by E G Radcliff
He took a step back and lifted his hand, letting Elisedd swallow and take a few deep breaths.
“Don’t you dare,” Áed said, “threaten my life.”
Without waiting for the man to answer, Áed turned and marched out of the room.
✽ ✽ ✽
Alone with his guards in the hallway, Áed allowed himself a few deep, stabilizing breaths.
Elisedd knew.
Áed wasn’t naive, and he understood the Quarter-Master’s intent. Elisedd wanted to hold that secret over Áed’s head, threatening to let it slip if Áed didn’t act as his puppet. But with Áed’s threat in return, what was to stop Elisedd from deciding that Áed was too dangerous to be worth the effort?
He needed to collect himself. He would address the Council briefly, putting this in the back of his mind for a moment; so long as Áed was in the council-chamber, he didn’t think Elisedd would attempt anything. But Áed knew that Elisedd had just established himself as the most dangerous threat in the city, and when the opportunity arose, Áed would have to take action.
With another long breath, he nodded to his guards and set off for the Council of the King.
The buzz of voices echoed down the hallway from the Council chamber, so Áed needed no direction once he and his guards drew close. The guards wordlessly took up positions on either side of the great wooden doors; Áed stopped, observed how the point of the arch met the very center of a seam in the masonry above, and straightened his shoulders.
Steeling himself, he placed one hand on each side of the double doors and pressed them open.
The moment he did, a ripple of silence fanned out across the room.
It was tempting to freeze in the doorway, pinned in place by the stares, but he propelled himself to the front of the room as if he belonged there. “Good morning, Councilors. I trust you are all well?”
A middle-aged councilor whose eyebrows begged reminiscence of spiny sea-urchins upon his forehead stepped forward. He bowed deeply, to the point where his cloak spilled onto the floor. “Your Grace. Shall we commence with the business of the Council?”
Áed nodded with as much authority as he could. “Absolutely.”
The councilor nodded and moistened his lips. “I am Lord Muir, Your Grace. As you surely know, the August Guard has overseen the kingdom since the departure of King Seisyll.”
Áed nodded. “I’m aware.”
“This must change. Your Grace, Suibhne is in a strange position.”
Áed inclined his chin toward the man, listening, forcing himself to concentrate on what was happening around him rather than what had just happened in the dusty record room.
“The Council may debate among ourselves all we want, yet there is little we can act upon without a king.” A swell of murmured assent rose and fell. “The people need a leader. The August Guard serves admirably, but its power is limited. Duty is upon us to govern. Fortunately, fate has shown us the way.” Lord Muir spread his arms wide, gathering the entire chamber of councilors into his speech, though a few councilors did not attempt to hide their disdain. “It falls on the members of this Council to crown the next king, and the law allows no dispute as to who that must be.”
Áed let the words brush over him, and he permitted no emotion to cross his face.
“Our only enemy, Your Grace, is time.”
“Explain.”
The man’s shoulders rose and fell in a heavy shrug that seemed to bear the weight of the room. He handled the attention of the Council far more easily than Áed did, though perhaps Áed could achieve such calm through practice. “Suibhne cannot carry on this way, Your Grace, and many of us fear that we’ve waited too long already.” A hint of supplication crept into his voice. “Our circumstance is very unusual, indeed. We never contemplated such an heir from Seisyll, nor a king from Smudge. Never has the throne changed occupants in such an unexpected manner. Even so, you must be crowned.”
“When?” Áed said, taking a step toward Lord Muir and ignoring the reverberation of a few dissatisfied grumbles. He wasn’t intimidated, no. No, his palms weren’t sweating.
There was a collective hush in the hall as every man waited for the councilor to respond. “Well, Your Grace, if it would suit you…” Muir looked to the assembly as if reaffirming the support of his peers. A couple nodding heads encouraged him, and he turned back to Áed with an apologetic smile. “Tomorrow.”
Áed blinked. “Tomorrow?”
The councilor nodded. “Your Grace, the Council of the King is nothing without a king to counsel. If we also consider the civil order that is currently dissolving—there are, Your Grace, many people who wish for your place, and many who would stop them, and many who would serve their own devices—haste is very necessary.” He shrugged. “It’s not completely unusual. The Queen Fiona, who ruled before Seisyll, was coronated the same day as her father’s funeral.”
