‘Here we are.’ Letya puts a large sack down on the floor. ‘Some cloths, and a broom, and two uniforms.’
‘Two?’ I begin to shake my head, but Letya just laughs. ‘You’ve never swept anything either. At least one of us should look as if she knows what she’s doing. It will be just like being back at Merl, when we used to dress up in old clothes and hide from your tutor.’
I doubt it’s going to be anything like that. But still, this is not an argument I can – or want to – win.
By mid-afternoon the pair of us are making our way to the north wing. I’m already grateful to Letya: she stops me going up the wide, ornately carved staircase I usually take and guides me to Siegfried’s floor using one of the servants’ staircases (‘menial stairs’ she calls them) instead. Still, my theory is proving correct. In the main corridors no one gives us a second glance; we may as well be invisible. Reaching Siegfried’s door, Letya knocks, but there’s no response, so she lets us both in.
‘Shall I lock the door again?’
‘No – housemaids don’t, do they? I want you to keep watch near the door while I look around.’
Letya takes up her position next to a table – duster in hand – while I tuck another cloth into my waistband and begin examining the bookcase. I find nothing remarkable there, or tucked inside the chimney breast, or hidden inside the harpsichord, so I switch my search to the bedroom.
There isn’t much furniture in this room either. It doesn’t take me long to look under the bed and in the various drawers and the wardrobe; Siegfried really has surprisingly few clothes and personal possessions, at least here. I stand with my hands on my hips, tapping my foot, trying to think: where would I conceal something secret?
Beneath me, the floor creaks slightly. We’re here to see to about the loose floorboard … I gasp as memory flickers into life: me, hiding in the sitting room, as the maid and a workman walked in. The next moment I’m on my hands and knees, trying to wrench up the floorboards, hoping desperately that Siegfried’s man sent them away before they could carry out the repair.
One of the boards shifts beneath the pressure of my nails. I prise it upward far enough for me to reach into the cavity below –
There’s something here. My fingertips brush across paper. Letters, I see when I draw the bundle out. Shoving them into the pocket of my apron, I replace the board and leave the bedroom. Just in time: the main door opens and one of Siegfried’s servants walks in, the same man I saw the other day. He groans.
‘Always fussing. It’s clean enough – get out, the pair of you.’
Letya curtsies silently and moves towards the door. I copy her movement and follow …
‘You, girl –’
Dread almost takes my breath away. But I force myself to turn back, keeping my gaze lowered. ‘Sir?’
‘You forgot your broom.’ He sighs and mutters, ‘Halfwit.’
I snatch up the offending implement, bob another curtsy and escape. Letya and I hurry back to my rooms, silent until we are both inside with the door locked.
‘Letya …’
‘You forgot your broom!’
The relief is too much for us; we collapse with laughter. Eventually, though, Letya recovers herself and reminds me that the clothes and so on need to be returned to the laundry before they are missed. When she leaves, I summon Turik and ask him to send me word the instant Lucien returns to his room (I refuse to allow myself to consider the possibility that he could be arrested). Then I sit in my favourite seat and begin to examine my discovery.
The letters, eight of them all together, form a manual on how to poison the king. They address such topics as dose; timing; inventive methods of administration. Suggestions include impregnating his bedsheets or painting the venom onto the bedroom furniture. But the happiness that arose from our small strike against Siegfried quickly dissipates: it takes no longer than the first letter for me to recognise my father’s style and handwriting.
I suppose I should be grateful to Lucien for showing me my father’s notebook; the shock, the nausea brewing in my stomach, are less than they might otherwise have been. At least there are no pleasantries among the words my father wrote. No sign that he considered Siegfried a friend. Every phrase is businesslike and to the point. Even the way the letters are addressed …
Frowning, I scan the letters again. My father’s signature is at the foot of each one. But there is no name at the start. They are all addressed to My Lord.
