The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) Read Online Free

Athesia. Today, she was still a humble girl mourning her father’s death.
    Empress Lisa was the provisional ruler for now, but she did little to impede her daughter’s ambitions. It was a symbolic gesture to custom, nothing more. Amalia was running the show.
    Another intrigue, Stephan thought. Like Adam, Lisa was a lowborn merchant girl turned leader of the newborn realm. She had rarely shown her face in public, letting her husband govern the country. The woman was a soft-spoken, shy person, really, a balance to Adam’s sterile, calculated rage. Even now, she would not let her presence shadow her beloved’s death.
    “Are you a gambling man, Councillor?” Duke Vincent asked, breaking his reverie.
    Stephan leaned back on the rail. “Well, sometimes.”
    Any good businessman had to be. A servant walked by, carrying a tray of refreshments. Stephan reached for a glass of pale yellow juice. He raised it and saluted to a friend, Councillor William, standing some distance away and drinking eagerly.
    “What do you think will happen now? No. Would you like to bet what is going to be with Athesia?”
    The Caytorean smiled. “What kind of a bet did you have in mind?”
    Duke Vincent grunted. “A thousand gold coins.”
    “That’s a respectable sum.”
    “Indeed it is. I say Athesia will be torn to pieces before the year’s end.”
    Stephan regarded the old man with care. “Assuming we can still meet on friendly terms to see this wager done.” He sincerely hoped that would be the case.
    “Yes, indeed,” the other man mumbled after a short pause. If Athesia were going to perish in the flames of war, there was a good chance Eracia and Caytor may exchange blows over who got to own the ashes.
    “If fate does permit that we meet again, I accept,” Stephan said. “Athesia will remain for many more years.”
    “Gentlemen,” a polite, clear voice called. It was one of the household clerks, wearing simple gray-and-black livery. “You are invited to join the empress and empress-daughter in the mourning ceremony. Follow me, please.”
    The man led them up and down a series of wide corridors and flights of stairs converging toward the large terraced garden on the north side. Once mustering grounds for cavalry, the mucky bailey had been turned into an impressive courtyard lush with long, sweeping banks of flowers, blue spruce, and all kinds of decorative hedges.
    It was large enough to hold several thousand people at ease. Knots of guests were entering the courtyard from its many entrances, small groups of guests led by servants, the exact replica of their own tiny group. Stephan and Vincent did not speak as they walked toward the gardens.
    Lush grass, wet with dew and morning haze, left muddy spots of green on shiny leather boots and billowing hems of silk dresses, turning the somber faces of assembled guests into caricatures of slight anger and dismay.
This must be on purpose
, Stephan thought.
    A buzz of displeased chatter rose as perfectly chosen attires were smeared with dirt and mud, only getting worse as more feet padded onto the garden greens. Servants rushed into the fray, carrying trays loaded with drinks and fruit, silencing the murmurs with rigid smiles and obtuse cheerfulness.
    Stephan chose a spot at the edge of the growing commotion, wiping sweat off his neck with a handkerchief. It was already quite hot, and the presence of so many people milling about did little to diminish the miasma of discomfort. Behind him stood a row of household help, stone-faced, waiting for their cue to charge into the crowds and start grinning madly. Higher yet, on the second and third, more intimate tiers of yet-unblemished terraces, fresh hosts of servants waited, standing by narrow gravel walkways. An odd guest would stray their way, but they would politely, yet persistently guide them back into the cauldron of beautiful greenery at the first level.
    Stephan saw his colleague Adrian push and shove, displeased by the heat and mud. The