The Autumn Republic

“You’re a terrible negotiator,” Lady Winceslav said quietly. “ ‘This is a negotiation?’ ” she mimicked. “You might as well tell him you’ll give up ground.”

“I’ve lost patience in my old age.”

“We did not agree on the bit about Kresimir.”

“Taniel already let slip that we know Kresimir is comatose,” Tamas said with a scathing glance at his son. “And besides, we can take whatever guarantees we want from the Kez. If Kresimir manages to come around, he will destroy us regardless of Kez promises.”

“Then what good will having him in our possession do?”

“Our deaths will be that much quicker,” Olem suggested.

Tamas glared at his bodyguard. “We can discover how to contain him. Or kill him.”

“He won’t budge on Kresimir,” Nila said. The young woman’s voice surprised Tamas.

“Are you skilled in statecraft, young Privileged?” Tamas asked, his irritation leaking through. His side had started to throb, and the conviction with which he’d started the day was waning. Politics was supposed to be an old man’s game, yet it wearied Tamas more than war. He preferred the energy and decisiveness of battle to the machinations of bloated monarchs and their council.

“I agree with her,” Taniel said.

Of course. “Right. On their demands?”

“We won’t pay them a cent,” Lady Winceslav said.

“And it’s unacceptable that we give them any of our land.” Nila again.

“Of course, of course.”

The haggling went on through the afternoon. The Kez made offers, and Tamas countered with his own, only to be rejected. The back-and-forth continued for hours, and they retired for lunch and then dinner provided by retainers from their respective camps.

It was two hours after nightfall when they agreed to conclude for the day and meet again in three days’ time.

“I must consult with my advisers at greater length,” Ipille said. “And discuss the best interests of my people.”

“Because you care so highly for their lives and well-being?” Tamas asked.

Ipille gave Tamas a shallow smile. “The crown is a heavy burden to wear.”

A little later, Tamas mounted his horse and prepared to ride.

“Shall we make camp nearby tonight?” Olem asked.

Tamas shook his head. “I’d rather be back with the army.”

“That’s eight miles from here.”

Tamas looked first to Winceslav, then to Taniel, and then to Nila. “Your preferences?”

“I’ll ride ahead if you camp,” Taniel said.

“And I prefer not to be caught out with the Kez royal guard on the prowl,” said Lady Winceslav.

It was long past midnight when they neared the Adran camp, and Tamas sagged in his saddle. His side hurt and his head felt like a millstone. These negotiations would be drawn out and exhausting. Their only advantage lay in the fact that Ipille would want to finish them before the Deliv army arrived to tip the scales. Deliv would demand to participate in the negotiations from there on out and it would go worse for the Kez.

Tamas was surprised at how high Taniel rode in his saddle. Eager to get back to his lover, no doubt, and maybe farther from the man who was ultimately responsible for his mother’s death. Tamas himself had suppressed thoughts of Erika all day lest he reach across the table and finish the job he’d started with his fingers around Ipille’s throat so many years ago. It had been tiring.

“Sir,” Olem said, breaking in to Tamas’s thoughts. “Something’s wrong.”

Tamas shook his head to rattle away the sleep. “What is it?”

Olem pointed toward the north. The campfires burned on the horizon and the sky, lit by the cloudless moonlight, hung heavy with smoke.

Too much flame and smoke to be cook fires. And there, on the wind-screams?

“Taniel, wait!” Tamas shouted. But Taniel was already well ahead of them, off at a gallop.

CHAPTER 22

Taniel entered the Adran camp at a full gallop, hurtling past soldiers and camp followers.

The night was full of panicked shouts, punctuated by the screams of the wounded, and the chill air choked with smoke. The flames he had seen from a distance turned out to be fires jumping from tent to tent, burning the trampled grasses and catching everything they could along the way. He passed several bucket brigades working from the nearest streams and soon found himself in a haze of thick smoke near the Eleventh Brigade.

Where his and Ka-poel’s tent had been.

He left his horse with the closest soldier and ran deeper into the chaos. Men milled about, faces obscured by blood and ashes. Taniel grabbed one of them.

“What happened?”

“Surprise attack,” the man shouted, pulling aside the handkerchief covering his mouth. “They came from the west, at least a dozen Privileged and five thousand men!”

“Who?”

“Kez!”