Rubies and Roses Read online

  Sergevni stared at the young woman. She rode a little ahead of him next to her aged guard. Her posture was straight and relaxed — she was used to riding. And now that he studied her, he saw that her movements were poised and graceful. She muttered darkly to the guard who rode at her side, and he nodded as she spoke. Sergevni scowled. She would be troublesome, this bride of his.

  She would be the last thing he needed.

  But Sergevni had a plan of his own. He would follow his father’s every order: he would wed the Veritian girl, he would put a crown on her head and he would sit upon the throne as the new emperor of Karscha.

  This, his father asked of him. But once the princess became a queen, she would rule. She would attend the meetings, confer with the counsellors and ambassadors and emissaries. Sergevni, in the meantime, would do what he did best: lead Karscha’s armies and remain a soldier until his death. Sergevni was made for fighting, not ruling, no matter how much his father tried to force him into cloaks and jewels and crowns. And if his father wanted him to marry, then he would do so and use his wife to gain his freedom.

  It was almost dawn by the time they reached the mountains and his camp. Like every other part of the great army he commanded, the camp was meticulously organised. The tents were in neat rows in the snow, fires flooding the air with abundant light. Guards kept a watch over the perimeters, even though they were now past the border and safe within Karschan territory. Sergevni had sensed all was not well with his bride’s party; his garrison had prepared accordingly.

  At the heart of the camp he dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to one of his soldiers. Finding the captain of the camp, he asked for two tents to be prepared: one for the princess and one for her guard.

  “Fetch them water, some clean clothes and warm furs. I think they’ve had little in the way of comfort recently.”

  The captain nodded and hurried off. Sergevni strode towards his betrothed: her guard was helping her dismount, and she slid down, stumbling into the snow. She was exhausted — they both were. The guard was a great mountain of a man, but his shoulders drooped and shadows gathered beneath his eyes. They must have been travelling for a long time and their journey had taken its toll on them.

  “You should both wash, change and rest for now,” Sergevni said once he reached them. “I wish to reach Sevalensk as soon as possible, so our journey will be swift and arduous.”

  The princess narrowed her eyes at him.

  “And what of my captain?”

  “Tomorrow we will meet to discuss your captain. Goodnight, Princess Adrienna.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away. He did not need another unnecessary argument with the princess. He was tired too, and would need to be well rested for the journey back home. Before he retired, he left orders for two guards to be posted outside of Adrienna and her guard’s tents. Then he withdrew to his own.

  His squire, Dmetri, hurried to meet him there. He was a well-trained youth, used to serving with silent efficiency. He helped loosen and pull free each part of Sergevni’s armour, and once the metal plates lay in their chest, Dmetri bowed and hurried out.

  Sergevni only ever relied on his squire’s help with his armour and weapons. He preferred to do everything else on his own. It was the way he had been trained: to behave like a soldier, not a nobleman. This was the way he had earned his army’s respect, and it was not something he ever intended to change.

  Once he stood in his dark undershirt and trousers, he poured himself a glass of vodka, drinking it in one gulp. The alcohol burned down his throat, warming his gut. The winter had barely arrived but it was already proving to be harsh, and his tent was cold, his breath visible in the air. It was a soldier’s tent, with a bed on a simple wood frame, a chest and a lantern. He preferred to sleep the same way as his men, and when he slipped into his furs, he exhaled long and slow, relief flooding him.

  His bed was hard and cold — exactly the way he was used to. Not the feathered mattresses of a pampered lord. But the wood and furs of a soldier.

  He fell asleep quickly and deeply. He always did, and when he awoke, it was always at the crack of dawn and with immediate alertness. His body was well-trained for the routines of the army, and he immediately got up to eat a simple breakfast of hot broth and hard bread.

  Once he was ready for the day, he called for a soldier to bring the princess to his tent. She would be hungry, so he sent for food, warm milk and some vodka. His camp captain was arranging the packing of the tents and preparation of the horses. They would leave as soon as he had talked with the princess.

  She arrived looking in a much better state than the previous night. Her skin was clean and pale as ivory, the hectic strands of her short hair combed to a silken sheen. She wore a clean shirt tucked into riding breeches, both slightly too large for her but secured by black leather belts. Draped over her clothes was a long coat bearing the gold Karschan loops around the hems. Plain black boots were on her feet.

  When she arrived into his tent, she took in the austere interior with a slight frown. She faced him, clasping her hands together, and spoke quite reasonably.

  “My lord prince,” she said. “I do believe we—”

  “Please. Call me Sergevni.”

  She stopped and glared at him.

  “I beg your pardon. Sergevni. I do believe our friendship might not have started on the best of terms and—”

  “Friendship?” Sergevni frowned.

  His father’s intention when arranging this marriage had not been friendship, or companionship. Either the princess spoke with unnecessary deference, or she was speaking with guile. Sergevni was a soldier — he did not require guile. The truth would do much better.

  “Adrienna,” he said bluntly. “Our fathers have not made this match because they require us to be companions or lovers. This is a political alliance — we need not pretend it is anything else.”

