Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

”Your Grace,” a voice murmured, smooth as poured oil.

Sebastian stepped forward from the shadows of the dining hall, his movements so refined they were almost silent. He tipped a silver decanter, replenishing Alpheo’s cup with a steady hand. ”The kitchens have prepared the venison meat-cake and the pâté as per your request. The crust is, I am told, exceptionally flaky today.”

”Please, Sebastian, convey my regards to the cooks; I can smell the sage and butter from here,’’

”With pleasure, Your Grace.” The Head Attendant turned his professional mask toward the other man at the table, inclining his head just so. ”And a wonderful honor to serve you today, Lord Jarza. May I offer my belated congratulations on your wife’s recent blessing?”

”Always happy to receive congratulations, Sebastian. Now, make sure you bring me an abundant serving; I’ve been training since dawn and I’m starving enough to eat the horse I rode in on,” Jarza boomed, his voice far too loud for the setting.

”Your appetite is a matter of legend in the kitchens, my lord. It has been well accounted for,” Sebastian replied. ”But I shall relay the urgency of your hunger regardless.”

”Godspeed, Sebastian! You truly know how to please a man,” Jarza chuckled, completely missing the microscopic twitch in Sebastian’s cheek at the phrasing.

”I live only to be of service. If you will allow me, I shall go and oversee the final plating.” With a final, graceful bow, the attendant retreated, leaving the two men in the relative quiet of the stone-walled hall.

”A wonderful servant, truly,” Jarza muttered, leaning back and stretching his massive arms until his joints popped. ”Impressive. He makes a man feel like a giant just by the way he holds a tray.”

”He is one of the few members of the old staff I can actually stomach,” Alpheo admitted, swirling the wine in his glass. ”Can’t help that the last time I trusted one of the princess’ man, we found ourselves betrayed with Arduronaven in the hand of Herculia. ”

”Probably happy he made the cut when the purge began,” Jarza said, his lips curling into a knowing grin.

”Had I my way, he would have likely been replaced with a military aide. It was my wife and her mother who voiced his defense. In the end, we compromised: I swapped the household staff with new blood, but I kept Sebastian to maintain the... décor. I’m glad I listened to Jasmine; he keeps this palace running like a clock. Even Basil trusts him enough to tell him where he’s sneaking off to, which makes it far easier for me to find my boy when he goes missing from his mother.”

As if to prove his point, three lesser servant entered the room in Sebastian’s wake. They moved with synchronized precision, placing steaming plates of rich meat before their masters. The scent of roasted fat and pepper filled the air.

Sebastian reappeared at the door, lingering just long enough to ensure the service was perfect. ”If there is anything else you require, any whim or craving, please inform me. It will be my pleasure to see it done.”

”I think we have everything we need, Sebastian. You and the staff may take the hour off,” Alpheo replied, dismissing them with a flick of his fingers.

”Should you find your needs changed, I shall return as lord Jarza said godspeed.” Sebastian flashed a rare, brief smile at Jarza, who returned the expression with a jovial nod. ”A good meal to you, my Lord, and to you, my prince.”

The doors clicked shut.

”How does it feel to be a father once more?” Alpheo asked, lifting a forkful of the truffle pâté. It was hot, viciously, unexpectedly hot. He swallowed it in a panicked gulp, the heat searing the roof of his mouth. For the next several minutes, he sat in silent agony, grimacing at the strange, raw sensation that he knew would linger for days.

”It feels... different, at first really,” Jarza replied, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He leaned back with a look of profound, quiet triumph, the expression of a man who had finally put down his sword and realized the ground beneath his feet was actually his own. ”I didn’t truly feel like a father before, for obvious reasons. I think this is just the gods’ way of letting me know I’ve finally found a home.”

Alpheo watched him, feeling a sudden, sharp pang of envy for the man’s levity. Jarza looked as though he had won at life, akin to an old man with his laughing grandchildren.

”Ten years of blood and bone, and you needed a child to realize you had a home in Yarzat?” Alpheo asked, forcing a smile through the burn in his mouth.

