. Especially major Governors like Kudrin, who oversaw Governorates and not just cities.

  His was actually humble however, holding only the bare minimum of administrative documents, a few shelves and a cheap wooden table and chair.

  In truth, Sasha didn’t know much about the man—she was used to reading up on a Governor well in advance of meeting them. Given that she had never planned to be in this city in the first place, and that he had summoned her merely thirty minutes ago, she didn’t have that luxury.

  So all she had to work with in preparation for his arrival were the images of a medalled man hanging on the wall. A Lieutenant General. Well, that was a big deal.

  She could have asked the King—he was sitting right next to her, the only other person in the room, and she was certain he would know something of import—but she couldn’t bring herself to. He still had that distant look in his eyes—a soft blanket of anguish wrapped around him. He had said very little, and Sasha couldn’t actually believe she was beginning to miss his jokes. She desperately hoped he would make one, but no jests left his lips.

  They had spent four days on the ice for what should have been a one-day journey—largely due to the King’s wounds. And even now he still looked worse for wear.

  And now there was this, and there was her letter. She still didn’t know why she’d done what she had. Even thinking of it made it feel all far too real for her liking. She’d lied to Volkov, she’d betrayed the Republic. Worse, it wasn’t the first time. Looks like it’s becoming a habit…

  The door creaked open, and Sasha got to her feet.

  Two men entered the room, and Sasha recognised both. One was from the portrait hanging on his wall—the Governor Kudrin himself, greying hair, strong eyes, and broad frame.

  The other was the soldier next to him: short black hair, black eyes, and an angular face—Semynov. Sasha had served with him. They had been stationed together in Velgorod—part of the same squad even. That was until the city was lost, and their unit so devastated that it had been disbanded. Sasha buried those memories with fire and gave him a flicker of a nod.

  He gave the same back.

  “Gorvenor Kudrin.” She saluted, made her way over to him, and held her hand out to shake his.

  Smynov winced, and Sasha did not know why.

  She looked at the Governor's arm, and found, much to her surprise, that it wasn’t there. The sleeve was pinned to a stump on his shoulder, and empty air filled the space where his limb should have been. “I apologize, sir, I—”

  —“Captain Sasha Osin,” the Governor interrupted, walking past her and heading for his seat—his voice was a deep peasant southern, his tone serious and unyielding. It made Sasha aware that she had not been the first, nor would she be the last person to make that mistake. It did not, however, make her feel less terrible for it. “And this is the King Exia Vanfoster.” He set his eyes on the monarch now, and gave a small nod—a recognition of his station, but no real fealty.

  The King met his eyes and did not stand to greet him, merely stared as if simply noting the new arrival to the room.

  The Governor sat in his chair, facing the King directly now. “I met your father once,” Kudrin began, and Sasha’s gut began twisting into knots. His eyes gazed into the haze of the past. “During the rebellion. I raised my arms to fight him—by the time we were done I had one less. He could have killed me, but he thought it funny to leave me half the man I was,” the edge of the man’s lips arched into a soft grin. “Quite the jokester wasn’t he? But I hear he’s been quite stiff lipped lately. Funny that.”

  The King’s reply was soft, but lacking in any heat or warmth. “Certainly sounds like my old man.”

  A short puff of air escaped the Governor's nose. Then something dangerous flickered in his eyes, and he leaned in. “You look like him. You sound like him. I guess the question is, are you like him? Are you a vicious savage who takes pleasure in not just the death of his enemies, but their very suffering?”

  “I’ve been told I am, yes.”

  The Governor held the King’s gaze in his and Sasha’s breath stuck in her throat. “Good,” he answered, short, quick, and efficient, a hint of grin playing at the edge of his lips. “We’ll need that if we’re to keep this city out of Voin hands.”

  “What exactly is going on, Sir?” Sasha asked. She hadn’t even informed the authorities that she was in the city, so his knowing of their presence was a surprise in and of itself. Now there was talk of war, and Voin.

  “A sixty-thousand strong force is two days from Snegovetska. Our scouts spotted them far too late, and though we’ve sent for reinforcements, I doubt the reply will come fast enough to bridge the gap in our numbers,” Kudrin told her with no delight in his eyes. From the look in his face, he might as well have been declaring the death of a loved one to a family member.

  Sasha felt the spike of adrenaline at the news and calmed it. “Wait, how would Voin attack Snegovetska? It doesn’t share a border with you. The only way would be through the Lezviye region.” Lezviye was less a nation or a kingdom, and more a collection of warlords with a shared bigotry for the same targets. It was where her aunt was from…it was where her father was from…Sasha buried the mix of emotions that stirred within her. What mattered was that the warlords of Lezviye had long since collectively claimed neutrality on the Bessmertnyy-Voin conflict. It was in no way out of the goodness of their heart; they just preferred to loan Warriors out to both sides and profit off of the war, rather than let either force use their land as a battleground. That had been the case since the start of the war, and if Voin forces were attacking Snegovetska, that meant something had changed, and not for the better.

  Governor Kudrin confirmed her grim suspicions with but a nod. “Yegor the Ashmaker has decided to break the war-lord pact.”

  “Fuck,” Sasha hissed.

  “Fuck,” The Lieutenant-General agreed.

  “Who’s leading them?” She asked.

  “Duke Ludwig Eisenhart,” he said, and Sasha felt the blood drain from her face at the name.

  The Duke was not a person to be taken lightly, in fact, he was not a person at all. Sasha had heard of what the creature had done at the battle of Veleshka. He took the town, but it was what he did after, and how he did it, that sent chills through the Republic. An entire world burnt to the ground, children’s heads on pikes, the whole population marched into a river and drowned. He wasn’t just cruel, he was powerful too…matched by maybe ten Sorcerers in all of Voin and, after Volkov’s coup, perhaps only half a dozen in Besmertnyy. And he was coming here.

  Sasha’s words came out with far less composure than she would have preferred. “His Majesty in an ideal state could not take on a Magnitude Eighty-Eight Sorcerer on his own. And he is in far from an ideal state as is.”

  “I am aware, and that is why we have a Life Mage on hand. They’ll see to the both of you” the Governor nodded. A Life Mage. Rare things, and impossibly valuable. Sasha should have felt honoured at the knowledge that a Life Mage might use their precious spells on her. It barely registered compared to the concerns still racing around her mind. “My son will take you to him,” the Governor finished, and he gestured to Semyonov who looked back at Sasha stiffly.

  Son? No, that didn’t matter now. “Even fully healed, and in peak condition—”Sasha began, and did not clarify that in the King’s current state those were likely no longer the same thing—”Our Grace cannot feasibly defeat an Eighty-Eighth.”

  The Governor was a Magnitude Eighty-Fifth Mage, but with one arm gone, his power was neutered, whatever contribution he could make to the fighting would be a non-factor against something of Ludwig’s power.

  “I am also aware of that,” The man nodded, yet not nearly so grim this time. That inspired some hope in Sasha. “It is why I have enlisted the help of yet another Seventy-Ninth. She brought your arrival to my attention—Ksenija Lyubushkina. I hope her and Our Grace work well together.”