  The princess watched him, mouth agape, eyes wide. They really were very blue, her eyes, like night skies or the blue roses in the glass gardens of Sant Azhatta. Sergevni met her gaze without wavering. She wore her emotions so nakedly it embarrassed him. It was as though she had never been taught to dissimulate her true feelings — had she not been trained for court?

  When she spoke, her voice trembled slightly.

  “You are quite correct, Sergevni. This is a political alliance. I am not asking you to be my friend, nor my… my lover. I simply ask that we show courtesy to one another.”

  Sergevni narrowed his eyes. He had offended her, that much was obvious. But why? Had he not travelled long to retrieve her? Had he not crossed tundra and mountains, forests and swamps to ensure her safety? Had he not found her and brought her back to his camp, offered her shelter and clothing? He had been more than courteous: he had been practical, accommodating, efficient. And yet still she was displeased.

  Before he could question her on the source of her dissatisfaction, she spoke.

  “I offer you my deepest apologies for my delay in arriving to Karscha, and I thank you for coming to fetch me,” she said with pointed civility. “And I do not wish to show ingratitude, but I beg of you to let me go. Only for a while. I will return, I promise you.”

  He sighed. Pointing at the small table where food and drink had been placed, he said, “Please. Break your fast and tell me about this captain of yours so we may come to an agreement.”

  Two chairs had been fetched, and he sat on the edge of his, observing the princess as she took her place across from him. She drank the broth and broke the bread with delicate, elegant gestures, then mixed honey into her milk and drank it. As she ate, she explained her predicament to him.

  “We were almost at the Karschan border, staying at the camp where you found us. That night, a group of Arkaviki found us — I do not know why they were in Veritier, but they came to take me. The captain of my Princessguard — Aster — took my name and my place. She much resembles me, and doubtless the Arkaviki knew not the difference. Their lea
der took her away and tasked two of the barbarians to take me and a guard back to Hawksmoor to tell my father of my abduction. They chose Althius to come with us. We both kept Aster’s lie — but I knew the Arkaviki would find out the truth eventually, and my captain would risk losing her life. Our captors were attacked by a Veritian patrol one morning, and Althius and I made our escape.”

  She stopped. Telling the story seemed to upset her, and she paused tremulously before continuing.

  “We returned to the camp hoping Aster or some of my other guards might have returned for survivors. But the camp was empty — as you saw. So Althius and I decided to journey on — before eventually continuing to Karscha of course — and try to find Aster before it was too late.”

  “How could you possibly find her?” Sergevni asked.

  He understood the source of her concern. She rightfully valued her guard, especially her captain. But no matter how worthy of her respect her captain was, she was still not worth the danger the princess would put herself into. Besides, it would be difficult to track anybody gone for this long.

  “Althius is a good tracker, and we hoped to find some inns and taverns, see if there might be rumours…”

  The princess hesitated, her blue eyes wide with apprehension. Perhaps she had not known quite how to save her guard. Her plan had been fragile, no doubt poorly conceived in the stress of her guilt and fear.

  “Your plan would have failed,” Sergevni explained. “You need not feel responsible. Saving your captain is out of your hands for now.”

  She glared at him, her arched eyebrows drawing thunderously down, her pink mouth twisted into a grimace of anger.

  “It is not out of my hands. I will not give up. And you may not tell me what to feel responsible for!”

  Now she was being obstinate, and Sergevni remembered why he always avoided taking a lover. He had no time for overwrought emotions and caprice.

  “I did not speak in command, only in advice,” he said coolly. “You could not have tracked her. Besides, the Arkaviki are excellent horsemen. They will be long gone from Veritier by now. Your captain is on a longship at this moment, or in Arkavik — or dead.”

  Adrienna’s eyes suddenly filled with trembling pools of tears. An expression of child-like fear softened her features, and her eyes shone with her grief. Sergevni sighed — he had not intended to make her weep. He had not intended to frighten or sadden her. But the truth was only what it was; he would not withhold from speaking it, even if she was too weak to bear it.

  “Do not weep,” he said. “Your captain knew what her duty entailed. If she is dead, she will have died with honour — protecting you.”

  Now the girl burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. A strange pain tugged on Sergevni’s heart as he watched her sob quietly into her palms.

  “I never wanted any of this,” she whispered pathetically through her sobs.

  Sergevni stepped forward, lifting a hand to touch her feathery hair in comfort. He felt the sudden urge to tell her he had not wanted any of it either. To tell her that he understood her frustration at being forced into a role she had never wished for.

  But telling the princess this would arm her with knowledge she might one day use against him. She might be his bride but it was his father who had chosen her — and his father never made a gift that was not a poison in disguise.

  This girl would be no exception, no matter how bitterly she wept for her lost guard, or how sweet her loyalty seemed. If she seemed a rose, then there would be thorns upon her designed to cut Sergevni. His father would ensure it.

  “Come, you must collect yourself,” Sergevni said, dropping his arm at his side. “We have a long journey ahead of us. Once we return to Karscha, I will send scouts out to seek news of your guard. If rumours come that she lives, then I will send for her. But now you must forget about her.”

  “I won’t forget about her,” Adrienna said stubbornly.

