Chapter 104

Olivia hated boats with every fiber of her being. Or ships. For some reason captains could be touchy if you called their ships boats. What was the difference? An irrelevant question. Also, it wasn’t hatred, it was really fear.

Boats creaked and groaned and leaked; they heaved and tossed without any regard for the comfort of their passengers, and unless you wanted your things scattered like leaves in a tornado, you had to secure them in chests and cabinets that were bolted to the floor. The only thing between her and a watery death at the bottom of the ocean was a thin wooden shell of wood planking. In addition to all these ignominies, there was the closed, claustrophobic feeling you got when forced into the cramped, tiny quarters. Being on deck was no salvation; the horizon heaved up and down as the ship pushed through the waves, the deck lurched and groaned ominously underfoot- a thoroughly unpleasant experience.

The food was uniform and barely palatable: a thick creamy soup of clam, carrot, potato, and onion. There were bits of some unidentifiable green vegetable with a flavor quite unlike any she’d had before. Katarina probably would be more comfortable with it; the woman likely could eat anything.

Given the choice, Olivia would have gladly chosen to travel overland by carriage, but she hadn’t been given a choice, she’d been ordered. Her ship and sixteen others identical to it would sail east across the Mirras to Einsamkeit, and then from there, sail upriver to Begierde, where they would make a fashionable, ostentatious display of power.

Aside from being tossed about, her sleep, such as it was, was free of dreams. Despite being constantly terrified that the boat would suddenly and arbitrarily fly apart at the seams at any moment, sleep was inevitable. When fear was spent, exhaustion would force her into sleep and there she would find rest. The rocking of the ship seemed almost soothing to her, though she couldn’t explain why. If she dreamed, they were normal dreams, not the hauntingly realistic ones where Katarina crawled into her bed at night whispering endearments and promises.

It would take several days to get to Einsamkeit, and more still to fight upriver to Begierde. She had plenty of time to compose herself. She was supposed to present Bianka with drama, pomp and ceremony, and she was certain she could do that, at least. There was a small flaw, a catch in the Grand Cardinal’s plan, however, one Her Grace might have overlooked in her haste. One that Bianka might exploit: Olivia was of the von Wolfe family; barely considered nobility by Bianka lon Pavlenko. The von Wolfes had small estates and a negligible voice on the Merchant Councils of Einsamkeit and Begierde. Bianka could very well use her noble status over Olivia in some way.

As a member of the Church, she outranked Bianka; Olivia outranked everyone except Her Grace the Grand Cardinal, but as a member of the nobility, Bianka far outstripped her. Because of that, there was a possibility that Bianka could leverage authority against Olivia. Whatever the outcome, she was not looking forward to meeting the woman.

It all started with a rain-drenched messenger from the Church at the estate gate alternately stamping his feet for warmth and waving his pouch over his head in a vain effort to be granted admittance.

Bianka was of a mind to have him remain out in the autumn rains for the traditional three days before deigning to hear whatever lies the perfidious knave had to say, but RIckard let her have her way for only one before he himself granted the boy admittance. While Bianka began plotting dozens of innocuous but spiteful ways with which to punish her husband for not allowing her to have her way and the bitter satisfaction of tormenting the Church of the Anglish Empire, Rickard won his redemption by simply waving the pouch at her and proclaiming, "It’s from Kat, dear."

That letter was filled with strange news and grim revelations: Ardeal had nearly completely fallen. Only a few tens of thousands of refugees had escaped horrific and destructive storms- magically malignant storms that had swept down from Schactice Castle. Katarina went on to relay surprise after surprise as if indifferently tossing out tidbits to the hounds. The remains of the Ardeal lon Pavlenkos were en route to Begierde and the estate, which was alarming. Bianka was further surprised by the rather succinct report on their standings.