”Well, now I have an attachment,” Jarza said, gesturing with a massive hand. ”Before this....you know I was just following you, Alpheo. If I had died in the mud, nothing of mine would have remained here. But look at me now...” He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. ”Another member of the Alea household. A legacy.”

”And what do you intend to call this legacy?”

”Jarza, if it’s a boy. Maraya, if it’s a girl.”

”Wow. You really strained the limits of your imagination for that, didn’t you?” Alpheo teased. ”I can almost smell your brain frying from the effort.”

”Stop breaking my balls,” Jarza laughed, pointing a finger at the Prince. ”It is Arlanian tradition to name the firstborn after the parent. Are you really one to talk? Basil? Where did you even fish that name out of? Were I that boy, I’d poison your wine the moment I was old enough to reach the decanter.”

”It is a virile name,” Alpheo defended, though even he sounded unconvinced.

”Tell you what,” Jarza countered, ”you’re at no risk of finding another Basil in this princedom for at least twenty years. It’s a one-man monopoly.”

”They could have said the same for mine once. You have no idea how many lords have petitioned me for permission to give their sons my name.”

”And you actually allowed it?”

”Why not? Alpheo is a handsome name. It has a certain ring to it.”

”I always found it a bit girly, truth be told,” Jarza smirked.

Alpheo’s eye winced. ”At least it doesn’t end with an a. Someone could present their daughter to me as ’Jarza’ and I wouldn’t even bat an eye.”

The room erupted in laughter, the sound bouncing off the cold stone walls. For a brief, flickering moment, Alpheo couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so light. The weight of the autumn campaign, the ghosts of the men he had lost, and the chronic insomnia that plagued his nights seemed to retreat into the shadows.

He felt so light...

”So, are you going to tell me why we are dining like two brothers, or should I keep pretending this is purely for the sake of the pâté?” Jarza asked, his levity beginning to subside as he speared a thick chunk of meat. ”Don’t misunderstand, I’m enjoying the hospitality, but you have a look about you.”

”Maybe this is just a social call,” Alpheo suggested, though his eyes remained fixed on the golden flicker of the hearth.

”I know you better than that. You aren’t one to play favorites. If this were purely social, the whole gang would be here, and we’d be shouting over each other until the wine ran dry.” Jarza put down his fork, his attention shifting entirely away from the food and toward his friend. The soldier in him was waking up.

”You’re right, of course,” Alpheo said, his voice dropping an octave. ”There is something I have to ask of you.”

”As Jarza? Or as the Legate?”

”I have need of a man with a steel bearing today.”

”Legate it is, then.” Jarza straightened his spine, the jovial father-to-be vanishing behind the scarred mask of the commander of the First Legion. ”What can the Primogenia do for its sovereign? Have our enemies finally stopped whispering and started marching?”

”Nothing tie-breaking yet. They are still just setting the board, going about their rounds, hailing ’Good morning’ and ’Gods be with you’ to one another. But soon, those greetings will turn into conversations that bear only ill for us. We’re watching a storm gather, and for now, there is nothing we can do but wait for the first bolt of lightning.” Alpheo felt a familiar heaviness in his chest. He had taken too much for granted in the early years; had he played the diplomat as well as he played the general, he might not have become a ’Diplomatic Napoleon’, brilliant on the field, but utterly isolated on the world stage.

”The First stands ready,” Jarza replied, his voice ringing with a fierce, quiet pride. ”My men are itching for a chance at personal honor. To be honest, they’re more than a bit peeved at the recent pages in the Annalis. The Fourth Legion has been hogging all the ink lately with their feats; my boys are ready to write a few Chapters of their own in blood.”

Alpheo nodded, acknowledging the rivalry that kept his military sharp. He leaned forward, his hands clasped over the edge of the table, his gaze boring into Jarza’s.

”I’m glad to hear it, because the first blow may come soon, but that is not the reason for your call. Tell me, friend,” Alpheo began, his voice barely above a whisper, ”what do you know of our... dealings on the other side of the sea?’’