The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

The tsar's palace could make anyone feel small with its countless corridors, massive chambers, columns, guards, delicate and fine stonework, expensive statues, and imperial prestige. But for Kapitalena, she only felt bigger. As if it were a challenge to her very self-assuredness, a weapon against the weak-willed with no concept of a future before them. The tsaritsa, on the other hand, seemed diminished by it all.

Alasa Vadoyeski sat across from her in the small interior garden of the palace, befit with a pond, a spattering of finely carved seating arrangements, and a simply excessive number of servants hovering at the peripheries. The tsaritsa wore a long golden mantle over an emerald green silk tunic that just covered her feet, brushing the interlocking stonework path. Her hair was hidden by a white headdress held by a band that matched the mantle in coloration and sweeping pattern. She was beautiful, in a humble, understated way, and bore all the gold and jeweled accessories expected of her station, though never quite seemed to be comfortable in them. Everyone knew her story: a distant cousin of the Vadoyeski line, close enough to keep power in the family, yet distant enough to avoid defects, many thought her unfit to be tsaritsa of Vasia, Kapitalena included. But she'd given the tsar many children, which satisfied some over the years.

But for all the critiques one could hurl her way, it was important to note the tsar trusted her and confided in her like no other. A unique rarity for a tsar of Vasia, so often disregarding their wives.

A rarity for all boyars of Vasia, including voivodes, Kapitalena thought with a twinge of annoyance and a sigh that didn't escape her perfect mask of contentment.

The tsaritsa was talking on about her children, indulging in the kind of reflecting spoiled mothers so often enjoyed. Kapitalena had a stronger will than that and shared only when necessary, following the plan, mostly pulling out key pieces of information at the right moments. Particularly with Amon, her eldest son—the one Laczlo noticed during the attack. After everything, Kapitalena became friends with the tsaritsa, and soon, they spoke weekly.

Alasa seemed lonely in her station amidst the chaos of the last few years, and, truth be told, so did Kapitalena.

"If only Radokh would be more active with them," Alasa said, lips pursed in apparent disappointment. "He rarely sees them anymore. Even Amon. He's just…" She caught herself and smiled in embarrassment. "Forgive me. I've been talking on and so brashly. Things are merely difficult—"

"You need not apologize." Kapitalena put a friendly, reassuring hand on the tsaritsa's own, clutched in her lap. "My own husband has been gone to war. I know at least a sliver of your own feelings."

"At least he is serving Vasia bravely." There was a tinge of admiration and perhaps longing in her voice. Kapitalena knew the tsaritsa had some kind of feelings for Laczlo after he saved her and her children—a feat the tsar scarcely managed. But she chose to politely ignore it. At least for now. "If you would forgive my open brazenness, Radokh simply drinks the days away. Drinks, smokes that horrid flower, and whores." Her cheeks were red with shame as she closed her eyes and bit her lip. "Never has he done such things. Not to this extent. Where has my husband gone, Kapitalena? Where has he gone?"

"I am ignorant of all but speculation," she said, "and so I would hesitate to offer even that."

"Oh, please, we are friends, are we not? Please speak your mind. I want to know what is happening. I want to know what to do."

If only I could truly help you. If I knew such things, Laczlo would not have run off for your husband's bidding, weakening any counterbalance in Nova. "Well, from an outsider's perspective, I can only look at when things changed. And it would seem to align with the Vicarr's arrival."

"Oh, him," she nearly spat. "He pushes me from the tsar's side and seeks to isolate me, but do you truly think he would do such things to my husband? How could he?"

"We know little of him, in truth. But the voivodesses talk of what their husbands whisper of… Rumors and things, of course, but there are sentiments carried widely…"

"What do they say?" She was not the type of woman to resist such bait.

"Well, they say the Vicarr was born of the Column itself, brought back from trapped Souls in the bones buried in its walls. They say he wants Nova to himself. That he wants to bring back some age long gone: Sorcery and puppeted imperial power. I don't know myself, of course, Tsaritsa."

"How many times must I ask you—"

"Alasa."

She smiled, but it was feeble and hollow, tremoring immediately as she said, "I would agree with those words. Elan knows the truth, but it seems to me he is trying to rip Radokh and me apart."

"To do so would weaken Radokh. He relies on you."

"I used to think so…"

"Alasa, look at me." Kapitalena turned to face the other woman, draped in rich clothes as she was, an ornament for the men who thought themselves so independently powerful. "You have more influence than you know. We survived Laczlo's uncle's rebellion because I was there. My husband was not as strong then as he is now. He was not ready. I made him ready. You can make your husband ready, as you have done before."

