"Moros, keep an eye on Rosnar; make sure the mercenaries don't plunder the city," she said to the friend standing beside her.
Moros nodded and accompanied by ten of Emfer's soldiers, set off to find Rosnar. Only then could Setia calmly observe the others in the hall.
A frail looking boy—Galdar—sat upon a massive marble throne lined with a grey velvet cushion. He was fourteen, though at first glance he appeared younger. Dressed in a grey coat embroidered with silver thread and a white lace shirt, with his blond hair neatly trimmed, he looked sweet. Yet, there were those steel-grey eyes, fixed upon her with hatred. Surrounding the throne stood richly dressed men of various ages—eight of them in total. Everything became clear.
"You are sitting on my throne!" she shouted at the boy, striding firmly toward Galdar. The boy was terrified; he gripped the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. As she drew near, one of the men stepped forward and spoke firmly:
"We will not allow the young king to be murdered!"
Setia studied the man closely; based on the description provided by her loyal legal advisor, she surmised she was speaking to Lord Fladmor.
"You must be Lord Fladmor, I presume?" The older man nodded in confirmation.
"Excellent. Then you know who I am: the widow of Nefer's son—who was next in line for the succession—and the mother of Tendred's unborn child. I hold the strongest claim to the succession."
"What kind of woman goes to war? What kind of mother risks her child's life?" Lord Walin shouted.
"A woman like me—one who doesn't just sit on her backside debating the right to rule over this mess." She sheathed the sword at her back. "So, what have you decided, Great Eight? Who is to replace Brandis?"
Silence fell. The lords glanced at one another, but no one spoke.
"So, nothing then," Setia concluded. "I breached your pathetic attempts to defend this city with hardly any losses. You are weak; the lack of a decisive commander means you have no real defense, and the Equerds will be here soon. Constant bickering and decentralization are weakening the entire state of Fenigrid."
"What do you propose, My Lady?" Lord Fladmor asked.
"I am not proposing anything; I have already decided. You"—she gestured toward the eight of them—"have a choice to make as well. Either you sign oaths of fealty, or I shall treat you as traitors."
"Some choice that is," Lord Colen sneered.
"You have no other." Setia walked unceremoniously toward the throne. "As I told you, Galdar: you are sitting on my throne."
The boy stepped down, gazing intently at her face. Setia was well aware of her appearance; she wore a silver mask and bore the bloodstains of her adversaries. She took her seat on the throne, and the Emfer guards herded the lords—along with young Galdar—before her.
"What is to become of the young prince?" Fladmor asked.
"What else? He is a prince so he will receive a rigorous soldier's training, and we shall find him a bride, suitable for his position ." She paused, then looked the lords in the eye. "I do not kill children."
Moros entered the hall, followed by a group of mercenaries led by Zaran.
"Where is Rosnar?" she asked directly.
"My Lady, my father fell on the battlefield," Zaran replied before Moros could speak. "I command the Shadow Army now."
"I understand. May Haleon welcome him," she said, reciting the traditional words while placing her right hand over her heart; Zaran nodded and made the same gesture in response. "Find Bentor for me; he has the oaths of fealty ready for my future lords."
Setia smiled graciously at the assembly and beckoned Moros to her side. Then she leaned in and whispered in his ear:
"Take about thirty of our men and find the treasury; we need to secure everything, or we'll have trouble paying the mercenaries."
Moros nodded, then immediately headed for the exit, taking a few of Emfer's guards with him.
"Zaran, are the mercenaries looting the city?"
"No, My Lady, – he reassured her. – Per your orders, we are herding the local population into the main square."
"Excellent." – Setia felt magnificent sitting on that high marble chair, looking down at the gathered crowd. It would be days before she tallied the gains and losses; for now, it was time to celebrate the victory. Bentor lumbered into the hall, clutching numerous scrolls; if such a thing were even possible, he looked even fatter than before.
"My Lady, – he bowed as low as his bulk allowed and, wheezing like a bear in rut, continued, – I have prepared the decrees as you requested; with your permission, I shall present them to the lords immediately."
"By all means." – Setia settled more comfortably into her seat, rested her chin on her hand, and waited, surveying the hall.
Fenigrid was one of the oldest cities of the former Hadgard. Every successive ruler had sought to leave their mark upon it, transforming the old fortress into a palace. A double staircase—approaching from the east and west—led to the main entrance, meeting at a small bridge that opened onto a broad terrace, followed by another flight of stairs leading directly into the palace interior. The foyer featured a spacious hall with a massive fireplace, a spiral staircase ascending to what were likely private chambers, and corridors to the east and west leading deeper into the palace. The throne room was situated at the far end of the western wing. It was immense—large enough to hold three of Emfer's audience chambers. It was ringed by arcades featuring arches that converged on the vaulted ceiling to form beautiful rosettes. Silver floral ornamentation adorned the walls and the columns. Numerous windows allowed sunlight to stream in, creating a cheerful sense of pervasive light.
Setia feasted her eyes on the scene, glancing only occasionally at the lords as they read the documents prepared for them. Several of them grimaced visibly, and Setia surmised the issue concerned taxes and military conscription. She waited; an inkwell and a quill had been placed on a small table brought in from the hall, and the portly Bentor sat on the chair beside it, repeatedly wiping sweat from his brow.
"Gentlemen, time is pressing; either sign the document or set it aside." Setia rose from her throne; the stalling had gone on long enough, and further delay would achieve nothing.
The lords approached the table one by one to sign. Bentor smiled, rolling up the document and setting it aside after each signature.
"It's nothing but highway robbery," Lord Colen muttered under his breath.
"Then don't sign," Setia said loudly. "But if you do, hold your tongue, or I'll have it cut out."
Lord Colen fell silent. It did not take long for all the signatures to be affixed, and Bentor, with a smile playing across his portly face, gathered up the documents.
"My Lady, everything is ready," the legal scribe reported in a polite tone.
"Good. Everyone to the castle courtyard," Setia commanded. "I have an announcement for the townspeople."
The entire party, led by Galdar, headed for the exit, escorted by Emfer's soldiers clad in black and red.
"Lord Fladmor, please stay." Setia beckoned to one of the maidservants standing in a group by the wall and whispered something in her ear; the girl then hurried out.
"I am listening, My Lady," Lord Fladmor said, gazing at her with light-colored eyes framed by a web of wrinkles.
"A ruler's wisdom is revealed by the people they surround themselves with. I do not yet know Fenigrid well, but I learn quickly and know how to heed wise counsel. All those other lords trembled for their lives and their estates. You alone asked about Galdar's future." Setia stepped closer. "I am a soldier; I value courage. From this day forth, I shall be the Queen of Fenigrid; I value wisdom. Will you become my advisor?"
A shadow of surprise crossed Fladmor's face; he glanced at Setia, then at the backs of the group moving away.
"I always dreamed of a mighty Fenigrid," he said with a sigh, looking at Setia once more. "Will you care for this land, my lady?"
"I will, but first we must prepare for the arrival of the Equerds, for they will not show as much mercy and understanding as I do."
A maidservant entered the room carrying a basin of water and a towel. Setia beckoned her over, and the maid placed the basin on the small table. Setia removed her mask and washed her face, watched by Fladmor's bright eyes and the maid's eyes—wide with curiosity—for she would soon spread the word to everyone about what the new lady's true face looked like.