Chapter Twenty-Two: The Wrong Applause

Walric loved the annual commander gathering. It was only his second one, but having the whole day around the war table with all the commanders and leaders who were in Korvethis. They began with coffee and breakfast and then they took turns and spoke about all concerning matters. Some matters took a long time to talk through, some were quick. Some needed his father to choose the outcome. 

Everyone had opinions, but the Grand Marshal Torvane was really good about stopping arguments from becoming louder than they should be. Then Jareth would guide the servants in with meat and cheese. And lunch would be an entire pig. They’d have candied fruit after and drinks, so many different flavors. For a minute Walric wondered if he enjoyed the food more than the conversation. 

Then the conversation about Sah’ir came about and he beamed with pride. His father had put him as commander of this pursuit. He had gone twice to the desert country. It was hot and everyone was angry, but Walric had hope. Korvethis could help, and as soon as the Sah’iri people understood the good they could bring, they would be happier. 

A lot of the commanders he worked with across the ocean spoke about different issues. Water was a large one. It wasn’t that Sah’ir didn’t have water, but it was less available than what people in Korvethis were accustomed to. A lot of people had ideas of how to hold water for troops, what water rations should look like and different ways to turn salt water into drinkable water. 

There were talks about guerilla warfare, how even on the long walks their troops had to always be vigilant of what was lurking behind the hills and desert the little foliage the heat allowed to survive there. They spoke of tribes refusing to help, of towns closing their doors to any hospitality. 

They spoke about how the soldiers didn’t want to be in Sah’ir, that a lot of grumbled about how long they planned to be in a different land. They missed their families, worried about them more than they did the missions. There was even talk about how more soldiers were dying than being replaced. More caskets were being brought home than the living. Everyone seemed so negative about everything there, he almost didn’t realize he was standing up to speak until Torvane told the group to be silent to listen to the future king. All eyes turned toward him, most accompanied with frowns. 

“I do not believe the greatness of a kingdom should be measured by the number of enemies it defeats, but by the number of its people who return safely to their families. And when I wear the crown, I intend to see that peace is not merely something we pray for, but something we pursue.” Walric smiled, knowing that what he said brought positivity to the group of commanders. The applause from those around him filled his heart, puffed up his chest and let him know that those around him believed in him, that he would be a good king for Korvethis. 

One man, Commander Roglty, stood and the applause fell silent. “His Highness speaks with the conviction we should all hope to see in our future king. Peace, indeed, must be our ambition.” He paused and cleared his throat. “And yet peace requires more than ambition. It requires security, negotiation, and the cooperation of nations whose interest do not always align with our own. Until such agreements can be secured, our commitments in Sah’ir must remain unchanged.” 

The commander sat down and polite applause followed. At first Walric also applauded, though something didn’t feel right in his gut. He finished clapping his hands quicker than those around him. 

Another commander stood and began talking, but Walric barely heard. He was still listening to the words Commander Roglty spoke before. He realized that Roglty had publicly framed his position as an admirable aspiration rather than a workable policy. He realized quickly that his speech changed absolutely nothing. People still grumbled, still frowns, still only saw the bad. 

As he looked around at what he thought were his peers, he began to realize that they applauded for one reason only…because of his title. He looked over to his father and saw the stern look on his face. He didn’t look at him, the king just stared out into the crowd of men at the table. Walric felt like a child again, and the rest of the day he spent sitting quietly listening to the actual commanders speak. 

Late at night, after dinner and dessert, the commanders left one by one, each trying to have their own word with the king. Walric stayed in his chair and watched everyone, no sign of movement. It had been nearly an hour since the crowds left, yet Walric could still hear them. The thunder of dozens of voices, the clapping of hands, the way people had risen from their seats when he spoke of a prosperous future for Korvethis and Sah’ir alike. He had never felt quite so certain of himself. 

Unfortunately, his father appeared considerably less impressed. “Have you finished admiring your accomplishment?” Malrik asked. 

Walric straightened in his chair. “I was merely considering the reception, Father.” 

“Then consider it quietly. We have business.” The King finally looked at his son. High Chancellor Varoth Deymar stood beside the council table, arranging several documents into orderly stacks. Grand Marshal Torvane Harlund occupied a chair near the king, his broad shoulders nearly obscuring the carved backrest. Two additional advisers spoke in low voices near the windows, while a servant replenished the wine. 

