Chương 23

Imperial Princess Regina du Tremanak sat at her father's deathbed, listening as the lawyers read the documents in his will one last time while the man was still lucid. He'd awoken to a good day, today, and declared that today he would review his will one last time. Regina had smiled. They had discussed this, and many other things, during his sickness.

Emperor Maximus du Tremanak had never had much use for his daughter before, leaving her to be spoiled by her brothers and educated by her tutors and otherwise left to her own devices. But now, in his final hours, she had been his greatest comfort. Of her brothers, two remained. One was off on the front, rallying the troops and gathering an army. That they could not use necromancy, not against this foe, meant that it was a meager, pitiful army compared to what they might have otherwise fielded.

But her brother and her father would not admit defeat. Not against something that they themselves had created. They believed, still, that if they could just get Tal within range of certain formations, they could destroy whatever made him capable of independent thought. Perhaps even kill him. They just had to lure Tal onto the battlefield himself, then retreat to the capital. If Tal attempted to break the siege with his magic, as he had elswhere such as Palandrias, then… She shook her head. No.

The defeat of the empire was to be absolute, she was certain. Only in defeat could she hope to claim victory. Her father sat in his bed, propped up by pillows, as the servants fed him broth. He looked pitiful, she thought, compared to the man he had once been. She sat quietly by his bedside, holding his hand as the will was read. He listened intently. For three hours, he listened as lands they no longer controlled were given to families that were dead or hiding in exile.

Finally, they came to the only name that mattered. His successor. His oldest remaining son, Hector. She smiled. As the name was read. Hector was much like her father. He would fight to the last man against Tal, never admitting defeat until the last child of their once great nation was dead and risen again, on one side or the other. When the reading of the will was finished, the witnesses signed the document one by one. Last of all, the old man himself was handed a quill.

But his hand was unsteady, so it was agreed by all present that his daughter should sign for him. She signed his will in his name, and the meeting dispersed. He coughed, and she helped him to get comfortable in his bed.

"When I die, be sure to burn the body," he reminded her.

"It would be bad for morale to—""Do not worry about Morale, father. The people are prepared for the succession. They know that you shall leave the land in the best hands suited to the task of guiding it through these dark times."

"Yes, yes, you're right," he said, coughing again. She dabbed his chin and continued to feed him his broth.

"You are such a comfort, Regina. I pray your husband treats you well when I am gone."

"Don't worry, Father. My husband is a kind and timid man. He will treat me as I deserve." He coughed again. His coughing grew worse. She gave him his medicine, and his symptoms subsided. He lapsed into sleep, and she held his hand one last time before leaving so that the maids could change his sheets. Her smile vanished as the door closed behind her. She looked to the conspirators.

"The other witnesses?" she asked.

"We have made our threats. Two defied reason and have been silenced," her father's spymaster informed her.

"The rest have agreed to go along with the plan. We'll have them silenced after the coronation." This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it"The authentic document?" she asked.

"Burned."

"Our replacement?"

"Awaiting your signature." She smiled, following the men who had been advising her since she was a girl on how to use the soft power she was allotted in this life to her advantage. The scroll was open to the end, where the sixteen witnesses had signed. But it was lacking one signature. Her father's. Hers. This was not the document that had just been read to the king. She opened it further and read the version of the document that would become law, smiling at every word.

Then she set it back down, took out a pen, and signed it with a flourish. She imitated her father's signature effortlessly, and sat back as the ink dried.

"It seems so anticlimactic, now that it's over," she said.

"I was so worried things would go wrong, but it's played out exactly according to plan."

"So far," the spymaster said.

"There is still an opportunity for disaster. If one of the witnesses we don't control comes forward—""Then we'll murder whichever hostage it is that we took to ensure their silence, and them, and discredit them through whatever vices consume their lives," she said.

"We selected those witnesses carefully, Gilbat. You say we do not control them because they were not part of the conspiracy before today. But they are, now. And they shall remain part of the conspiracy until they are disposed of. That is, after all, what makes this a conspiracy." He smiled at her.

"You give my own lessons back to me, Empress."

"I have not been crowned yet, Gilbat," she reminded him. At that moment, a maid rushed into the room.

"Your majesty, your father, he has-he has stopped breathing."

"Thank you. Was his passing peaceful?"

"What? Oh, yes. I had just changed his sheets. I almost didn't notice, but when I held the mirror to his lips before I left it did not fog."

"Alert the physicians. Once they have verified that he is truly dead, we shall ring the bells and prepare for the cremation," she said, her voice level but filled with sorrow.

"Yes, your majesty," the servant said, rushing out to obey her commands.

"Patricide suits you," Gilbat informed her.

"It was mercy," Regina said sadly.

"The growth in his lungs would have made him linger for months, years in agony. And nobody need ever know. I'll dispose of the poison after the physicians have left, and that will be it." Gilbat patted her on the arm.

"I look forward to your reign with great enthusiasm, your majesty."

"Short as it will be," she said.

"Bring me to it." She was led down into the cellars of the basement, where a skeleton was laid out on the floor. She sat in silence, checking the pocket watch she kept at her side occasionally. The eyes of the skeleton lit up precisely on schedule.

"Report," the cold voice said.

"My father, the Emperor Maximus du Tremanak, passed away forty minutes ago. His body will be cremated before nightfall to prevent it from ever rising again," she said to the specter.

"And his heir?"

"He named his only daughter, Regina du Termank, to succeed him as the first empress of the Holy Zozheimian Empire," she said. It was a lie. It was the official truth. The truth was the lie.

"Well then," Tal said coldly.

"It seems that I am speaking to my greatest adversary."

"The only reason you haven't swallowed Zozheim whole yet is because we are too large for you to take in one gulp," she admitted.

"I wish to discuss terms of surrender."

"Very well," Tal said.

"I shall make a very, very rare exception. Your father refused my offer of surrender when it was presented, but since nature has put a new ruler on the throne I shall magnanimously make the same offer again. The complete surrender of the Zozheimian empire."

"I accept," she said.

"On one condition."

"You are not in a position to make demands."

"It is a request, not a demand," she said.

"And it will validate your own rule. Marry me, Tal. Become my husband, and we shall rule the world together." Silence from the skull.

"Is that a joke?" it asked after two solid minutes.

"I am being deathly serious."

"Oh. I do not understand humor so I have to ask sometimes. I have no need of a wife."

"I know that you do not need one, but please, listen to my arguments. Taking a living wife will assure the common people that life has a place in Tal-sha-shenk. That they might live and grow and thrive. That it is safe to have children, and that now that the war is over the tithe of bodies and the conscription of soldiers will slow. You must see that—" She argued for twenty minutes to a silent skull, it's violet eyes never once looking away. Finally, she had run out of arguments.

When she had been silent for two minutes, the skull asked "Is that all?"

"Those are my arguments."

"I shall consider them, and discuss them with my advisers. However, the surrender of Zozheim and any potential marriage with you are separate matters. You will surrender to me. And you shall do it at your coronation. Whether we wed at a later date remains to be decided."

"I accept," she said, her heart hammering in her chest. This encounter had been more nerve racking than altering her father's will and murdering the man. It was working. Her crazy, stupid, half suicidal plan was actually working! She dropped the skull of her great-great grandfather on the ground and walked out of the cellar, the torchlight flickering behind her and filling the room with the scent of burning pitch.