‘That seems needlessly destructive,’ I observe.
‘That comment seems needlessly antagonistic,’ he replies, ‘since I assume you want something.’
I sit down next to him. ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I’m just here to enjoy your company.’
‘Really?’ Aron quirks an eyebrow, still digging away at the bark of the tree.
‘Well … that could be why I’m here. I do like you, strange as that may seem. But as it happens, I also need your help.’
He laughs and puts the knife down. ‘I am at your disposal, cousin.’
‘It’s about this trial.’
The smile drops from his face. ‘I don’t know any of the accused well, but I pity them. Their families will be left with nothing once they are convicted. Less than nothing.’
‘You speak as if they’ve already been found guilty.’
‘Innocent or guilty, it doesn’t matter. Clearly they are perceived as a threat to the throne; therefore they will be swept away. In a wing-beat. Despite what you may have read, Cygnus I claimed the crown as much with guile as with might. And for the last five generations we’ve held on to it in the same way.’ He glances up at the Citadel. ‘I wonder if this is my father’s doing? Perhaps he is losing his mind …’
‘But I’m supposed to be a judge. That implies a choice.’
Aron picks up the knife – tosses it into the air, blade flashing – catches it again. ‘You would think that. But your judgement, in this case, will likely only be required to determine the severity of their punishment.’ He frowns. ‘Why are you asking me about this? Have you and Lucien had another fight?’
‘He’s not here. I sent him back to Merl to fetch something.’
My cousin seems amused. ‘Lucien the errand boy. I’m sure he was thrilled.’
I can’t resist asking. ‘What happened between you two? What did Lucien do to make you hate him?’
‘What did Lucien do …?’ He sighs. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. It’s a sad tale of young love, misdirected. Some of us, as you’ll know, love only the opposite sex. Some love only the same sex. And some, myself included, are more generous with our affection. You understand, I think.’
I nod.
‘All honourable forms of love, all sanctioned by Litany and Decree. But, unfortunately for me, the first person I fell in love with was Lucien Rookwood.’
‘You were in love with Lucien?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why was it unfortunate?’
‘Because, my dear cousin, when I confessed my love, he rejected me. Oh, he was kind enough. Told me that he was flattered, that if it was at all possible for him to return my affection, he would. That he hoped we could still be friends. But it was still a rejection. And, as perhaps is the way when it comes to first loves, I took it very personally. Perhaps, in retrospect, too personally.’
‘I’m sorry, Aron.’
He shrugs. ‘It wasn’t exactly his fault. And I find now that Lucien’s company is … perfectly tolerable. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of years before he returned to court with you.’
We both fall silent. I think about Aron and Lucien, and Odette and Siegfried, and the happiness that my parents knew with each other. The breeze catches my skirts, scattering gold leaves across the grass; summer is fading. Next to me, Aron is studying his knife, twisting the pattern-welded blade back and forth so it catches the light.
‘What are you thinking about?’
He glances up at me. ‘You really want to know?’ I nod, and he continues. ‘I’m thinking about whether I should stick this knife into Siegfried’s back at the next banquet.’
I wait for a moment, thinking that he’ll laugh, somehow turn the statement into a joke. But he doesn’t. ‘You’d be executed.’
‘So? I don’t trust him. I don’t want him marrying my sister. Odette is the only person who loves me for who I am. She’s the only person at court who hasn’t treated me like an outcast since I lost the power of flight, and I’d do anything to protect her. Including dying for her.’ He shrugs. ‘I’d kill him as he sits down to his meat, because I doubt I can get close enough to him at any other time.’
I put my hand over his, stilling the movement of the knife. ‘Have you talked to Odette? Have you tried to explain why you don’t trust him? Given your father’s illness, perhaps together we can persuade her to at least delay the wedding …’
His eyes widen slightly. ‘We persuade?’
‘Yes; you’re the only family I have left. And I’ve grown fond of you over the past few weeks. Of both of you. Have you spoken to her?’
