Chapter 58: Lot to Learn, Son (Patreon)

Willem looked down at Hans, who laid up in one of the beds in the Verdant Spring Guesthouse. His hand had stopped bleeding, but that swirling red aura still danced around it. Hans had taken some natural pain medicine, and now looked to have fallen into a deep sleep. Viviene, with her good eye somewhat puffy, gently stroked his head. Lennard and Godfried watched on with arms crossed.

“The king never mentioned this?” Viviene asked quietly, looking between them. “This was never discussed as a possible outcome?”

“No,” Godfried confirmed.

Willem looked down at Hans. It’s starting, he thought grimly. First it’s a hand. Next, maybe a leg. Before long one of the people in this room will be dead. At least it’s started happening early. I can steel myself for what inevitably comes.

“We have to do something, don’t we?” Lennard said, voice a little strained. “I mean… this can’t just pass without raising an issue.”

Silence filled the room after. Viviene lowered her head, unable to look Lennard in the eye. There was tacit agreement. Nothing could be done. This man was the king—their only potential allies, the nobility, wouldn’t stick their necks out for the youngest son of a minor baron. Even if they solidified their alliances, they only had Gent to count on. And if Count Ventura resisted alongside them, all that’d end up happening was the van der Duyn family losing their seat. Even Willem could see that much, politically disinterested as he was.

“We have to take care of Hans,” Viviene said, removing her hand from his head. “There’ll be a period of adjustment. We can get him a prosthetic. Magic these days can do wonderful thing. He’ll never be able to wield a sword in that hand again… but that’s not the worst thing. Because his brothers will protect him, won’t they?”

Godfried and Lennard both nodded determinedly.

Willem was surprised to hear the door open behind. He turned his head, and soon enough, in walked two royal knights.

“What is this?” Viviene asked, rising to her feet.

The royal knights scanned the room, and then parted. A royal crier walked in, wearing frilly clothing. He held out a scroll.

The crier cleared his throat. “Willem, formerly of House Brugh, is to be escorted alone to the king’s study. He is to receive and relay the royal decree. He is to do so at once.”

“What?!” Viviene walked up. “Willem…” she grabbed his arm.

Willem pulled his arm free. “Let’s go,” he told the crier.

***

One of the king’s many aides walked through the door. “Willem has been brought, Your Majesty.”

Arnoud looked up from his papers. “Send him in,” he said decisively, setting aside what he read to dedicate his full attention. He’d been interested in Willem for a while now.

When Willem walked in, Arnoud could see that he bore the strongest resemblance to Tielman of all his sons. He was handsome, tall, built, with sharp blue eyes and gently curling blonde hair. His face seemed a mask of composure, indicating no emotions in particular even despite what had happened to his youngest brother.

Willem kneeled, staring ahead silently. Arnoud used silence as a weapon, testing the young man’s temperament. His expression was inscrutable as he held Arnoud’s gaze. Seconds passed by without so much as a movement.

“Rise,” Arnoud eventually said.

Willem did so, still staring.

“I’m told you spoke to my daughter,” the king said.

Willem didn’t respond. He didn’t technically have to because there hadn’t been a question in there. Most people would rush to explain themselves, at the very least. His composure was admirable.

“How is Hans?” Arnoud asked.

“He could really use a hand,” Willem said.

Arnoud didn’t so much as smile at the joke. “Good. That’s why I’d like you to deliver a royal mandate to him, on my behalf.” The king rustled through some papers, and pulled out some documents. “Hans, having sustained a crippling injury in my service, is entitled to property and a stipend from the crown. I’ve arranged a home for him in a rural, fertile estate. They cultivate turnips there.” Arnoud held the documents out, offering them. “He’s going to accept it and move there.”

Willem took the documents. “What would he get for a leg?”

“Amusing. Do you have some issue with the compensation from the crown, Willem?” Arnoud asked evenly.

“Yes,” Willem admitted freely, surprising Arnoud.

“I see.” Arnoud scratched his chin. “Then I suppose I can tell you what else your family will be receiving. Baron Tielman will be raised to the title of count. His land is already a fair bit larger than most counties, so it’s merely a formality. I’ve already sent out a letter to the barony. He’ll receive the title alongside a ceremony of fealty.”

Willem held the documents, looking at Arnoud evenly.

Arnoud inhaled deeply, then asked, “Do you know why I did what I did to Hans?”

Willem stared Arnoud in the eyes as he said, “Because no one is perfect.”

“Are you implying I erred?” Arnoud pressed.

“Perfection isn’t achievable,” Willem said calmly.

Arnoud leaned onto his desk. “I’ve been devoting not a small amount of resources to surveilling your brothers since they’ve arrived to do work here at the capital on my behalf. Hans, at every point, has been nothing more than treacherous. He bred dissent in my staff, tried to break apart his brothers, tried to cheat and swindle people out of everything for what seemed to be little more than his own amusement. He’s been forced to shelter in your guesthouse because he wasted the money he ought to have used on rent to pay for frivolous pursuits. He was evicted.”