Walric glanced toward the maps spread across the table. Sah’ir occupied the largest, its borders marked in red ink and several contested territories identified by small iron weights. He wondered whether his father intended to discuss the speech.

Instead, Varoth cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, correspondence has arrived from Nisen.” 

Malrik extended his hand without looking up. “And?” 

“Their representatives have expressed renewed interest in formalizing our agricultural agreements. Their latest proposal includes provisions for expanded grain shipments, preferential trade access, and the construction of additional storage facilities along the northern routes.” 

Walric leaned forward. “That sounds promising.” 

“It is promising,” Varoth agreed. “Provided we can secure terms favorable to the crown.” 

Torvane grunted. “And provided they can deliver what they promise.” 

“Nisen has delivered reliably for generations,” Varoth replied. 

“Generations without a war of this scale,” Torvane countered. 

The chancellor’s expression tightened, though he declined to argue. Walric studied the northern territories on the map. Nisen was a wealthy nation, known for its fertile lands and prosperous markets. Its grain supplied kingdoms far beyond its own borders. “If we secure those shipments,” he said, “we could redirect some of our existing stores toward Sah’ir” 

Torvane looked at him. “Toward our armies in Sah’ir, Your Highness?” 

“Toward the people as well.” A brief silence followed. Walric continued, encouraged by the possibility taking shape in his mind. “If we intend to bring stability to the region, we must begin preparing for what comes after the fighting. Food, trade, rebuilding. We cannot expect the people to welcome Korvethian rule if all we bring them is another army.” 

“An admirable sentiment,” Varoth said carefully. 

Walric recognized the tone. He had heard it several times that afternoon. “Is there something wrong with it?” 

“Nothing whatsoever, Your Highness. But the grain must first be purchased, transported, protected and distributed. Every measure requires coin, labor, and agreement. We have not yet secured the first of those. 

“Then we should secure it.” Walric stated. 

“Malrik finally lifted his gaze. “And that is why we are discussing Nisen.” 

Walric settled back, feeling faintly chastised. 

Varoth unfolded another document. “The Nisen court has also indicated a willingness to discuss a more permanent arrangement between our houses.” 

Malrik’s expression remained unchanged, but Walric noticed the slight movement of his father’s fingers against the armrest. “What sort of arrangement?” Walric asked. 

“Marriage,” Malrik answered. 

Walric blinked. “Marriage?” 

“Do try not to sound so astonished. You have known for some time that the matter would eventually arise.” Malrik sighed. 

“Yes, but I hadn’t realized we were discussing it today.” Walric felt somehow smaller. 

Malrik blinked at him for a few moments. “We are discussing it today because Nisen has presented an opportunity worth considering.”

Varoth stepped forward. “Archduchess Tarinne has been proposed as a suitable match for His Highness.” 

The name was familiar, though Walric could not immediately place it. He had heard of the archduchess before, usually in conversations concerning agricultural policy and the considerable influence of her family. “How old is she?” he asked. 

“Twenty-one,” Varoth answered. “Well educated, accomplished in matters of trade and agricultural economics, and reportedly quite capable of managing her family’s interests.” 

“An unusual accomplishment for someone so young,” Walric observed. 

“Indeed. Her correspondence suggests she understands the value of Nisen’s resources considerably better than several of her father’s advisers.” Varoth continued. 

That interested Walric. “And she wishes to marry me?” 

Varoth hesitated. “Her family wishes to explore the possibility.” 

“That wasn’t my question.” Walric replied. 

A faint smile touched Malrik’s mouth. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet.” 

Walric looked between them. “Has anyone asked her?” 

“These matters are generally discussed between families before the individuals involved are formally approached.” Varoth explained. 

Walric sighed this time. “Then we should ask her.” 

“We shall,” Malrik said. “When there is something worth asking.” 

Walric frowned but said nothing. 

Varoth returned his attention to the documents. “There is, however, a personal matter that her family has requested be addressed before negotiations advance.” 

Torvane shifted in his chair. “Here it comes.” Malrik gave him a warning glance. 

Varoth continued. “The archduchess recently gave birth to a daughter.” 

Walric waited. When no one spoke, he glanced around the table. “And?” 

Varoth folded his hands. “The child was born outside of marriage, Your Highness.” 