Áed forced a thoughtful nod. This was not what he had expected; he’d been ready for a few weeks of acclimating to court life and getting to know his advisors. He had thought, perhaps foolishly, that he had more time.
Lord Muir bowed once again and spread his arms regretfully. “We will send someone tomorrow to help you to prepare.”
“Thank you,” Áed said stiffly.
Lord Muir who, for his honesty, Áed was beginning to like, readjusted his slipping cloak. “We can discuss the details of the ceremony whenever Your Grace is ready.”
Áed did not need time to think that over. He wanted information quickly so he had time to sort through it. “Now seems as good a time as any.”
“Then by all means, Your Grace,” the councilor replied, giving up on his crooked cloak much the same way he must have given up on his eyebrows. “Let us go to someplace quiet where we can talk.” With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a man from among the councilors, and together they attended Áed to a table at the edge of the room with a number of chairs whose worn cushions attested to a long life of use. “Forgive the furniture, Your Grace,” the councilor apologized. “It is intended for men of humbler status.”
“Although his Grace is unlikely to complain, I would expect,” the second advisor mused.
Lord Muir spoke sharply to his companion. “Mind your place, Lord Ross.”
Ross’s beady eyes slid smoothly back to Áed. “I meant no harm, Your Grace.”
Lord Muir cleared his throat with a sound like a wet mop and rubbed his hands together. “Your Grace, this is Lord Ross, head of the silversmiths’ guild. As I introduced myself before, I am Lord Muir, Master of the Southwestern Quarter. We will attempt to be of service in any way that we can.” As he spoke, his eyebrows crept downward with earnestness. “Our state of affairs is unusual. I pray that you do not take easy offense.”
“Not at all.” The Councilors were still standing, and Áed sat without invitation. The other two men followed suit with a faint air of surprise. Áed waited until they were both seated before he drew a deep breath. It tasted of wax, paper, and ink. “I would like to get to the matter at hand, if you don’t mind.”
“Are you impatient, Your Grace?”
The question came from Ross, though Muir shot him another glare. It was hard for Áed to resist the urge to shrug nonchalantly. He didn’t need to supply an answer. Instead, he turned to Muir and rested his wrists on the table, cutting Ross out of the conversation. “Lord Muir, I presume that the Council has prepared a plan?”
Muir nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. With your assent, the ceremony will begin tomorrow evening. Around midday, we will send servants to prepare you.” Muir drew a deep breath and settled more comfortably into the chair. “If you require any accommodations, we will surely adapt.”
For just a moment, Áed almost rubbed his eyes with his thumbs, or pinched his lower lip in thought, or pushed his hair back the way he did when he was overwhelmed. Anxiety incited the impulse, and arresting it forced him to confront his nerves. He drew a deep breath and allowed himself a moment of solitude behind closed eyes. Of
course he was anxious. Why wouldn’t he be? “And who will be present at the coronation?”
“The entire court, Your Grace,” Muir replied promptly. He spread his hands. “And, of course, the August Guard.”
A quick laugh trailed under Áed’s breath before he could stop it, and Muir offered an amenable smile. Áed let out a sharp sigh to get a handle on his nerves. “How will the ceremony proceed?”
Muir, though seated, endeavored to bow, and the result was that his forehead nearly smacked the table. He didn’t notice, because he’d clearly been waiting for the time to answer that very question. “If it pleases Your Grace, Lord Ross and I will accompany you to the throne room and explain all in detail.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Elisedd was waiting for him in the hallway, hands folded behind his back, when Áed finally stepped out of the throne room with Lords Muir and Ross. Éamon stood behind his father with his head down. Muir and Ross bowed their goodbyes, and Elisedd flicked up a calculating eyebrow and fell into step next to Áed. “Your Grace, if I may have a moment of your time?”
Áed glanced to Elisedd’s hands, which were twitching. Everything about the councilor was on high alert, and Áed was no different in that regard. “What is it?”
The man forced a bow, and a vein popped in his forehead despite the calm of his expression. “I spoke very inappropriately this morning,” he said carefully. “I would like to make it up to you.”