I sigh. I have more evidence than I had before, but still not enough. It will come down to my word, again, that the letters were in Siegfried’s room in the first place, that my father was writing to him and not someone else. And it’s still not clear how Siegfried accomplished his task, what mode of delivery he employed, how he gained access to the king’s rooms. I chew my bottom lip, considering. Perhaps Siegfried’s letters to my father still exist at Merl. And if I send Lucien to find them, at least he might be out of harm’s reach. Perhaps. If. Might. The only certainty is that my father’s part in this plot cannot be kept secret. To save my home, and my friends, I’m going to have to sacrifice his memory and reputation.
So be it. The living are more important than the dead.
The soft chiming of the clock on the mantlepiece draws my attention to the fact that Letya is not here – she should have been back long before now. Anxiety needles my spine. I jump up and yank on the bell pull, trying to ignore the fears that instantly spring into my mind – that someone saw us leaving Siegfried’s room, that she too has been taken in for ‘questioning’. Another half an hour passes, as I pace up and down across the room. I’m on the point of going in search of my friend when Letya finally comes through the door carrying a tray of food.
‘Where were you?’ I exhale some of the tension that is cramping my shoulders. ‘I thought you’d been arrested.’
‘I’m sorry. But I had to get you some supper. And then you asked me to keep my ears open for anything that might be useful. So that’s what I’ve been doing, in part.’
‘What have you learned?’
‘Food first. You’ve not had a bite since breakfast, I imagine. I’ll feel less guilty about taking wages from Lord Lancelin if I at least make sure you’re being fed while I help you risk your life.’
I suddenly realise that I’m ravenous: the smell of the food – toasted cheese, a slice of fruit cake and a jug of apple juice – is making my mouth water.
‘That looks delicious, thank you. Now, tell me everything while I eat.’
‘Well, there was a delivery this morning. Food for the wedding feast, including some sort of fancy cakes and what have you from Olorys.’ Letya pulls a face that suggests she does not have a high opinion of Oloryan delicacies. ‘Anyway, when I left the laundry I went back through the kitchens, and the Oloryan cart drivers were sitting there eating and drinking, which I suppose is fair enough, them having driven a long way, and probably overnight …’
‘Yes …’ I nod, hoping to hurry Letya’s narration along.
‘One of them asked me to take a glass of wine with him, so I agreed, thinking I could ask him about Lord Siegfried –’
‘But you were careful, weren’t you?’
‘Of course. And I actually didn’t even need to ask; he just kept talking at me.’ She smiles grimly. ‘Like he had too many words in his belly, and if he didn’t get them out his guts would explode.’
‘But what did he say?’
‘First he went on about how wild Lord Siegfried’s father – Aurik Redwing – had been as a young man. And how Lord Siegfried was controlled, instead of wild, but how everyone was all the more afraid of him because of that. And then –’ she pauses and lowers her voice – ‘then he got to talking – about the queen. Saying there are rumours that she isn’t really the daughter of the man who’s said to be her father. That the queen’s mother was secretly the mistress of this Aurik, right up until her marriage.’
I drop the piece of cake I’m eating and grip the arms of my chair
, half-stifled by the sudden acceleration of my heartbeat. ‘Then the queen, and Siegfried …’
Letya nods. ‘If the rumours are true, she’s his half-sister.’
I sink back against the sofa cushions. So many things that I didn’t understand before now make sense. How Siegfried got access to the storage room where he was holding Flayfeather. Why Oloryan guards were allowed within the Crown Estates. I recall the trial, realising my failure to hear in the queen’s words the echo of sentiments Siegfried had already expressed. And when she questioned me the next morning, she was actually asking me what I thought of her brother.
She was the one who arranged the trial, of course, sowing seeds of distrust and fear between the dominions. And she must be the one who has been poisoning the king.
My mind strays back to my uncle. He had my mother murdered – because of his jealousy, or his lust for power, or both – and all but destroyed my father. His own brother. I remember how the king mocked me: Your father underestimated me once … A bitter desire fills me: that the king should know, before he dies, that my father has exacted his revenge.