‘I have. But as she pointed out, she has to marry someone. Besides, she’s convinced herself that she loves Siegfried. And she still holds our father in enough affection to talk of duty, of retaining the crown in our direct line. Ridiculous, since she has no interest in ruling.’ He thrusts the knife back into its scabbard. ‘But do you, cousin?’
‘No. Of course not.’ I glance around to make sure we are still alone and lean closer to him. ‘I think things need to change though. I’ve seen little enough of the kingdom, but what I witnessed in Brithys, and Olorys … it’s not right, Aron. People’s lives shouldn’t depend on laws they can’t change and the whim of whoever owns the bit of land they happen to live in. My parents made a difference in Atratys, but that’s just one dominion. You and Odette could change everything across the whole of Solanum.’
‘Me?’ He raises an eyebrow and gestures to his missing arm.
‘Odette then. But with your guidance, if she’s unsure how to begin.’
‘Easy enough to tell people to change things …’
‘Odette is going to be the next queen. I’m not.’ My cousin doesn’t reply. ‘Honestly, Aron, I only want to protect Atratys. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.’ I hesitate, debating telling him everything. But I have finally – too late, perhaps – learned to be cautious. ‘Try talking to Odette again. But don’t risk yourself yet.’
Aron narrows his eyes. ‘Why exactly are you giving me this advice, cousin?’
‘Because, cousin, I do not trust Lord Siegfried either.’
The trial is held in the throne room. When I arrive, the queen is already perched on the edge of the carved and gilded throne, shoulders hunched, hands clutched in the lap of her slate-grey gown. Six seats are set out for the judges. Two are reserved for Arden of Dacia and me. We are the only two Protectors currently at court; like Nyssa Swifting and Grayling Wren, Siegfried is still only an heir, at least in name. The four other judges are members of Convocation, chosen by lot. The queen will have the casting vote. I sit next to Arden; he is watching the queen, tapping the fingers of one hand against his thigh over and over. Tall candles on even taller silver candlesticks – taller than a man – have been set around the throne and the judges’ chairs – three on either side of the throne – encircling us in light. According to Aron, the candles are supposed to represent a ring of truth and justice. The rest of the room is in darkness. But I can just make out the courtiers, crowded into the gallery that runs around the top of the room. The candlelight glints on jewels and sword hilts, and on the armour of the Dark Guards stationed around the outer perimeter of our circle of light. Siegfried and my cousins may be in the gallery, but it is impossible for me to tell.
More guards accompany the three accused nobles – two men and a woman – into the throne room. Their hands are bound in front of them. They look dishevelled and bewildered, and one of them stumbles as if exhausted, but I can’t see any obvious signs of mistreatment. They are brought to stand before the judges, facing the throne.
The queen clears her throat. ‘Let the prosecutor approach.’
The master secretary enters the candlelit ring, accompanied by a flightless assistant carrying a folder of papers. ‘Your Majesty, honourable judges, I have here evidence collected of the treasonable intentions of the accused. Letters between the accused in which the approaching marriage of the Princess Odette is debated and questioned. Letters in w
hich the enduring nature of the Decrees is debated and questioned. Letters in which the very fitness of His Majesty to rule –’ the secretary pauses, and looks up at the gallery as the courtiers murmur and exclaim – ‘is debated and questioned. In all of these letters there are hints of an even deeper treason. Suggestions of a plot, as yet uncovered, to remove Your Majesties from the throne.’ More horrified exclamations from the onlookers. ‘Furthermore, the accused have confessed to having written the letters. Guilt is admitted. Punishment must follow.’
Aron was right. This trial is a sham. The six of us are not judges: we are mute witness, gathered merely so that people can point to us and say that justice was done. I risk a glance at Arden; his face is sallow in the candlelight, and he is gripping the arms of his chair tightly.
The queen sighs and stares down at the enormous diamond ring on her forefinger. ‘The traditional punishment for high treason is a lingering death in the arena for the guilty, followed by seizure of their lands and goods and the imposition of indentured servitude on their dependents.’ One of the accused begins weeping. ‘However, I have petitioned His Majesty, and thankfully he is minded to be lenient. If you provide us with the names of the people involved in the plot hinted at in your letters, you will be granted swift deaths and your families will be spared any further punishment. However, if you decline to cooperate …’ She sighs again, as if the fate of these people pains her. ‘It is, of course, your choice.’
