by A. C. Cobble
“They’re not joining us,” muttered Rhys, his voice pitched low so only Ben and Amelie could hear it. “That’s a bad sign.”
“A more forceful reminder of who I am may be in order,” responded Amelie. “Prepare yourselves.”
Ben looked down the hall and saw towering bronze doors covered in intricate designs of flowering trees and plants. It must have taken the artisans years to finish such a huge design. Then, his gaze fell to the men in front of the doors.
Two dozen of them, wearing Issen’s pale blue, joined by another score who wore a variety of other tabards. Guards for the highborn on the council. They were armed and armored, and none of them were moving to throw open the doors to the council chamber.
The watchers in the hall around them grew sparse, and some of the scholars sounded like they were peeling off, choosing a safer place to learn what would happen.
“Hold there,” instructed one of the guardsmen. He wore Issen’s place blue. Two tassels on his shoulder denoted his rank.
“Captain Whan,” said Amelie, stopping a dozen paces short of him. “It is good to see you again.”
The man winced.
“What is the problem, captain?”
“The council of lords is meeting, m’la…” the man trailed off and then gathered himself and began again. “The council is meeting, and they have asked for no interruptions.”
“No interruptions, even from me?”
“From anyone,” replied the captain. He looked pained as he added, “I am sorry, m’lady.”
“Captain Whan,” responded Amelie, “my family has been ruling this city and this castle for hundreds of years. You served under my father for, what, at least ten of those years? You know me. You know I am the rightful heir to Issen. Who is able to command you to exclude me from this room?”
The captain swallowed nervously, and for a moment, Ben felt a moment of sympathy for him. He was just following orders.
“I was told the instructions came from Lord Dronson, m’lady,” the captain paused, glanced at the men to his sides, and continued, “The council of lords is meeting with Lady Inslie. She’s… I am loyal to your family, m’lady, but I have my own to look after.”
Amelie uttered a curse, and the guard’s eyes widened in shock. Ben, despite the tension of the situation, couldn’t stop a grin. Magic wasn’t the only thing the previously sheltered lady had learned during her time in the world. Magic was what she decided to show them, though.
“Captain, I apologize to you and any of your men who are injured, but I must go inside.”
“I don’t think so!” exclaimed one of the other guards.
Several in red tabards stepped forward then were flung back as a howling gale roared to life in the dozen paces of space between Ben’s party and the men. They were flung like leaves in a storm and crashed hard against the wall and the huge copper doors. Startled gasps and screams erupted from behind them. In front of them, it was all pained groans and mumbled confusion. Amelie flung her hand again, and the two huge doors burst open.
On the other side, a giant, circular table was surrounded by well-dressed men and women. They stood, mouths open, fingers pointed, several of them shouting for guards. A handful of armed men stepped into view, but they paused when they saw how many of their fellows lay stunned on the floor outside.
Amelie took advantage of the confusion and strode purposefully into the room, Ben and his friends tight on her heels. The three young guards that had been accompanying them came as well, fear evident on their faces as they stepped around their fallen brethren.
“Lord Dronson,” said Amelie, her voice crackling with tension. “So good to see you sitting here in my family’s council chamber. Sorry about the chaos, but it seems some of my own guards had orders to not let me enter. I choose to come in anyway.”
“Amelie,” gasped a man from the far side of the table. He wore a heavy doublet, which Ben thought might be crimson underneath the mounds of gold brocade. Tight black britches encased his legs, and his silver hair was swept straight back from his head. Untamed, bushy eyebrows and a matching goatee gave his face a comically despotic mien. He looked like a stage actor who played the evil uncle.
Ben crossed his arms in satisfaction.
“It’s Lady Amelie,” she corrected the man.
“I-I thought you were dead,” he mumbled.
“I am not.”
“How do we know this is Amelie at all?” snapped a voice from the other side of the table. A tall, pretty young woman was standing in front of a high-backed chair. She was flanked by two older gentlemen who had the grace to look embarrassed at her question.