‘Aderyn, where are you going?’ Letya calls after me, but I don’t stop. Instead I make my way up the seemingly endless stairs to the royal apartments. Out of breath, I arrive at the king’s receiving room. But there are no guards on the door. No guards anywhere in sight. I hesitate for a moment, turn the handle and go in.
The receiving room is empty; it’s early evening now, so perhaps the king’s servants are all at supper. I clench my fists, trying to stop my courage slipping away, and walk the length of the room as quietly as possible. There is a doorway at the end that leads to the next, more private space, the room where my uncle told me I was to marry Patrus. I reach the door, rest my fingers on the handle –
A noise, from a narrow corridor opening to my right. I hadn’t noticed it before. But now I hear voices. And a ripple of laughter. Hugging the shadows, I edge along the corridor to where it opens out into another room. Peer in.
Siegfried. And the queen. They’re standing close together. Siegfried whispers something into the queen’s ear and she laughs again and puts her arms around his neck. He pushes her back against the wall, pinning her there, and he –
He kisses her.
Fifteen
He kisses her. Not in a brotherly way. He kisses her exactly as he tried to kiss me, and then he hitches up her skirts –
I clap my hand to my mouth and jump back into the shadows. But I think I’m too late. I think I gasped out loud. I think they heard me.
So I run.
I run back across the receiving room. When I reach the door, I pause; there’s no sign of pursuit. Carefully, carefully, I open the door, shut it behind me, and run again.
But not back to my room. I run down. I don’t stop running until I reach the stables. They’re not expecting me: horses rear, the ostlers curse me, but I don’t care. I don’t stop running until I’m in Henga’s stall.
She snickers in greeting. And the fact that I can’t put my arms around her neck, that I can’t bury my face in her mane – it rips my heart out. I slump down in the hay, my back against the wall of the stall, waiting for my breathing to slow. Henga tosses her head and watches me.
I remember the groomsday banquet, the queen observing Odette’s happiness with narrowed eyes. She wasn’t ever concerned about Odette’s welfare. Not then, nor when she asked me whether I was sharing Siegfried’s bed.
She was jealous.
‘What should I do, Henga?’
In reply, Henga snickers again, pawing the ground with her front foot. She wants to get out of here. And it would be so easy. If I put gloves on, I could saddle her myself. We could escape from the Citadel, ride back to Atratys. Back to Merl. I could run away, just like my parents did. Run away, and hide, and wait for Siegfried to hunt me down. Without his potion, I won’t be able to escape for long.
I reach for the long-handled brush hanging on the wall and begin running it across Henga’s back, trying to control the anger that has started to boil through my veins. How long ago did Siegfried and his sister plan all this? Before she married the king? And Siegfried’s attempt to seduce me – was that also planned between them, or was Siegfried alone playing that game? Standing with me on the roof at Deaufleur, telling me of the strength of his passion … No doubt he thought it would be amusing to find out just how much he could humiliate me. How much I could be persuaded – how much I would be willing – to surrender to him.
I grit my teeth and grip the brush so tightly the tendons on my hand stand out. It’s that or smash it against the wall behind me.
Henga snorts and rolls her eyes backwards; she’s wondering why I’ve stopped brushing her. Or maybe she’s trying to dispel my tension. I apologise and start moving the bristles across her coat again, my muscles relaxing as my rage cools a little. The brush is made of wood, painted red. It reminds me of the red dress I used to love, the red dress I was wearing when my father died.
My father spent years hiding at Merl. Hiding his problems and hiding me. And for what? It didn’t solve anything.
But I am not my father, and I have a choice.
I hang the brush up again. ‘I’m sorry, Henga. I can’t ride you this evening. I’ll ask one of the grooms to take you out.’ She neighs as if she understands. I hope she does.
I’m not going to run, and I’m not going to hide. I’m going to fight.
