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Every battle cry marked another life lost. Arrows flew, blood sprayed high, heads flew from shoulders. Some soldiers had their skulls shattered by clubs before they could even swing their swords. Others cut down their opponents, only to be run through from behind by spears before they ever proclaimed their victory. Friend blurred with foe in the melee, and a moment’s lapse could mean death. If a soldier concentrated too much on the enemies on the ground, they would be fodder for the arrows raining down. If by some miracle they managed to prop a ladder up against the walls, they would be doused in oil from above and set alight. And if they fought their way up through physical and mental exhaustion, dozens, hundreds, thousands of gleaming blades would be waiting atop the battlements.
The siege of Vanr was well underway. Six Kingdoms’ forces had encircled the holy city and were now staging a ferocious assault. Waves of soldiers crashed ceaselessly against the walls, staining the white bricks a gory crimson. The sight would have struck despair into anyone’s heart. The defenders held out regardless, fighting with all they had to hold back the tide. Those same walls were all that stood between the enemy and their families.
Lucia watched, fanning herself, as arrows rained down onto Six Kingdoms’ lines. Aside from a single entryway, the world around her was swathed in white canvas, the better to shield her from the sun. As she reclined on a leather-trimmed sofa in the artificial shade, she plucked a piece of fruit from the pile before her.
“Look, Seleucus. Enough war can turn the most beautiful walls red. A crying shame, is it not? I had so hoped to take them without bloodshed.”
The sullying of the once-pristine walls mirrored the downfall of those within—a parallel that did not escape her.
“They were given the chance to surrender, Your Majesty,” Seleucus said. “They have no one to blame but themselves.”
She hardly registered his reply as she changed the topic. “How fares the battle?”
Seleucus took no offense. He was used to her ways by now. “The fighting remains fierce on the east wall,” he said as an aide handed him a piece of parchment. “And on the west. Our troops on the south wall requested reinforcements, so I took the liberty of sending them three regiments. It appears resistance is thinning around the main gate in the north.”
“So our plan is working. Splendid.”
Lucia bit into an apple with a sharp crunch, her eyes narrowed with cunning. Before the battle began, she had come up with a plan to divide the city’s defenders between its four walls, holding back on attacking the north wall while besieging the other three with full force. Taken by surprise, the Triumvirate command had hurriedly reassigned the northern defenders elsewhere in the city. She had then sent reinforcements to the north wall, only to retract them again once the fighting grew thicker and the Triumvirate officers there sent for aid. The same process had now played out several times. The trick was naturally starting to lose its effectiveness, but it had already served its purpose in giving her an advantage. Once a single wall fell, victory would be as good as hers.
“Do you suppose we shall take the city today?” she asked.
“Doubtful, Your Majesty. This is the álfar’s most sacred ground, and they defend it accordingly. Its walls are high and manned with soldiers aplenty. We won’t break through until nightfall at the earliest, and we cannot fight in the dark.”
Lucia pursed her lips. “I had rather hoped not to destroy such a historic gate, but I suppose needs must.”
“I have sent the battering ram, but the gate is sturdy. It is unlikely to fall before sundown.”
“No matter. I doubt entering the city would persuade the álfar to lay down their arms in any case.”
“They are proud if nothing else,” Seleucus remarked wryly. “What would you have us do in that case?”
“Tell my darling soldiers that I will turn a blind eye to a little pillaging. Let us see how long the defenders’ spirits last when we hold their families hostage.”
Lucia sat back, fanning herself as she returned to watching the battle unfold. In time, a soldier entered, blocking her view.
“Your Majesty, may I trouble you with an important matter?”
“What is this matter? Glad tidings, I hope?”
“An emissary has arrived from the empire.”
Silence fell over the tent. It was like time had stood still. Lucia’s jaw tightened. Seleucus closed his eyes in resignation. The various aides and retainers halted in their work to stare at the soldier.
Lucia was the first to recover. She snapped her fan closed and pointed it at the man. “Summon them at once. Let us find out why they are here.”
As the soldier hurried from the tent, Seleucus stepped forward. “Is that wise, Your Majesty?”
Lucia’s eyes flared with irritation. “I cannot very well turn them away.”
Soon enough, the soldier returned with an imperial emissary in tow. The emissary sank to one knee in a respectful bow.
“Spare me the pleasantries.” Lucia turned her fan upon him. “State your business.”
The man looked a little taken aback—imperials placed much stock in proper etiquette—but he approached soundlessly and held out a letter in both hands. “I have come to deliver this, Your Majesty. It is from Her Highness Lady Celia Estrella.”
Lucia took the letter in silence, broke the seal, and opened up the sheet of paper within. Her eyes moved from left to right as she skimmed down the page. Her shoulders began to shake as she read. Abruptly, she raised her fist as if to dash the letter against the floor, only to sag as whatever energy had possessed her fled.
“I shall have your reply soon enough,” she said. “You shall have a tent in the meantime.”
“You are most kind, Your Majesty,” the emissary said.
Once the man had left, Lucia crumpled the letter in her fist. Her hand shuddered with anger, her eyes burned with spite, and her lip bled as she chewed it bitterly. Her aides trembled to see her so worked up. Seleucus sighed. He could more or less guess what the letter amounted to.
At last, one of the aides steeled himself and stepped forward. “What did it say, Your Majesty?”
Lucia’s eyes flashed, and the man cowered, but her anger faded as quickly as it had come. She sank into a chair. “The sixth princess demands our withdrawal from the Vanir Triumvirate. She asks us to refrain from unnecessary bloodshed.”
“If I may...do you mean to accept?”
“I have little choice. She claims the empire is poised to ride on Six Kingdoms.”
Seleucus cocked his head doubtfully. “One would think we would be the least of the empire’s concerns.”
Lucia snorted. “The Triumvirate suffered a worse defeat than we ever thought possible, I don’t doubt.” She gave a helpless shrug. “Trust them to inconvenience us even in defeat.”
“Why not decide how to proceed after we take the city? Surely we have more than days before the empire mobilizes.”
“’Twould be futile, I fear. Steissen is riding this way as we speak.”
Lucia might well succeed in capturing Vanr, but if she retreated, Steissen would take it for themselves, and if she stayed to defend it, the empire would lay waste to Six Kingdoms. An army could not fight without a home to return to. The soldiers’ morale would plummet, and this foreign shore would become their grave. She briefly considered allowing her army to sack the city before retreating, but that would be no good either. It would only make Six Kingdoms a pariah state, hounded by war until it fell to ruin.