“Lady Inslie,” chided Amelie, “everyone in this room knows that tact will not work. Do you have anything better?”
“Guards!” cried the tall girl.
Ben had to admire her spunk.
Behind them, he heard sounds of rustling steel, but he knew it would be several moments before the men gathered themselves enough to react to the girl’s commands. Whether they would have the inclination to listen to her remained to be seen. The men inside of the room were all wearing Issen’s colors, and they looked to Lord Dronson for instructions, ignoring the fuming Lady Inslie.
“Do you presume to command my men, Dronson?” asked Amelie, letting her voice get quiet and dangerous.
“They’re Issen’s men,” stammered the lord. “The council of lords has been convened to determine the legal line of succession…”
“Oh, good,” remarked Amelie, suddenly brightening. “This should be quick because, as the only child, I cannot imagine anyone disputing I am the legal heir of my father and mother. What do we do, Dronson, have a quick vote?”
“I, ah, your mother was stripped of her title when she became Lord Jason’s queen. It… She lost any claim to the throne, then.” Dronson shifted uncomfortably, glancing around the room in search of support.
“And as her heir, that would pass to me, correct?” asked Amelie, staring hard at the lord.
“It-It—”
“Yes,” called Garliage from behind Amelie. “As a matter of law, it is clear that should an individual parent lose a title or perish, the eldest child shall inherit. It is fundamental to our laws of succession, and it is by the same logic each person in this room holds their own titles.”
A few muffled coughs answered him, and Ben saw several of the highborn men and women stirring in consternation. Ben could see it in their eyes. If they denied Amelie’s claim, then what were the chances of an event in their family history which might cause them to lose their own title?
Lord Dronson shot a look at Lady Inslie and the men beside her, clearly beseeching them for assistance. The lady herself was growing red-faced and enraged, but it was a man, who Ben took for her father, that finally spoke. “Selene’s title in Issen was removed because she became Queen of the Coalition. As Jason is childless, and you are Selene’s heir, you stand to inherit her title in Irrefort. By the same logic that she can no longer hold the title of Lady of Issen, you are also disqualified.”
The group of highborn shifted again, nervous eyes glancing between Lord Dronson and the scholar Garliage.
“I hearby renounce any claim to Irrefort,” interjected Amelie. “I do not have a title to that city, and with no claim to one, there is no conflict in Issen.”
“If Lady Amelie renounces her claim to Irrefort, then I see no reason she should not inherit here,” declared Garliage.
The man beside Lady Inslie glared at the scholar, but he had no response.
Lord Dronson squirmed in his heavy doublet, tugging on the rich fabric like he wished it was armor. “Given this new information, perhaps we should—”
“The entire council of lords is here, is it not? Certainly a quorum,” said Amelie, glancing around the table. “You all know me. We have Garliage and the other scholars here if someone has a question of law. What else is it you plan to do with additional time, Lord Dronson? The Veil is no longer interested in the outcom
e of your charade. Have you heard she is dead?”
The man’s silver goatee quivered and he clenched his hands in front of him. He looked like he might get sick.
Ben saw Amelie had struck the mark. Short of open rebellion, there was nothing the man could do, and his support was dwindling rapidly. He had to know any move to thwart a woman who was on her way to the throne would bring repercussions later.
“I move we vote on succession immediately,” called a jolly-looking man in a silver and blue doublet. He rubbed his hands on his prodigious belly and winked at Amelie. “The city could stand to do a little celebrating, and I’m told the party for a coronation is quite grand.”
“That’s it!” objected Lord Dronson, glancing around the table, desperate for a way out. “The city will be under siege in a matter of days. Surely, we should look to the defense of Issen before we plan a-a party.”
“I agree. We should immediately begin preparations for our defense,” declared Amelie. “My army is two days outside of Issen. Both the Alliance and the Coalition are four days away. The quicker we settle this, the quicker my men can bolster Issen’s defenses. In addition to the army, I’ve learned a few tricks myself which may help protect us from the Alliance and the Coalition.”