One of the male prisoners lifts his head. ‘Mercy, Your Majesty, I beg you.’
‘Mercy? Oh, there will be a time for mercy.’ The queen’s voice sharpens. ‘But only once we have burned away all that is rotten.’ She waves her hand and the guards move to escort the prisoners back out of the hall. But the same man who spoke before begins struggling.
‘My Lord Arden – Your Grace –’ he shouts loudly enough, but Arden doesn’t respond, just clutches the chair and stares straight ahead as if his life depends on it, ‘– my dear cousin, I beseech you, there is no treason here, no plot, we have done nothing –’
The doors are slammed shut, cutting off his voice.
Another restless night. When I do finally get to sleep, I’m woken before sunrise by Letya, bearing a summons from the queen. My companion’s face is drawn; the story of last night’s trial has already spread rapidly around the Citadel. The miasma of fear infecting the corridors was palpable even before I retired to bed. But the embossed card Letya hands me bears no indication of why I am required.
Ten minutes later I am in the queen’s withdrawing room, standing on the intricately patterned carpet as the queen, in a pale blue dressing gown that enhances the silvery cast of her skin, paces in front of me. She seems to have some difficulty coming to the point; either that, or she is trying to make me more nervous.
‘Well, niece,’ she begins finally, ‘you are wondering, perhaps, why I have asked you to wait on me this morning?’
I try to imagine how Lord Lancelin would advise me, if he were here right now, and incline my head. ‘My only desire is to serve, Your Majesty.’
‘I’m sure. It is so difficult for me to know what to do for the best, with the king as ill as he is.’
I almost ask, How ill is he, exactly? But silence seems more prudent.
She takes a few more turns about the room, twisting the diamond ring on her finger. I notice for the first time that the stone is cut so it rises into a sharp point.
‘Still,’ she continues, ‘I must ask, I suppose. Lord Siegfried … how do you find him? Do you like him?’
‘Well enough, Your Majesty.’
‘And –’ she takes a deep breath, fiddling with the lace that edges her dressing gown – ‘are the rumours true? Are you sharing his bed?’
The directness of her question throws me; perhaps the guest master’s discretion was less to be relied upon than I’d hoped. The queen is watching me carefully. I take a deep breath and look her full in the face. ‘No, Your Majesty. I am not. I never have.’
She sighs and smiles. ‘Good. I’m so glad.’
What is this really about? Is she worried that, somehow, I’m going to disrupt the wedding?
More back and forth across the carpet. ‘And tell me –’ the queen throws me a sideways glance – ‘what is your opinion of the princess’s betrothal? I know you spend time with her. Do you think it will be a happy marriage?’
Here is my chance, if I want to take it: I could repeat to the queen exactly what Siegfried said to me, both at Deaufleur and on the night he killed Flayfeather. With the king ill – dying – the queen is the most powerful figure at court. Surely, if anyone can stop Siegfried, it’s her.
And yet …
I hear Lucien’s voice in my head, as clearly as if he were standing behind me: Trust no one.
‘I would not presume to have an opinion, Your Majesty. I’m sure the princess is the best judge of her own happiness.’ My guess is that the king ordered the trial I attended yesterday; it would fit with his paranoia and vindictive character. But I cannot be certain. And I do not intend to be the next person arrested.
‘Very true.’ The queen nods. ‘Perhaps I am worrying for nothing. Thank you for your time, niece.’
I’m free to go.
It’s not until I’m outside of the royal suite that I realise I’ve been digging my nails so hard into the palms of my hands that my skin is bleeding.
Letya is waiting for me. ‘Thank the Creator. I feared –’
‘Don’t. So did I.’
As we walk back to my rooms, I try to work out what is going on. Because there is something else, something other than the skeletal plot that Siegfried shared with me. I don’t for a moment believe anything that I heard at yesterday’s trial. But somewhere – somewhere – there is flesh, and feather, and colour, if only I could see it.