I’m halfway back to the main entrance of the castle when Aron catches up with me.
‘Aderyn –’
‘I was just coming to find you, cousin. What’s amiss?’
‘Nothing. Well –’ he quirks an eyebrow – ‘nothing more than usual. They’ve finished questioning Rookwood and have allowed him to leave. I thought you’d like to know.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Why were you looking for me?’
‘There are some things I’d like to discuss with you.’ I keep my face and my tone neutral; there are too many other people coming and going up the wide marble staircases, too many Dark Guards standing around nearby. And everyone is watching, listening, wondering where the accusations of treason will fall next. ‘It’s about my horse. Henga has been off her feed, and I am not sure I agree with the stable master’s diagnosis.’
‘Of course. So worrying, when one’s mount is unwell.’ Aron clearly understands my subterfuge. ‘When would be a convenient time for you, cousin?’
I hesitate. I was hoping to speak to Aron, to tell him exactly what I’ve discovered, this evening. But it’s getting late, and I need to see Lucien first. ‘Tomorrow, I suppose. After the tournament?’
‘Why don’t you come to my apartment at the seventh hour? We can have lunch together.’
‘Very well. Thank you, cousin. I’m sure you’ll be able to set my mind at rest.’
In contrast to the entrance hall, the corridors of the Citadel are quiet. The mood feels like the air just before a big thunderstorm: so heavy with tension and pent-up energy that something has to happen. I go back to my apartment first. Letya is waiting for me, as I knew she would be. I reassure her and tell her to go and rest, that I will see her in the morning. She seems inclined to argue, but I remind her that I used to put myself to bed at Merl, and that she will be of more use to me if she’s not exhausted. As soon as Letya has said goodnight, I make my way to Lucien’s room. Turik lets me in.
‘Your Grace – I was just coming to fetch you.’
‘No matter, Turik – my cousin let me know.’
Lucien is sitting at his desk, writing a letter. He’s barefoot in his shirt and trousers, his tunic slung over the back of the chair. When he sees me he stands and nods at his servant.
‘Thank you, Turik. That will be all tonight.’
‘Are you sure, my lord? Is there really nothing else I can fetch you? Perhaps some fruit, or some more wine?’
‘I’ve hardly touched the first bottle you brought up. Really, go and rest.’
‘Very good,
my lord.’ Turik bobs his head and hurries away.
I frown after him as he leaves. ‘He seems distressed.’
‘I suppose he was worried what might happen to him, if I wasn’t released.’
‘I think he was worried about you.’ I walk further into the room. ‘We all were.’
‘Your Grace,’ Lucien makes no move to sit down again, just fiddles with his pen, ‘you shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous.’
‘Why? I’m entitled to come and visit my clerk. Besides, nobody knows I’m here, apart from Letya and Turik. There wasn’t a soul around –’
‘Someone will have seen you before this. Someone will have followed you. You took an unnecessary risk, as usual.’ He sighs, and finally looks at me properly. ‘I don’t know why I was taken in to be questioned, but I doubt this is the end of it. You need – you have – to stay away from me. I don’t want you caught up in whatever is going to happen next.’
‘You forget, my lord, I’m already caught up in it.’ I move a pile of papers off the nearest chair, sit down and stare at him as haughtily as I can manage. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he goes to the side table, pours two glasses of wine and brings me one.
‘Thank you. Did they hurt you?’
‘No. I sat in a room for hours and finally they asked me lots of questions: where had I flown recently? Who did I still know in Frianland, from when I worked for the diplomatic mission there? That sort of thing. And then they let me go.’ He rubs a hand over his face and I remember that he only got back here this morning after flying all night.
‘You must be dead on your wings. I’ll leave you to rest.’ Tomorrow will be soon enough to tell Lucien what I saw in the royal apartment. If I’m going to send him back to Merl to look for Siegfried’s letters to my father, he has to be in a fit state to fly. I rise and move towards the door.
A Throne of Swans Page 21