Willem stared, showing no emotion in particular.

Arnoud leaned back in his chair. “Tell me what you’d do to such a person.”

“How freely can I wag my tongue before it’s separated from my body?” Willem asked.

“I’ve allowed you to speak for this long without once using my address,” Arnoud pointed out. “Speak freely. Person to person, not monarch to subject.”

“Freely, huh?” Willem shifted on his feet. “How free is free?”

“We’re alone,” Arnoud said. “I’ll tolerate insults, so long as there’s meaning behind them.”

“That’s a good attitude, I suppose. Fine. With your word, I’ll say what I think. Incidents like this are the reason that Avaria has the success it does in their espionage efforts,” Willem said without pretense.  

Arnoud leaned back in his chair. Usually when he told people to speak freely, they were still somewhat restrained in speech… but Willem cut right to the heart of his criticism.

“Elaborate,” Arnoud said, gesturing toward him.

“You’ve already set a strong precedent for what occurs when people oppose you. You killed your own son,” Willem said. Arnoud narrowed his eyes. Few were bold enough to say that in his presence, but he wasn’t overly bothered by it. “You’ve consolidated and centralized power, making yourself the primary beneficiary of the success of this kingdom. You’ve given plenty of incentive not to work against you. Now, you need to give people incentive to work with you.”

“I told your brother something. I am not your ally—I am your sovereign,” Arnoud said firmly. “The kingdom is more stable than ever.”

“I disagree, but let’s not argue on that point. What happens when you die?” Willem asked.

Arnoud chuckled. “Have you forgotten why you’re here? That very subject.”

“You’re pitching a tent and calling it a house. Your goal shouldn’t be to find another genius to take your place,” Willem posited. “You should endeavor to create a government that functions well enough that it can run even if an idiot oversees it—because inevitably, one will. You’re delaying the inevitable. This system is unsustainable.”

“I should embrace mediocrity?” Arnoud crossed his arms. “Anticipate it? Ridiculous.”

“A tent can keep away the rain, but when it pours for days, you want a house. Foster an environment where merit rises, and the inept falter,” Willem continued.

“Why do you think I’ve been eroding the nobility, promoting academies and universities?” Arnoud stood up, walking around his desk.

“You’re digging for gold, sure, but you’re hoarding it for yourself instead of spending it. You aren’t helping the serfs, the peasants—you’re just shifting the balance of power to your favor instead of theirs.”

“Most of the men vying for my daughter’s hand aren’t even noble-born,” Arnoud pointed out, sitting on the edge of his desk. “Do you think that won’t have an impact on society at large?”

“You’ve jammed a square peg into a round hole,” Willem said, looking the king in the eye. “This isn’t an idea that’s taking hold naturally, that’s being contemplated far and wide. These are ideas that you’re imposing upon the people below you without explanation or justification.”

“And they’ll take root as successes are seen,” Arnoud said.

“That’s not how people work. When harder time comes, things will revert to the mean,” Willem disagreed. “Royal authority can wax and wane. Fundamentally changing a society is a harder task. People only care about the interests of themselves and their own. And do you know what you’re called? The Blood Traitor. The man that arbitrarily saws off the hand of a man, only to promise him a pension and a turnip farm the next day to isolate him from his family.”

Arnoud went silent, looking at Willem.

“What reason have you given people not to betray you if this is what you do to your subjects? I did what I did—contacted the capital—because it was in my interests to do so.” Willem held out his arms. “Being feared is easy. Being feared and respected is fairly tough. Being feared and loved? Almost impossible. And you have a lot to learn on that point.”

Arnoud walked back behind his desk and sat down. “Pray that none outside that door heard you speak to me in that fashion.” He pulled down some more documents, retrieving his quill. “Take those to Hans. I expect to see you at the beginning of the contest tomorrow.”

Willem turned to walk away, but before he could reach the door, a thought came to Arnoud.

“Hold,” he called out. Willem paused and looked back. “Do you genuinely think you can make something of Hans? He’s not as smart as he thinks he is. He’s made many more enemies than friends. His aura was already weak, but without his sword hand he’s useless in battle. And you think you can reform that?”

“I can,” Willem responded without missing a beat.

“What are you willing to stake?” Arnoud asked.

“A hand, maybe,” Willem said, holding one up and wiggling its fingers. “So long as you promise me you won’t be as arbitrary as you were judging him the first time.”

“How do you put a value on someone without judging arbitrarily?” Arnoud asked.

“Let me teach you,” Willem said.

Arnoud looked to his documents. “Go,” he said simply.

***

Willem exited the king’s room, looking at the royal guards posted by the door. He judged they hadn’t heard anything, fortunately. He didn’t know what had come over him. His age was catching up to him, maybe, making him a big mouth. Still…

Arend, now Hans… good lord. When did I start doing nice things for free? Makes me sick.

Willem shot out his cuffs.

I’ll just have to reform Hans into an incredibly valuable piece of manpower. A multimillion coin-generating employee.

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