"Oh, but I'm not you. I can't do as you've done. Even Irina Kostuveski speaks well of you, and though it is crude, I do not know how after what happened to Iarek…" She shook herself. "He tried to kill Radokh, of course. If Laczlo wasn't there…" That wistful, insultingly blatant daydreamy look again. How had she not learned better manners? "I just don't know if I can do as you've done."

She chose to ignore the frustrating parts of the tsaritsa's behavior. "You must, Alasa. You've no choice anymore. You know of the Vicarr's designs for the Free Cities in the east."

"Those rumors—"

"They're true. I've seen the men mustering outside the city."

"But we've a rebellion still being put down. How can he strip away men for a distant war?"

"He's confident. And he thinks he can get away with it. Some voivodes aren't even sure the tsar is aware of the campaign."

The tsaritsa gasped. "Surely not!"

"I repeat what I've heard, I do not speculate myself."

"And if you would?"

Kapitalena shifted as if to reveal discomfort. "I do not know—"

"Please, I trust your opinion, Kapitalena. Sometimes, I don't even know Radokh's own heart these days, little as I see him."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Then I would say they might be right. Or, if he is aware, then the Vicarr hides the scale of it."

"Gods damn that man." She shook her head. "A new war at this time? Those cities rule themselves. They're not even Vasian!"

"He might aim for the Targul further east soon enough." The tsaritsa stewed in her seat, almost bursting with indignation, ready to launch an assault on Varul and her husband, but Kapitalena was not done with her yet, even if the timing was perhaps suboptimal. "Forgive my arrogance, but I would caution you with Varul. He is… a strange, dangerous man. A Sorcerer, but also a schemer. And he's looking to divide to push his advantage—that means separating you from Radokh, as you've seen, but also voivode from tsar. Something is about to happen, Alasa, something meant to weaken us. He sees Laczlo as a threat to his power, so he'll try to undercut him."

The tsaritsa leaned forward and held her hands, eyes not blazing with energetic anger but concern, equally potent. "What do you mean? Do you think he'll try to attack him? Oh, you wouldn't suggest this army is meant for Vilsi, is it?"

"No one knows, but I worry…" Kapitalena summoned tears to her eyes and held her friend's hands tightly. It was not a hard emotion to make. More like letting down a dam than pumping up from an aquifer. "I just worry. And if something happens, trust that you have my loyalty, Tsaritsa. You have my loyalty and love. But if he comes for my children—"

"I would never let that happen," she said, voice like fire and steel.

"Thank you. But… if he has an army, I don't know what I could do except run, you see? Our power is not that of swords, his is." She took a deep breath and sat straight. "If we do run, then trust that whatever happens, I am with you. I am loyal to your crown. Whatever that Varul says."

"Don't even say such things. I know you, Kapitalena. You're clever—more than I could ever be—but you're also a good woman. I trust you."

Her words stuck something soft inside. Like Ygon had hit her again, knocking her aside with such brutal force, cruelly reminding her how dangerous such men were. And here, reminding her how much kind honesty could hurt. Kapitalena swallowed, nodded, and felt lost for words. Eventually, she mumbled, "Thank you, Alasa. That… means much to me."

They spoke a little further and, eventually, parted ways with a kind of honest appreciation that shocked Kapitalena. It had been some time since she felt such open kindness. The tsaritsa always seemed genuine, but with all the turbulence of the hidden schemes shifting the ground beneath her very feet, Kapitalena felt… off balanced. It made her emotional, vulnerable. That was it, certainly. Yet, she couldn't help but feel she had underestimated the tsaritsa. To inspire confidence and trust as Alasa did, even when Kapitalena felt she was the one in control… She tried to clear her thoughts on the ride back to her home to little avail.

She entered the hall of her manor, expecting Bora and Nanko to come running excitedly with the same emotional turbulence they had when she'd left, all teary and sad. But it was quiet. Kapitalena frowned and glanced around the hall—it was empty, with the fireplace cold and mosaic window casting soft rays of multicolored light upon the floor. She turned and was about to leave for her guards when Mikha appeared at the opposite end, bowing to her.

"Voivodess," he said, straightening with hands folded firmly behind him, "I trust your visit was productive?"

"Quite. She's an easy woman to underestimate—the tsaritsa."

"And your warnings… did they go heeded?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What happened?"

"Ah, very well." He glanced behind him to the open doorway. "Come out now. Tell the voivodess what you told me."

From the shadowed entryway emerged a figure Kapitalena was hoping never to have to see again. By Laczlo's wizening up or a more chance accident, she simply hoped this problem would have been resolved. The snake Vida came to Mikha's side, beautiful, young, and brazen. Of course, the shallow appeal worked on her husband, who was unable to truly commit to anything sensible for longer than his attention held. That is unfair. Laczlo has been trying. And reportedly, he only keeps her as a spy—nothing more, she told herself, yet the harsh doubts still held.