“I assumed so.” 

“Such circumstances introduce certain…complications into a royal union.” 

“What complications?” 

Torvane exhaled through his nose. “Succession, for one.” 

Walric considered this. “The child would not be mine.” 

“No,” Varoth agreed. “But if she were brought into the royal household and formally acknowledged, questions of rank, inheritance, and future claims could arise.” 

Walric nodded. “Then those matters should be settled beforehand.” 

“Precisely,” Malrik said. 

Walric looked toward his father. “Does the archduchess intend to bring her daughter?” 

Varoth’s expression became noticeably more guarded. “Her family has suggested that suitable arrangements might be made for the child’s upbringing in Nisen.” 

Walric felt his brows crease. “Without her mother?” 

“That appears to be their preference.” Varoth explained. 

Walric stared at him. “Her daughter is an infant.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

“And they expect her to leave the child behind?” 

“That remains a matter for negotiation.” 

Walric looked down at the documents. He thought of his own youngest siblings, of Cedoric’s determination to appear older than he was, of the way his mother could identify which of her children had entered a room without lifting her eyes from her work. The thought of separating a mother from her infant for the convenience of a marriage arrangement struck him as unnecessarily cruel. “Has Tarinne agreed to that?” 

Varoth paused. “We have received no indication that she has.” 

“Then why are we discussing it as though she might?” Walric asked. 

“Because,” Malrik interrupted, “her family has placed the matter before us, and we would be foolish not to consider its implications.” 

Walric turned toward him. “Surely we can consider them without requiring her to abandon her daughter.” 

“Nobody has required anything,” Malrik replied. “You are becoming unnecessarily emotional over a woman you have never met and a child whose name you do not know.” 

Walric opened his mouth, then closed it. His father was right about one thing. He knew nothing of Tarinne beyond what had been presented at the table. Still, he could not understand why the child’s existence was being treated as a problem to be solved. “Would the girl be permitted to live in Korvethis?” he asked. 

Varoth exchanged a glance with the king. “That would depend upon the conditions of the marriage. 

“Then I would like that condition included.” 

Malrik regarded him for a long moment. “You would?” 

“Yes.” 

“And what title would you give her?” 

Walric hesitated. He had not thought that far ahead. “I suppose that would require discussion.” 

“It would require considerably more than discussion,” Varoth said. “The acknowledgment of a child within the royal household carries consequences extending well beyond where she sleeps.” 

Walric folded his hands together. “Then we can discuss those consequences too.” 

Torvane leaned back, looking faintly amused. 

Malrik did not smile. “You have spent the afternoon promising prosperity to a nation we have not yet conquered,” he said. “Now you are offering a place in our royal household to a child you have never seen. I would suggest you learn the difference between generosity and obligation before making further promises.” 

The words stung more than Walric expected. He lowered his gaze. “I wasn’t making a promise.” 

“No,” Malrik replied. “You were making a suggestion without understanding its cost.” 

For several moments, the only sound was the soft crackling of the fire. Then Varoth carefully cleared his throat. “If I may, Your Majesty, there is no immediate need to settle the child’s position. We are still at the preliminary stage of negotiations. The archduchess herself has not yet been formally approached by our court.” 

“Then perhaps,” Walric said, “we should begin there.” 

Malrik studied his son. At last, he gestured for Varoth to continue. “Prepare a response. Express our interest in discussing the agricultural agreements and indicate that we would welcome further correspondence concerning a possible union.” 

“And the child?” Varoth asked. 

Malrik’s eyes moved briefly toward Walric. “Make no demands concerning the child. Not yet.” 

Varoth inclined his head. “Of course, Your Majesty.” 

The discussion moved onto shipping routes, storage costs, and the protection of merchant caravans. Torvane argued for additional escorts along the northern roads, while Varoth insisted that Nisen should bear a portion of the expense. 

Walric listened, though his attention wandered repeatedly toward the letter resting beside his father’s hand. He had entered the chamber imagining the applause of his people might be the beginning of something remarkable. A stronger Korvethis. A prosperous Sah’ir. A future in which the victories of one nation might benefit another. 

Now, unexpectedly, that future had acquired a name. Tarinne. And somewhere in Nisen, a little girl whose existence had already become a matter of negotiation. Walric wondered what her mother thought of all this.