Something was afoot, that was certain. Áed didn’t know what action the Councilor had planned, but he was wise enough to be wary of it. Áed glanced to Éamon, but Elisedd’s son had looked away.
“Your Grace, it would set me at ease if I could show you my remorse. Please, won’t you give me just a moment?”
This time, when Áed looked back to Éamon, the young man didn’t turn quickly enough. A second was long enough for Áed to see the caution in his face and the gigantic, fresh bruise over his right eye. Áed stopped walking and faced Elisedd, but turned his body to include Éamon. “Is everything alright, Councilor?” He shot Éamon a concerned look with the words, but Éamon wouldn’t meet his eyes. He looked a little dazed.
“Hm?” Elisedd followed Áed’s eyes to his son’s injury, and Áed could tell Elisedd was pleased that Áed had noticed. “Oh, Éamon? He fell, Your Grace.”
The lie tasted bitter, Áed could sense it in the air. He looked again to Éamon.
Éamon flicked a nervous glance to Elisedd, which affirmed Áed’s suspicion. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said quietly. “I fell.”
Elisedd raised that eyebrow again, sliding his gaze from his son to Áed. “Your Grace, it’s very kind of you to care. I don’t think he’ll make the same mistake again, but perhaps it would be best if he rested for a while. I wouldn’t want him to fall again. Please, won’t you accompany the two of us back to my suite?”
Áed gritted his teeth as Elisedd’s words hit their mark, and he recognized the situation: Elisedd had shifted tactics. No longer did it matter if Áed perceived Elisedd’s intent—in fact, the councilor was counting on Áed to understand the threat. Elisedd could not fool or blackmail Áed into doing what he asked, but he could still leave Áed very little choice. “Fine,” Áed said softly, and he felt the undercurrent of heat beneath his voice. He would not leave Éamon to suffer for him. “My guards will follow.”
A decaying kind of smile crept over Elisedd’s face, and he set off down the hallway at a brisk walk. Áed lagged behind for a moment where Éamon hadn’t moved. Now Elisedd’s son looked at him straight, if a little vacantly, and Áed saw that his black eye was truly impressive even though it had not yet fully bloomed. A gash, dark with blood, cut through his eyebrow and cheekbone, and Éamon’s blue-violet eyes weren’t quite focused.
“What did he do?” Áed asked quietly.
Éamon’s fingertips found the cut on his cheek and came away blotted with half-dried blood. “Used a candlestick.”
“Did he find out what you did? This morning?” Áed didn’t bother to ask if Éamon was alright—he knew the answer to that.
Éamon broke his stare at the blood on his fingers, blinking slowly. “Maybe. I don’t know.” Farther up the hall, Elisedd stopped, turned, waited. Éamon squinted at his father’s form and started forward. “Áed, you shouldn’t talk to me. Please. I’m sorry.”
Áed bit his lip and nodded, and he beckoned to his guards before following Éamon and Elisedd. Elisedd waited for his son to catch up to him before putting an arm around Éamon’s shoulders and drawing his head sharply toward the young man’s ear. Éamon stiffened, and Elisedd pushed him away again.
Elisedd’s chambers, as Áed was unsurprised to discover, were cold. The opulent carpet and the framed portraits that hung, all-seeing, over the doorway didn’t bring any sense of home to the place; no evidence of habitation appeared amongst the upholstered chairs and the wall hangings. The man gestured vaguely to his son. “Éamon, fetch some wine.” Éamon cringed, and Elisedd glared at him with danger in his eyes. “Do as I say.”
Áed watched Éamon’s retreating back, shoulders unbowed but tense.
The Master of the Northeastern Quarter bowed deeply to Áed, though his face rebelled enough for Áed to see how that chafed. There was something dancing in his eyes. “Your Grace, forgive my humble lodgings. I’m unused to entertaining those of your status. Oh, please, do sit.”
Áed sat slowly, and Elisedd, a polite moment later, did the same. Áed was still in the process of discerning Elisedd’s ultimate motive, but every pore in his body screamed at him that danger was rolling from the man like sweat. Could it be that the Quarter-Master had come with another threat? Or could it be that he planned to demand something from Áed, given his new influence? Áed’s guards had stopped at the door, as always. Áed knew he could call them in quickly if the need arose, but he prayed it wouldn’t.
