“Now you can really impress the ladies,” she uttered flatly.
She stepped back and looked to Korden, who had just jogged into the room.
“Have my tailor devise some kind of harness for Flemmal to carry all of… that... around. Put him in the stocks until it's ready. Let's give Morganon’s women an opportunity to see what they have to look forward to.”
Seven
The invasion of Brinnock was a week away. Armorers, bladesmiths, bowyers, arrowsmiths, fletchers, and countless other artisans of combat spilled out into the blacksmith’s corridor. The business of war—or "martial exercises", as it was being referred to publicly—had attracted many to the capital, and they came from across Acorilan to supply the demand. The alleys were flooded with people working back to back, elbow to elbow, the congestion causing them to frequently bump into each other, step on others' feet, or accidentally knock over buckets or crates filled with tools, ingots, and wood. But despite the clogged corridor, the mood was bright and electric due in no small part to the crown’s propaganda.
Jularra knew most of the general Acorilinian populace doubted the true motive for the bolstering of arms, but she was publicly framing the activities as an overdue series of training exhibitions and equipment overhauls. Jularra also hoped to use the façade to minimize any suspicion that might arise from outside Acorilan’s borders.
In the days following the final council meeting, food supplies across all counties had decreased to an even more dire level. Even so, Jularra secretly ordered Morganon’s stores be dangerously depleted in preparation for the invasion. And while Jularra and her lords knew the supplies would go towards sustaining their armies that they might deliver a long-term solution to their food shortage, they also knew that the citizenry's response to their conduct would be entirely dependent on its success.
Jularra leaned on the rail of her bedchamber’s balcony and rubbed her eyes. They felt swollen and dry—not from her usual hangover, but from the early hour and brazen sun. She let her hand fall and blinked repeatedly.
She heard the daily throwing back of the curtain, and turned to see Korden holding two cups. She held up a dismissive hand.
“No, thanks. Not this morning,” she said.
“Want mine?” Korden offered. “It’s just water.”
She stared at his cup for a moment, hesitating. Maybe she did want the wine.
No. She stepped over and reached for Korden’s water. She held the cup up to him in a thankful toast and walked back to the ledge.
“It’s really quite something,” Korden said. He set the wine down on a table before continuing. “We’re on the brink of a famine. Granaries are running low. But they’re down there, giving it their all for you. For Acorilan.”
Jularra cut a disdainful glance at Korden as she drank his water.
“Oh, you know I’m teasing you,” he said. “But the trust and devotion really is humbling.”
“I know,” she replied. “I want to reward that. I want to reward them.”
“Reward? That’s an interesting word choice.”
“You know what I mean.”
She sighed and leaned out over the balcony, but turned around again almost immediately. She stared deep into Korden’s eyes.
“I don’t want to fail them.”
She walked over to Korden. Once she was within a few feet of him, she leaned over and swiped the wine cup from the table. Korden didn’t blink.
“You won’t fail them,” he said firmly. “Our strategy is solid.”
“I still don’t like trading famine for war.”
“We’ve been over this.”
“I know,” she said. “But it still doesn’t change how I feel.”
“There are no good options, Jularra. We all know there are no good options. Everyone knows that you know there are no good options. You’re doing what you think is best for the survival of our people. You can’t linger on doubts.”
“I’m not lingering.” Her words became sharper and louder. “I’m suffering the conscience of a leader, of a queen. I will always doubt, second-guess and question my actions and any options. Once I’ve made up my mind, though, I will see my plan out. And should the plan involve combat, I will be merciless.”
Korden scratched his head. “I’m only saying you don’t need to waste your energy on those options you didn’t choose. Your decision is good. Your motive is just. Like I’ve been saying all along.”
He turned to leave as she shot back another throatful of wine and slammed the cup down.
“Wait.”
He turned back to her with a slight grin.
“I know what you meant,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap, and I don't mean to patronize. You feel these burdens just as much as I do.”
He replied with a slight but sincere bow. Jularra shook her head at their exchange and turned back to the ledge. Korden joined her at the railing.
“Once we are on the field,” she began, “victory will be my only consideration.”
Korden said nothing, and she soon spoke again.
“Let’s go over to the training grounds,” she said, mentally running through a checklist of preparations. “I want to see how things are coming along.”
Korden stepped back, but Jularra lingered, still looking down on the crowd.
“What is it?” Korden asked.
She shook her head quickly, turned, and marched out.
The two skipped the lifts and raced down the stairs after collecting a contingent of Bedrock. The guards helped them cut through the courtyard, and Jularra and Korden made for the training grounds. The usual clanging and shuffling of the Bedrock armor grew to its typical volume. Jularra barely noticed it anymore. Each time she emerged from the residence tower, her mind was already swarming with scenarios, negotiations, the ramifications of a thousand decisions. This walk to the training grounds was no different.
Until they came upon the blacksmith’s corridor.
She halted at the start of the corridor and, together with her guard, caused somewhat of a blockage in the crowd’s flow. She hadn’t intended to disrupt the area, but she couldn’t help it.
“Jularra?” Korden whispered.
She stood, rigid, holding her ground as
