Ashes of Horizon — Chapter 3: The Count

Written by Scarlet

She picked up the paper, eyes scanning the list as he returned to puffing from his hookah. The list was short, and she recognized a few names.

“Sangasu Zimudar of Banahuh,” she mulled over the name momentarily. Banahuh was home to the city of rivers, and they prided themselves in their seafaring, fishing, and trading ports. From the couple of times she had met Sangasu, he was not very pleasant company, arrogant and quick to anger. “I will not be considering him.”

Her father tilted his head toward her in understanding.

“I had put all the names on there for your consideration, but I will not question your judgment. I simply want you to be comfortable and content, my dear.”

She gave him a smile before looking at the page. There were five other names on there. Lakhmu Namtar of Murmukan, Leidolf Mordsson of Martarafel, Hakan Gursel of Ctefion, Askai Hygozi of Yalanmaj and Temuge Batukhan of Ritiari. She was familiar with Lakhmu, his land being a collective of multiple cities. While he was kind, he was fond of spending, and given her father’s generosity for so long, she was disinclined to entertain marrying a man so fond of expenditures. Hakan, on the other hand, was the warlord’s son, and his land was full of mysterious creatures and beasts. How anyone could live in such a land, she could not fathom. She did not disregard his polite manners in the seldom times they had met nor the amount of income they made from exotic animal pelts and feathers, but the notion of having to visit his land was out of the question.

“I am not familiar with the Lords of Ritiari, Martarafel, and Yalanmaj,” she said aloud. She was aware of the lands themselves, but with them being so distant and trade only beginning to extend so far, she knew only a little about them. Ritiari was known for its city’s ever-expanding population, its number steadily rising for a long time. It was mostly reliant on trade routes to keep itself sustained but was well known for its exports of fine stones. Martarafel, from what she heard, was similar to Lonica except colder, its city being referred to as the City of Blooms. They exported fruits and trees that sustain through snowfalls. Though she had seen the trees, she had never seen snow itself, and despite her curiosity, her father always swore that it was merely a pretty sight, not something to spend time in. Yalanmaj was the least familiar to her, knowing only that it was far hotter than Lonica. Far down south and distant, it was the border of their kingdom, Basolia. She had only been learning their language within the past year in light of the recently established trade route between their cities.

“But I won’t be considering Lakhmu or Hakan either. They are nice enough, but really, Fusil?” She let out a quiet laugh of disdain. “Lakhmu has little self-control over his finances, and don’t get me started on-“

As she spoke, his face seemed to sag visibly and his head hung low for a moment under an indescribable weight. 

“Enough Kheyri.” The mask of pleasantry for a moment dropped due to the importance of his following words. She looked up at him, startled by his change of tone. He rarely spoke seriously to her these days.

“While I understand your feelings, truly I do, daughter, let us not dance around the topic. I am getting older, and with age comes the vultures wishing to see me gone so that my land is up for the taking,” he sighed, setting the hose of the hookah aside and standing, making his way toward her. She stood up, her brows furrowed in concern, beginning to reach out to embrace him.

“You are talented, daughter, and well fit for taking over the lands, but you are alone. You have no allies outside this palace and this city’s people.” He looked her over before circling her once. She started to shake her head vehemently, opening her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. “I know what you think. I have been too lenient as of late, too kind, too forgiving, too weak.” When he stopped in front of her, her gaze dropped to the floor as she understood the truth in his words. “But it is not for nothing. These lords will be your enemies if the groundwork is not laid and if they are not incentivized to be your vassals as time goes on.”

For a moment, he stroked his beard intently, as if mulling over thoughts before speaking once more.

“You will marry. You need a strong ally who is willing to help you hold onto all this that I have built and be greater than I was.” He laid his hand on her shoulder at her solemn expression, his own now pleading. “At least try to take these men seriously. Consider them. Do not simply dismiss this out of hand, daughter.”

There was a lull in the conversation, a quiet moment where each considered the weight of all things said. He had been clear and there was little room for debate, he was sure of that.

“There is nothing more to be said. There are still matters I must attend to.” 

  He made his way toward the door, his nerves slightly on edge. He reached for the door but paused, short of opening it.

“Hear my words, daughter. You will be a great countess one day, I am sure of it, but I am still the Count here, and if your mother were…” He stopped himself short of saying what came to bear impulsively. The words stung like salt rubbed into an open wound. He quickly opened the door and stormed off. Kheyri stood in the center of the room, rubbing her arm in self-comfort, looking anywhere but the door.

~

Later that evening, with the sun setting and the sky as blush as a newborn, Kheyri was finishing up her meal, sitting opposite the baron and adjacent to her father who was seated at the head of the long table. The dining hall was rife with merriment, local nobles feasting on the splendid array of foods and sweet wines, a few lush in a drunken stupor. As she had predicted, Lord Roshan had indulged in the beef kofte, stuffing his face with everything he set his eyes on, and between his bites, conversed with her father. She noticed that he only acknowledged her on entry but avoided her gaze for the rest of the meal. The feast was mostly reduced to bones and used dishes now, and the baron was red-faced with pleasure, praising the palace cooks.

The casual conversation between her father and the baron was interrupted when an attendant silently approached, lowering his head to her father’s ear and handing a sealed letter to him. He thanked the baron for joining them for the feast, to which the large man stood, his belly bumping the table as he did. He bowed to her father, sparing Kheyri an uneasy glance and a swift farewell before heading off to speak with some of the visiting nobles. With all the guests being too distracted to notice, her father silently began reading the contents of the letter. She watched his expression as she drank tea from a glass when his face suddenly became pallid.

“What is it, Fusil?” Her voice was etched with concern, placing the glass on the table.

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