Finally, the soldiers outside of the door began to trickle in, their damaged armor scraping loudly as they filtered through the doorway. Every highborn eye turned and watched the battered men nervously edge into the room.
“I second Lord Flinn’s motion to vote on succession immediately,” declared another lord. He was standing two seats down from Lady Inslie’s father and earned himself a murderous glare. He met the look from Lord Tand and added, “I’ve known the Lady Amelie since her birth, and I served her father loyally. The law is clear.”
“She’s the legal heir, she’s a mage, and she has an army,” remarked a younger man dryly. He was only a few winters older than Ben and Amelie. Unlike many of the others, he carried a broadsword at his hip. From his stance, Ben guessed he knew how to use it. The man was standing next to Dronson and had much of the older lord’s look. “We had a motion and a second. Let’s get on with it.”
Dronson scowled at the young man and then glanced around the table. “If there are no objections…”
None of the lords or ladies answered him.
Dronson continued, “By a vote of hands, all those in favor of naming Amelie the Lady of Issen—”
Before he could finish, hands raised around the table. Every one of them voted to legalize the succession except Lady Inslie and Dronson himself. The tall girl glared at Amelie until her father put an elbow into her side, and slowly, her hand went up as well.
“It’s unanimous, then,” murmured Lord Dronson. He sheepishly met Amelie’s gaze. “Shall we… Shall we arrange for a public coronation?”
“Not now,” instructed Amelie. “As has been mentioned, there’s a war looming on our doorstep. A public announcement is suitable until the coming conflict is settled. I trust you will arrange it, Lord Dronson?”
The man nodded reluctantly.
“Are my parent’s rooms occupied?” asked Amelie.
Dronson shook his head.
“Then I shall retire there and hold personal audiences this evening. Tomorrow, I will conduct a full court, and I expect everyone will be in attendance. You will hold your personal petitions until military matters have been settled. I want all of our generals and senior commanders present. We’ll discuss the makeup of my forces and determine how best they can be integrated into the city’s defenses. Lords and Ladies, I am willing to put this meeting behind us if you are. We have much to do, and it will require all of our efforts.”
Murmurs of assent sounded throughout the chamber, some more enthusiastic than others, but none could dispute the logic of what Amelie was saying. Satisfied, Amelie turned and gestured to the three young guards they’d found in the hallway.
“Escort me to my rooms,” she instructed.
Nodding, the three shuffled toward the door. Their peers, finally recovered from Amelie’s blast of wind, parted before them. The captain who’d confronted them outside the council doors bowed low, and when he rose, Ben saw a streak of blood from his nose to his lips. He appeared uninjured otherwise.
“Attend to your men,” instructed Amelie. “Then, Captain Whan, come see me.”
The captain nodded, swallowed nervously, and pivoted on his heel as Amelie marched by him.
“Four bells until full dark,” said Rhys, peering out a window as they walked. “We have four bells before the first assassin strikes.”
“You’d better get some rest then,” replied Amelie.
11
Dark of Night
“Lord Avery is here to see you,” announced a servant as the guard captain departed.
“Thank you,” responded Amelie, stifling a yawn with a balled fist. “You may send him in, and… do you think there will be many other visitors?”
The servant could only shrug. “If you agree to see them, they will keep coming.”
A moment later, the young highborn who had stood next to Dronson and spoken in support of Amelie swept through the door. A hand rested confidently on his broadsword, and he surveyed the room like he owned it. Ben saw a pair of fine leather gloves tucked into the man’s belt, and the basket-hilt of his broadsword was nicked from use. While the scabbard the man wore was covered in an intricate swirl of silver patterns and studded with small rubies, the weapon was unadorned. Clearly exquisite craftsmanship, though. It was made by a master bladesmith for use, not for fashion.