She was about to ask something cruel and sharp but noticed the expression on her face. Vida looked anxious, even frantic. "What is it?" Kapitalena asked.

"Riders from Rodezia came to us with a letter from the tsar carried by a druzhina of Nova," she said in a rush. "They say Voivode Vilsky must go to Ekkadia under orders of the king to stand for his crimes against Rodezia for Karnys's death. The tsar's letter confirms it, ordering him to comply." She paused, and Kapitalena's eyes widened in a shock so visceral she might have collapsed if Mikha hadn't rushed over to grab her.

"I sent the children away," he whispered. "Prima is seeing to them. Preparing them for travel."

"You're here to help us flee?" she asked the spy, who nodded. "What about Vilsi? The tsar has an army mustering outside Nova's walls…"

"Your husband will combine with Commander Voiakh's forces; together, they might be enough to force the tsar's hand. Or Varul's."

"Oh yes, Varul would be behind this, the treacherous cur." She wished to strangle him, to behead him as Laczlo did to the brute Ygon. "Will Voiakh accept?"

"I don't know."

"But Laczlo cannot act if he believes we are in danger… This means he's won the siege, hasn't he? I heard rumors, and there were some sightings of a strange boyaress being escorted in the palace."

"There was a battle. We won. We think Varul dispatched the riders after they received the voivodess and her family from Kolomsa."

Kapitalena let out a long sigh, feeling like the weight of the world finally let off her shoulders. "Thank the gods."

"We need to leave, Voivodess Vilsky."

"Now? It's the middle of the day."

"The gates will be closed at night, and we can't afford the risks. I can get you to the walls, but the gate will be difficult."

"Leave it to me." All such guards need is an open hand with coin backed with blades. She gave the spy a long look over, weighing her, trying to see through her should this pose some elaborate scheme.

"I'm here to help, Voivodess. Please, let me."

You pretend to show fealty with my title, but I know your intentions. You need Laczlo to live, isolated as you are. And professional success through competence is not enough. Not for someone who spent years entrapping men's minds with seduction. Kapitalena stared at her a moment longer, trying to estimate how likely it was this was all a rouse, then looked to Mikha. For now, her self-interest aligns with my own. "Let us do as she says. We'll leave only a few servants to mind the place—as little as you deem necessary. Loyal ones."

"I've already made the arrangements, Voivodess." He bowed. "Shall I gather the druzhina and guards?"

"Please do." He hurried off, and she faced the spy. "I'm putting my trust in you."

"I know." She at least had the courtesy to look ashamed. "But for what it's worth, Voivodess, Laczlo has never—"

"Don't. Don't you speak his name, and don't you speak of him, you understand me?" Kapitalena swept past her before she had a chance to reply. Everything Vida did was an insult to Kapitalena's name, to her family's name. Even just being near her felt… corrupting. As if everyone would know. As if her own ancestors would know.

"I would advise not bringing many people," the woman said after her. "It will make our escape more dangerous."

Kapitalena ignored her. She would not leave her people behind to the wolves if she could help it. And she wouldn't bring her children out into the world without proper protection and care. If Laczlo needed her safe, then that meant they would come to him upon a battlefield. All might very well be war.

She went about her estate giving instruction, seeing only what was needed packed, overviewing the guards, and impressing upon them the caution and care they would need for what came next while thinking through the dangers of the road ahead.

Would Alasa try to sway Radokh into protecting them? Or would she give up or fail, letting Varul walk all over her husband? More so, what was Varul's game? He had to know a man like Laczlo would not submit himself to the justice of a foreign court. No voivode would. It wasn't just a death sentence but a cruel, dishonorable one. She knew enough about her home to see the clear execution awaiting her husband there. No, this was bait. Bait to draw Laczlo into conflict, to give the tsar a casus belli for battle. But why now? Why push for it so recklessly? Was Laczlo simply winning too much too fast? Rising meteorically? Kapitalena had spent the last months securing an informal alliance with the tsaritsa as well as other voivodes, ensuring they knew the Vilskys were amiable to their counterparts under the tsar rather than just his puppet.

Would it be enough? Most of them were imperial loyalists, chosen precisely because of their anti-rebel sentiments. Would they turn their back and join their tsar against Laczlo and her? They had no chance against the might of a united Vasia. But just the tsar? Perhaps. The voivodes may not care about the tsar's injustice to Laczlo. They may simply be pragmatic. Varul is likely counting on fear of his influence and might. In such a case, appealing to honor and justness would be folly. If only she had a stronger network of voivodes to turn to who had more bargaining power.

Whatever their plan forward, she had to be pragmatic. They had to increase their strength rapidly while reinforcing their justification and legitimacy.

Slowly, a dangerous idea formed in her mind, clear and sharp like a broken shard of glass.

Justification and legitimacy.