Setia remained silent, waiting for Rosnar to say something, but she knew the mercenary had already figured her out.
"Setes had a daughter, a little beauty who always accompanied him." He looked triumphantly at Setia again. "I told you I'd remember."
"So, Rosnar," Setia looked him straight in the eye, "since you know who I am, remember this: I'm not easy to be deceived, and if anyone tries to kill me, they'll meet a sad end." Rosnar held her gaze.
"I will remember," he replied seriously. "I like to know who I'm dealing with."
With these words, Rosnar rode away, leaving Setia to her thoughts. Zaran waited until his father was far enough away, then rode closer to her. They remained silent for a moment. A vast grassy plain stretched before them. The terrain was flat and perfectly visible, making it practically impossible to hide. As far as the eye could see, there was grass.
"My father did remember, though." Zaran began the conversation. "A mercenary's daughter. We have a lot in common."
"Really? What?" Setia looked at Zaran intently. His green eyes darkened, a certain fierceness in them.
"Putting aside our similar childhoods and backgrounds, we both enjoy killing. More so, inflicting pain and watching our opponents suffer."
Setia laughed, brushed her hair away from her face, and looked at Zaran again.
"I'm not that messed up, Zaran. It might turn you on, but it doesn't turn me on. I remember that mutilated whore; I have no desire for that kind of fun."
"She was nothing," Zaran said, moving closer. "There's no point in denying your nature. You could have killed Dameron, but no, you chose a clever strike to make him suffer. It was like a signature, look, this is my work." He leaned toward Setia, almost touching her. "Together we could have achieved anything. I watched you sleep and listened to your steady heartbeat last night. You were within arm's reach." His voice dropped to a whisper.
"What stopped you?" Setia felt a nervous tension throughout her body; she no longer felt like playing such games. Jefre was still stubbornly lodged in her mind.
"Nothing, it wasn't the right time." The mercenary shrugged. "And I wasn't invited to your tent. I want to be by your side at night, but also during the day. Once we take Fenigrid, we'll still have to hold it. The Equerds are gathering their strength. And you'll be left alone." Zaran voiced her fears aloud.
"Let's assume we face the Equerdas together. From what I understand, they have at least 10,000 men. What will your 500 get me?" Setia looked at Zaran with a serious expression.
"More than the 100 you currently have. It will give you time to gather a larger army, to recruit, and to create an effective defense. Think about it." The mercenary bowed low and rode away, followed by Setia's gaze.
***
Gorsep held a torch, which burned brightly in the gathering darkness. The crowd around him silently watched this tragic spectacle. The funeral pyre was set in the center of the square. All the inhabitants of the castle and the town of Kanror seemed to have gathered around. Everyone wanted to see the young king bid farewell to his wife, especially since rumors of her death were circulating throughout the city.
On the pyre, in a light blue dress, lay Dagrana, and in her slit belly, his unborn child. He touched the torch to the pyre; the wood was dry and doused with oils. The flame leaped rapidly from log to log. After a moment, the flames crawled to Dagrana's body.
As she lived, he had given her little thought. She had been a faithful and obedient wife. That was all. She would probably have been a loving mother. From the moment of this vile attack, he had experienced alternating bouts of anger and guilt. The worst was that his wife had died in his presence. He had been there, and he had failed to protect her and their child. He didn't even have a chance to avenge them, because the murderess had made her own choice and jumped out the window.
He felt empty, only the flames and the glow of the fire. He needed to clear his mind. He felt the heat of the fire on his face and the smell of burning flesh. It didn't bother him. This was his farewell. He wrote a letter to Latamor, but he didn't wait for his arrival. It was already too warm, and Dagrana's body couldn't lie there for long.
He knew he would have to deal with his former father-in-law; his new wife had given him a son. A son who, according to the prenuptial agreement, would not receive the kingdom as his own. He could only be a vassal of the Equerds. Gorsep, however, was free again; he remembered how he hadn't wanted this marriage, and it hadn't lasted long.
His father would arrive in a few days. Together with Hadbel, they must ensure that Prenian didn't disobey them. All those thoughts were swirling in his head. He sadly realised he was just as calculating as his father.
A servant approached Gorsep with a chalice filled with wine laced with herbs, which gave the drink a slight bitterness. This was an Equerd custom. Each funeral attendee was always given this wine to drink in honor of the deceased. The sweetness of the wine was meant to symbolize life, while the palpable bitterness and pain of separation.
"Dagrana," Gorsep's voice broke the silence, "today I drink in your honor. You were a loving wife and a worthy queen to me. I hope we will meet again through Haleon." After these words, he drank the bitter wine and poured the rest onto the burning pyre. Only the hiss of the flames answered him.
The capital of Fenigrid, a sprawling city spilling out in small buildings beyond the defensive walls. The nine-year interregnum had resulted in chaos. Aktis sought only to cling to power, Brandis obeyed her and did nothing about the castle and city's defenses. The Council of the Eight had deliberated for a week without reaching an agreement. Now it was her time, the time of Queen Setia. In the evening, they crossed the Parena River. From the slight rise on which she stood, the city was still sleeping. But Setia was not fooled; the inhabitants were already aware of their arrival; the reconnaissance had captured several individuals. This meant that there would surely be some resistance. Even such a poorly fortified city could defend itself. Everything depended on the commander's skill.
From this vantage point, one could admire the massive palace buildings surrounded by a partial wall, the network of narrow roads, and the chaotically constructed houses. The further from the center, the greater the density of buildings. The lack of any sense of planning. Disorder and mess. The sky was lit with a faint pink glow. The dawn was approaching. Zaran climbed the hill beside her. He took a deep breath and, without looking at Setia, said, "I love such crisp mornings." A blush bloomed on his cheeks. His eyes sparkled with joy. "And what is your decision, my lady?"