Trust no one.
But that’s not possible, not really. I need help.
Back in my sitting room, I ask Letya to sit down.
‘I have to ask you to do something.’
‘Anything.’
‘I’d like you to collect information for me. You’re more observant than anyone I know. If you can talk to the servants, try to find out whether there is anything unusual going on with regard to …’ I hesitate, wondering what I should say, how much I can tell my friend without compromising her safety any more than I have to.
‘Is this about Lord Siegfried, Aderyn?’
I glance at her sharply.
‘Yes. You’ve heard something?’
‘There’s been a rumour among the servants for a while now, that he aims at more than just the crown. And Turik told me about what happened to his family. How they had to run away.’
Her reference confuses me. ‘Turik? I thought he’d escaped from Brithys?’ Or had I just assumed it was Brithys, that night in the garden?
‘No. He comes – came – from Olorys. His mother got him and his sister out, but his father … Turik was only a little boy. But they made him watch his father die.’ Her mouth twists in distaste. ‘Over some Decree that had been broken.’
Owning a bow and arrow, perhaps …
‘Lord Siegfried cannot be allowed to become king. But he is cruel and powerful, and to offer any kind of opposition is risky. My friend, if I’m asking too much –’
‘Atratys is my home too, Aderyn. I saw the suffering in Brithys, just as you did. I’ve seen more than you, I reckon, of how the flightless are treated here. Did you know that the servants in the Citadel are not allowed to learn how to read? Of course, some still try. One of the housemaids got caught with a book a few weeks back. She got branded on the hand and turned away with no reference.’ Letya’s eyes flash. ‘I saw her begging when I was in the city the other day; the poor thing looked half starved. So, yes, I’m willing. I’ll do whatever I can to stop Atratys falling to someone like Siegfried, or turning into somewhere like this. I know Turik will say the same.’
‘Thank you, Letya.’ I lay my hand almost on top of hers
. ‘I wish so much that I could hug you.’
She gives me a wry smile and gets up. ‘I know. Now, it’s still early. Shall I fetch you some –’
There’s a knock at the door. Letya opens it a crack. ‘It’s Lord Lucien. He’s back.’
I study Lucien’s face as he sits on my sofa, drinking a cup of chocolate. There’s stubble on his chin and dark shadows beneath his eyes.
He notices my scrutiny and flushes. ‘I apologise, Your Grace. I thought it best to come straight here.’ He tries, not very successfully, to tidy his hair by running his fingers through it.
‘Don’t apologise, Lucien. You look exhausted, that’s all. You should have rested longer at Merl.’
‘I didn’t want to delay my return any further. It took me more time than I’d hoped to find the recipe for the counter-active among your father’s notes, and I wasn’t ready to leave until last night.’
Last night? He must have flown at speed, and without stopping, to get back here so fast. I want to tell him how much I appreciate his help – I want to reach across and brush away the smudge of dirt on his collarbone too – but something stops me. Clasping my hands in my lap, so I won’t be tempted, I take refuge in formality.
‘Atratys thanks you for your efforts, Lord Rookwood.’ He looks so surprised at my ridiculous sentence that I burst out laughing. ‘I’m sorry. I mean, thank you, Lucien.’ My laughter fades. ‘You didn’t have to agree to help me.’
He half smiles, raising an eyebrow. ‘Can you imagine my father’s reaction, if I hadn’t?’
‘You have a point.’
‘May I ask whether your undertaking met with success?’
‘Well …’ I pour him some more chocolate as I describe my two attempts to search Siegfried’s room, followed by the trial and my interview with the queen. By the time I finish, he is glowering at the carpet.
‘What is it that we’re missing?’
‘You agree, then, that something else is happening here?’ He nods, so I continue. ‘If the queen knows that someone is moving to take the throne, but doesn’t know who, then that might explain the trial. Perhaps she is hoping to flush Siegfried out.’
A Throne of Swans Page 19