“Lord Avery,” acknowledged Amelie, standing from a delicate desk she’d been sitting behind.
Ben was seated on the other side of it, and he stood as well, offering a nod to the lord.
The man frowned at Ben, and the expression only deepened when his gaze crossed the rest of the room. Rhys was lounging on a silk chaise, stretched across it like a cat in a windowsill. Prem was resting near him in an amply stuffed armchair, her bare feet propped next to the rogue’s boots on the chaise. Serrot was sitting straight-backed in an unassuming, simple chair in the corner of the room. He looked as if he wished he could become part of the furniture himself.
“My companions,” offered Amelie. “Lord Ben, the general of our army, which will arrive in two days. Lord Rhys, my security officer. Lady Prem, an emissary from the west, and Serrot, my… huntsman.”
“A private moment?” asked Avery.
Amelie shook her head. “My people and I have much to discuss, and I do not have time to track them down after our talk. They can hear anything you have to tell me, and their discretion is assured.”
“You have a lot of faith in the loyalty of your people,” remarked Lord Avery.
Amelie smirked. “They weren’t in a council plotting to replace me on the throne.”
Lord Avery winced, but he pressed on. “I apologize for my father’s behavior at the council. I tell you in truth he thought you were dead. It was not an attempt to replace you but an attempt to find a ruler who would keep Issen’s interests first. I hope you can understand the situation we were in.”
“I do understand,” responded Amelie. “The houses were acting as I would expect them to if I was dead, but I am not, Lord Avery. I am very much alive. I thank you for your candor and will return the favor by telling you something true. I was disappointed in how your father reacted once he saw me. I’ve known him since childhood, and I would have liked if he was the one making the motion to vote. Lord Dronson always has been a stickler for the law, hasn’t he? He was the one who suggested stripping my mother’s title, wasn’t he? For someone so knowledgeable to stall and stammer like he did… it made me wonder if he was influenced by another party.”
“Merely a moment of shock,” muttered Lord Avery, looking visibly uncomfortable. Ben noticed his fingers tightening on his broadsword. “I came to assure you that you have the full support of our family, and I would like to remind you that I spoke quickly in favor of
the vote. There are no other, ah, influences.”
“You did speak for me,” conceded Amelie. “When it comes time for more than words, I hope to see evidence of that support. Lord Avery, I will tell you another truth. The Veil is dead, and I am the one who killed her.”
The lord coughed, and his eyes bulged. Finally, he managed to croak, “I had not heard of… that.”
“I did not think you had, which is why I shared the news,” replied Amelie. “Any entanglements that members of the court have with that woman should be ended immediately. I hope I can count on your assistance with this?”
“Of course,” said Avery, sketching a long, deep bow. It almost hid the angry flush in his face. When he rose, though, he’d gotten himself under control. “You have our full support, and if I hear of anyone… allying themselves with the Sanctuary, I will let you know. When I saw you today, I-I thought to make another offer. It is still just words, I know, but I would be pleased if you could join me for dinner this evening. I would love a chance to explain the current situation in the city to you and to hear about where you have been. Our fathers were close, Amelie, and there is no reason we cannot be close as well.”
Amelie forced a smile onto her face. “I appreciate the invitation, but I am exhausted from travel and have much to do. I am sure you understand. Perhaps another time after this situation with the Alliance and Coalition is resolved?”
Lord Avery showed a weak smile and turned to study the rest of the people in the room. He looked at Rhys with particular disdain and raised an eyebrow at the rogue’s boots on the silk furniture. Rhys winked at him. Lord Avery, refusing to cow to Amelie’s staff, turned back to her.
“It’s a strange group you’ve assembled, m’lady.” Glancing at Ben, he asked, “Can you tell me more of your army?”
“It’s not technically my army,” replied Amelie with a smile. “It is Ben’s.”
“Ben, Lord Ben?” inquired Lord Avery. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with you, m’lord. Where do you hail from?”