Éamon returned with wine, and Áed noticed that his hands were shaking. A bead of sweat rolled down Éamon’s temple, and the young man winced when the droplet ran along the plane of his face and melted into the cut on his cheek. Elisedd appraised his son coolly and accepted the glass from his son’s right hand while Áed took the one on the left. Without offering his son a seat, Elisedd raised his cup. “Your Grace, to your health and prosperity.” And he took a drink.
Éamon, left still standing, caught Áed’s eye while his father’s glare was hidden in the cup and mouthed the word: “No.” Then his gaze dropped to the ground as his father lowered the glass.
Áed wasn’t foolish enough to drink anything that Elisedd offered him anyway, but now Elisedd was watching him expectantly. Curious, Áed held the wine under his nose and took a breath.
Well. That was familiar. Beneath the fruitiness of the elderberry, bitterness traced its tendrils.
Áed set the glass on the table and frowned at Elisedd thoughtfully. “You were going to do it yourself?”
Elisedd’s eyes darted from the cup to Áed’s face and frantically back again. “Your Grace?”
Folding his hands behind his head, Áed nodded to the cup.
Elisedd’s visage had grown faintly ruddy, which made his yellow eyes look like two infected welts. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. Is the wine not to your liking? My son will bring something else.”
“Enough, Elisedd,” Áed cut him off sharply. He pointed to the wine. “You thought that after seventeen years in Smudge I wouldn’t recognize that?” Elisedd’s face grew blotchy now, and his fist clenched and unclenched at his side. “I’m surprised at you.”
Elisedd’s mouth opened wide, snapped shut. No words came out.
“Then again,” Áed went on, “not a bad choice of poison. Wouldn’t work for oh, a day or so. Plenty of time to set someone up.” Something dawned on Áed, and he let himself smile. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? When someone becomes more trouble than they’re worth to you?” Yes, that was the truth. Áed could feel Elisedd’s reaction, and he knew it was so. “It is your kind of murder, I think. Subtle
, hard to trace, and you needn’t get your hands dirty a bit.”
“I didn’t know,” Elisedd said with a sickly smile. “The boy!” He raised a quivering, incriminating finger to his son, whose mouth fell open. “It was the boy, Your Grace, I swear it.” He was gaining steam now. “He’s not right in the head, Your Grace, I didn’t realize the danger he posed—”
“Oh, shut your mouth.” Áed turned to Éamon. “Can I trust you to tell me the truth?”
Éamon put a hand on the back of Áed’s chair for balance, and the sharpness in his eyes was directed at Elisedd. “My father told me that if I didn’t do as he said, he would kill my sister. I’m so sorry, Áed.” He licked his lips. “I poisoned the wine. I tried to warn you.”
Elisedd blanched, all ruddiness draining from his face. “Éamon,” he said softly. “You’d best be careful.”
But Éamon shook his head. His eyes had grown more lucid with fear—of his father, or of Áed’s retribution it was impossible to say. “I won’t.”
“Boy, if you’re wise, you’ll quiet yourself now.” Elisedd’s face was furious. “Your Grace, don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know of what he speaks.”
“He would do it,” Éamon posited desperately. “He would really kill Boudicca.”
“Éamon,” Elisedd snapped. “You have no proof.”
“You were careful about that, yes. But not careful enough.” Éamon pulled a little jar from his pocket, wrapped in a scrap of paper, and offered it to Áed. “This is what he gave me to use.”
Elisedd’s face went perfectly blank as Áed accepted the jar and loosed the paper from around it. It was a little slip of parchment, scratched in an unfamiliar hand and signed in a loose, curling scrawl.
“A receipt of purchase,” Éamon said, and Áed looked more closely at the dark powder in the jar that he recognized as the bitterness in his drink. “Signed in my father’s own hand.”
Áed carefully read the receipt and found Éamon’s words to be true. He set the jar and paper down and sighed. “Well,” he said softly. “I’m afraid it’s over, Elisedd.”