  She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her coat and got to her feet, standing rigidly. Sergevni hesitated.

  “Every time a soldier dies on the battlefield, I believe I will never forget him. But in time, the heart steels itself. You are to be a queen, Adrienna. You will need to armour your heart or else it will break so many times you will lose the use of it.”

  “I wonder you would know of such a thing,” she said with withering disdain. “I doubt you’ve a heart at all, Sergevni of Karscha.”

  “I’ve a head for thinking and a body for fighting,” he replied placidly. “It is enough.”

  “My father might have found me a better husband than a soulless soldier,” she snapped.

  She spoke to hurt him. He saw it in the slight curl of her lip, like a smile but devoid of mirth. He saw it in the cold sparkle of her eyes, like moonlight on frost. So she, too, resented this marriage. Well, they would be allied in their disappointment if nothing else.

  “My father might have found me a better wife than a capricious little princess,” he retorted, matching her icy smile with his. “I suppose we must both choke on the gall of our bitterness or else perish.”

  Gesturing towards the entrance of the tent, he added, “Now come, it is a long journey to Sevalensk, and you will find that Karscha is a much harsher country than Veritier.”

  “I already do.”

  With this icy rejoinder, she strode out of his tent. It would be a long journey home indeed.

  Outside, his soldiers had packed away most of the camp with impeccable efficiency. The tents and furnishings were neatly loaded onto the horse carts. Already the horses were leaving the camp in a long file, making slow and steady progress along the path through the mountains.

  Sergevni’s own personal escort awaited with his horse. By their side sat Althius, looking better now that his face was shaven and clean. He wore Karschan armour and Sergevni found that it suited him. In his hand he held the reins of the horse that had been saddled for the princess. She climbed on without waiting for help, and Sergevni watched with narrowed eyes as she bowed her head to confer with her guard.

  There was something sinister about her gravity when she spoke to the old warrior. Sergevni wondered what she might be telling him. He was certain she was not simply relaying their conversation — there was a spark of some deadly determination in her blue eyes. Perhaps she was swearing vengeance upon him or forming yet another preposterous plan.

  Vowing to keep a watch on his belligerent bride, Sergevni mounted his own steed, his escort forming a diamond around him, the princess and her guard. They left the camp and began the long march back towards Sevalensk. And although he was glad to have completed his mission in Veritier, a part of Sergevni could not help but dread his return to his father’s palace.

  No matter — he would withstand his father as he always did. At least this time, his father would have a brand new toy to amuse himself with. Sergevni smirked to himself. He had the feeling that the Veritian princess would not let herself be bullied by his father quite as easily as the old man expected.

  3. Ice

  “We should make our escape and return to Veritier before it’s too late.”

  “It is a foolish plan, princess,” Althius said.

  It was early in the afternoon, and the march had made a stop to rest and eat. Soldiers fed the horses and gathered around firepits, eating and drinking harsh mouthfuls of vodka. Adrienna sat huddled next to Althius by a fire, her hands hovering over the flames.

  If she had ever thought Veritier was cold in the autumn, then she had been deceiving herself. Karscha was incomparably colder, the wind so sharp she feared it might flay the skin from her bones.

  Another reason to go through with her plan to escape.

  “I know it’s not the best idea,” she muttered to Althius. “It is dangerous and likely to fail — but what choice have we?”

  Althius sighed.

  “Princess, I know you dislike your betrothed. But you are making a mistake by not believing what he told you. I too believe that Aster and the
Arkaviki are long gone.”

  “And so we should give up on her?”

  Adrienna dropped her head against Althius’s shoulder. She was exhausted. Not just from the ride and the cold and the fear, but from the loss of her hope. When she had left Hawksmoor, she had dreaded her marriage to a stranger. But she had expected Aster to remain at her side, to support and comfort and protect her to matter what.

  With Aster gone, she was alone. Althius was a good guard and a powerful warrior — but he was not the same as Aster. She could not confide in him the way she would have in Aster.

  Meeting her future husband had only increased her dread. If she had hoped that he might be handsome and kind as the knight in a faerie tale, then she had been sorely mistaken. He was nothing like the man she had imagined. He was handsome, but his face was so utterly joyless that his gaze seemed to freeze her to the bone. Never had Adrienna met such a solemn, stony man. He had dismissed her plan as foolishness and spoken of Aster’s death as though it were a matter of fact. There was no heart to pump blood through him — perhaps that was the reason he seemed made of ice.

  Adrienna looked up, searching for him in the crowd. He stood further away, talking to a group of soldiers. They listened attentively to his commands and dispersed. Then he stood alone, calmly observing his garrison. He never seemed to rest or eat or drink. Everything he did was dutiful and structured and devoid of warmth.

  What would he be like as a husband? Would he command her like a soldier? Would he pat her shoulder in stoic appreciation on their wedding night? Adrienna had once dared to dream of romance, of love, of passion. She had imagined being in the arms of a man who would kiss her tenderly and pleasure her sweetly. But Sergevni seemed incapable of tenderness and sweetness; she would find more warmth and affection in a corpse than in his arms.