According to her wayward daughter, the surviving lon Pavlenkos of the homelands were self-important Judes and jumped-up Cneaz, regional governors and city-holding nobility. Technically they had no possible threat to the inherited Boiyar title, but Bianka could immediately see them making a bid for the Boiyar inheritance if Katarina did not produce female issue. Kristoff could marry one of the lon Pavlenko cousins and the lon Pavlenkos would keep the ancestral title of Boiyar, but Bianka’s line would lose it, and everything her line had accomplished would handed over, part and parcel, to her avarice-bound family from across the sea.

There was also the matter of the refugees. Tens of thousands of smallfolk, their families, their belongings, their horses, cattle, and Goddess-knew-what would be disembarking within mere months and, having sworn fealty to the lon Pavlenkos, would be making their way to the city- a city that had no hope of containing them. Bianka was so troubled with this information she negligently allowed a second courier from the Church in without her usual bitterness only several weeks later, a packet of missives from Darnell. One was a letter from her beloved daughter, once again reiterating the political dangers of her cousins, including mention of the attempt on her life. The casual revelation baffled Bianka. Shouldn’t she be furious?

The second letter was from Her Grace, The Lady Cardinal Olivia von Wolfe, the administrator of the entire region from Tannit to Einsamkeit. A legion of construction mages and material rights were being issued to the Pavlenkos by way of the Merchant Council to "urgently expand" the cities of Begierde and Einsamkeit to accommodate the refugees.

Bianka had laughed in pure, delighted savagery at this. By allocating these resources directly to her, Olivia had just effectively handed the entirety of the Merchant Council to the lon Pavlenkos. The Pavlenkos would build, would grow both cities, ostensibly under the guidance of the Merchant Council, but in reality the power, the resources, the construction efforts would flow from the House.

The High Ladies of the lon Pavlenkos disembarked at Begierde with only one small upset; the High Lady Victoria lon Pavlenko stumbled on the gangplank and fell into the river with a splash and drowned. This shouldn’t have been any cause for alarm or concern, but when the woman’s corpse had been fished from the water, the guards had discovered a very small wound, only as wide as a finger, perhaps, under the woman’s armpit. The wound had to come from a stiletto dagger, and was done so quickly and discreetly that it had to have come from someone in her personal retinue. The implications were obvious; an assassin was in the ranks of the lon Pavlenkos, and that assassin was now lurking in Bianka's own estate.

Months passed. The lon Pavlenko estate was an armed camp of two warring factions: the Pavlenkos from the mainland, who felt they were entitled to proper deference from Bianka. They were true Pavlenkos, and had not intermixed with the blood of foreigners. They held the bones of their noble ancestor, Konrad lon Pavlenko. Bianka responded that their holdings were scattered ruins across an unforgiving ocean and she held the remains of the Boiyar, Anastasija lon Pavlenko. After a mocking offer to tour the Ardealean holdings of the lon Pavlenkos from across the sea, she invited the lesser Pavlenkos to tour her own holdings, and was coldly refused, to Bianka's delight.

Many of the smallfolk had resworn fealty upon arrival, but strangely, they swore their fealty to Katarina lon Pavlenko, in honor of her full delivery of her promises: safety, shelter, and succor from the House. This was a telling point to the Judes and Cneaz, as by heritage and land-right, they were supposed to be owned and managed by the Pavlenkos from across the sea.

News from Darnell was disheartening. Nothing new from Katarina, and a rumor that fully half of the Book of the Golden Lady had died. Bianka was concerned with the first, but only indifferently interested with the second.

"The docks, my lady!" A servant shouted, bursting into Bianka’s office. The older woman looked up in surprise from her desk. The Pavlenkos owned a number of the docks. Had something happened to them?

"Well?" She snapped at the man. "Out with it."

Kristoff, her son followed on the footsteps of the servant. "Warships, Mother. In the docks." He stated, unable to keep incredulity from his voice. Bianka gaped at this, but only for a moment. "A merchant boat may carry a gun deck, but it’s hardly-" She began, but Kristoff cut her off.

"No, mother. These are Empire Man-o-War ships from the Arm of the Sword." He declared. "They’re all done up in maroon and gold and have at least three gun decks."

Bianka rolled her eyes. "What is the crisis? Have the Anglish declared war against us?" She asked, and her maid collapsed in a faint at the prospect.

"I don’t have the latest news, mother." He replied. "Just that these warships have completely filled the docks. There are a lot of angry merchants who are extremely pissed off because there is no place to make berth."

Bianka blew out a breath. "And?" She prompted. He smiled a little. "I have directed messages be sent to the captains, directing them to offload in Tannit, and promised overland caravans to bring them back down to us."

Bianka nodded at this. "Now, why are there warships filling every berth in Begierde?" She asked.

Kristoff shook his head. "I have no idea."

Bianka waited patiently for a full minute, counting silently in her head.

"Shouldn’t you be finding out, then?" She spat, and he jolted. "Yes, mother."

The warships disgorged hundreds of paladins to the docks of the city, each decked in full steel armor lacquered in oxblood and trimmed in gold, swords slanted precisely in the exact angle on every hip, crimson capes billowing in the wind. They marched with almost mechanical precision, forming ranks as archers and sanctioned battlemages followed.

Massive carriages followed, groaning with weight, pulled by teams of horses barded in crimson and gold like the warriors. Finally, a contingent of battle-clerics, resplendent in maroon-and-gold robes, carrying their Holy Books of Detestation and brutal maces took their places, and as one, they marched into the city.

There was simply no time to mount a resistance of any sort. The army forced its way into the estate of the Pavlenkos, Paladins marching the halls, archers and mages covering corners and oblique angles, the battle-clerics calling down condemnation and blasphemy on any who dare oppose the Golden Lady. The nobility were rounded up and gently but firmly brought to the great receiving hall.

An attractive woman with tumbling locks of black hair and fully garbed in the accoutrements and vestments of high station marched into the hall, stripping off immaculate riding gloves as several paladins followed in her wake, carrying an ornate chest.

A young woman following just behind and to the right announced, "Her Grace, the Lady Cardinal Olivia Wolfe comes. Her Grace, the Lady Cardinal Olivia Wolfe greets you. Her Grace, the Lady Cardinal Olivia Wolfe comes."

Bianka was expected to kneel and kiss the woman’s hand. Instead, she stood as everyone knelt at this pronouncement.

"I am Boiyar Bianka lon Pavlenko." She replied curtly, defiantly. "What is the meaning of this occupation?" She demanded. For a moment, it seemed as if the Lady Cardinal smiled at this.

"You’re to be rewarded for your leal service." The woman replied, and gestured. The paladins carrying the chest stepped forward and flung open the lid of the chest revealing a bundle of cloth. A second chest was brought forward and opened; inside was a small fortune in steel talents and letters-of-rights.

"By decree of Her Grace the Grand Cardinal, the House Banner of the Pavlenkos is to be returned." She explained. "As the banner is returned, so is the title of-" She broke off at this- "Doamna?" She half-asked as she wrestled with the unfamiliar word.

Bianka swayed on her feet at this. Technically the Anglish Empire couldn’t ‘return’ the title of Grand Princess to anyone from Ardeal as it was a matter of bloodlines, but the symbolic return of the Banner of the House of Pavlenko, captured when Ardeal capitulated, legitimized the claim politically.

"In recognition of your increase, an estate will be prepared in Darnell, and you may claim a seat on the Council of Nobles. Your tithes to the Empire for the past twenty-six years will be refunded in their entirety."

Bianka twitched at that, baffled. "Twenty-six? What an arbitrary number." She blurted, baffled.

The woman did smile then, just briefly.

"Finally, it’s my distinct pleasure to announce to you that your daughter, Her Radiance Katarina lon Pavlenko has been recognized by the Church of the Golden Lady with the following gains:" She paused.

"For ten years of unwavering service against the heretic by day and the terror by night, Her Radiance Katarina lon Pavlenko has been elevated to Justicar Witch Hunter." She paused. "For a life of heroic virtue, Her Radiance Katarina lon Pavlenko has been declared Anointed and Beatified. Henceforth, she shall be addressed as ‘Her Radiance’."

The woman paused. "For the recovery of Saint's relics, Her Radiance Katarina lon Pavlenko has been elevated to ‘Apostle’," Olivia’s voice husked at this; it was impossible for her to maintain complete control, despite her will. "and for confirmed and verified miracles, Her Radiance is to be declared the second Living Saint in the history of the Anglish Empire."

Anyone not already floored by the previous announcements collapsed in varying states of shock. Bianka herself staggered and fell to her knees.

"Kat- .... a Saint?" She whispered.

Olivia nodded at that, a simple acknowledgement. "There's one other announcement I would like to make: While Katarina travelled the lands of Ardeal, she recovered the preserved diary of Boiyar Anastasija lon Pavlenko, who was an avowed companion of Saint Alicia Silverthorn. Because of the irreplaceable value and insight this provides the Anglish Empire into the life of one of our most cherished Saints, Boiyar Anastasija lon Pavlenko is posthumously raised to to the title of Doamna." Olivia gave a polite curtsey to Bianka in respect.

Bianka shook her head at this. "You Anglish don't understand. It's not simply a matter of titles, it's a matter of blood." She objected. "The title is a worthy one, to be certain, but without blood ties, it's ornamentation."

Olivia waved her hand at this. "We have extensive geneological records, my lady, more comprehensive than your own. Anastasija did have the matriarchal ties and should have legitimately inherited the Doamna title. Whatever happened to remove the Doamna title was done politically. The claim is true. As Ardeal was a vassal of the Anglish Empire at the time, we have the authority to override that political change. We can provide those records to you should you wish to review them yourself."

Olivia's hands shook. She wanted, no, needed to get her hands on those records, and if it was as this von Wolfe had said, then things would change in drastic ways for the lon Pavlenkos. Further, Bianka could see the steel fist in the velvet glove. She could take these things from the Anglish Empire, who in turn would allow her her sovreignity, but welcomed as a vassal, rather than a conquored territory. Alternatively, Bianka could reject this generous offer and strike the sparks of emnity between themselves and the Empire. The show of force was an obvious message: Take these gifts and make peace with us and we will accept you with open arms, or reject them and be utterly subjugated beneath our heel.

Bianka wanted nothing more at that moment but to be intimately familiar with the vulgarity that her daughter casually displayed. A few well-placed vile oaths would suit the moment, but Bianka had been raised too gently and so the words escaped her.

"Is..." Bianka began hesitantly, "Is Kat-" She forced herself to say it- "is Her Radiance- well?"

"I'd... prefer to have that conversation in private." Olivia offered quietly, and Bianka struggled to keep her face firm. "All right, then." She agreed, adn then nodded. "As-" She forced her voice to be louder, smoother, a woman in command and control of her full authority. "As Head of the House of Pavlenko, I accept the generosity of the Anglish Empire." She gave Olivia a jagged half smile. "If we're to be welcomed as friends, could you kindly release us from this occupation? I'd ... like to have that private appointment with you as well, as soon as it can be arranged."

Olivia nodded at that. "Captain, you have the documents?" She asked one of the paladins, who saluted fist to heart, steel fist ringing on his breastplate. He turned and gestured behind him, and a young man in dyed leathers proffered a scrollcase.

The documents read as Bianka had expected. Ardeal would no longer be a subjugated nation, but one that willingly and knowingly joined hands with the Anglish Empire. The Pavlenkos, the last nobility of the Ardeal nation would be the acknowledged Lords, with all rights granted. She had a right to claim an estate in the Capital, participate in the nobile senate of the Empire, and petition the Book of the Golden Lady for aid for her nation. Bianka's mouth twisted at that last bit. Her 'nation' was a vast tract of blighted, poisoned land and crumbled ruins, by her last report. All that remained of Ardeal was concentrated here, on the continent of Hesperia, in the cities of Tannit, Begierde, and Einsamkeit.

It still left her in the troubling position of losing all the authority given her, if Katarina did not give issue. Some strings tightened to the strangling point; others loosened or fell away.