by Chrys Cymri
‘Arwan, my lady.’
Fianna slid back the bolt, stepped aside to allow him entry. ‘The child?’ she guessed, noting his heaving chest, flushed face.
The knight nodded, breathing heavily. ‘Aye. The child is born.’
The expression on his face answered her question. ‘A boy.’
‘A healthy lad, said to be calling loudly for his mother’s first milk.’ Arwan’s hand went to his sword hilt. ‘What now, my lady?’
‘Now, we must plan.’ Fianna waved him back through the gate. ‘Summon the others. We must act quickly.’
Arwan glanced around uneasily. ‘Meet here, my lady?’
‘Why not?’ Fianna shrugged. ‘It’s because of my father that we’ve been brought to this pass. Let him hear what we decide.’
<><><><><><>
Curtains flapping against stone woke Marissa. She kept her eyes closed for another long moment, stretching across the large state bed. It still felt terribly empty without Stannard sprawled over more than his share. She rarely slept in this chamber now, but the midwives had insisted that a babe should be born in the bed on which he had been conceived.
The thought brought a quick laugh. She rolled over, wincing slightly at the aches left from her delivery, and reached down to the infant sleeping in a crib beside the bed. ‘Little did they know, you were not conceived in this room,’ she whispered to her son. ‘But I couldn’t see old Agretha riding out to a remote forest glen to watch over me while you came into the world.’
Yes, that had been a magical day. Now that the first touch of her grief was past, she could remember the good times with her lord, the King. An unseasonably warm day in the late autumn had brought life back to his limbs, lifting the suffering caused by the wasting disease which was afflicting him. She had agreed to his offer of a ride through the woods outside Secondus, holding back her laughter as Stannard outwitted the guards who would have followed them. And she had been even more pleased when an offered kiss was accepted with a passion which belied his illness.
Marissa rubbed a gentle finger down a small cheek. It was somehow fitting that her son had chosen that moment to leave the spirit world and start his journey into the physical. She had never been truly happy living in a castle surrounded by the bustle of a city. ‘I’ll take you there,’ she told the baby. ‘Often. And I’ll tell you about the kind, loving man who was your father.’
A knock on the door finally woke the boy. Marissa lifted him as he started to wail, and raised herself higher against the pillows. ‘Come in!’
The senior of her ladies-in-waiting slipped inside. ‘My lady,’ she said, raising her voice above the baby’s fussing, ‘the Duke of Cassern awaits your pleasure.’
Marissa smiled at the formal title. ‘Let my father in, Clare,’ she said, her son quieting as he found a breast. ‘He should meet the second of his grandchildren.’
Spurs jingled as Latham brushed past the woman. He stopped at the foot of the bed, smiling beneath his greying moustache. ‘Well done, daughter,’ he said softly, proudly. ‘Well done.’
Marissa brushed soft hair back from her child’s head, smiling in wonder as he nursed. ‘It wasn’t my work alone, Father.’
‘Nay, it was not.’ He dismissed Clare with a wave, then hooked a stool with his foot and seated himself beside the bed. ‘Stan would have been equally proud.’
‘Yes, he would,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve given him an heir.’
Her father’s face darkened. ‘A son, perhaps. But the King already had an heir.’
The baby was falling asleep again. ‘Fianna’s far away, sulking in her aunt’s manor,’ Marissa said dismissively. ‘If she were interested in the Throne, she would’ve returned long ago.’
‘That isn’t something I would wish to chance.’ He held out his arms. Without a moment’s hesitation, Marissa handed him his grandson. She watched with pleasure as he cradled the infant with the ease of long practice. ‘This boy should be raised to the Dragon Throne. I wouldn’t wish to disturb you so soon, my daughter, but methinks we need gather the regency council together. Even if Fianna doesn’t return for the Throne, there is the King’s sister. And she is altogether a different breed to Stannard.’
‘I’ve never met her.’
‘I’ve heard reported that she rides here now.’ He rose, and placed the boy back into his crib. ‘Will you be ready for a gathering this afternoon?’
Marissa nodded, sobered by his tone. ‘I’m told the birth was easy, for a first child. Come for me when you are ready.’
‘I will.’ He bent over, kissed her quickly on the forehead. Then he strode through the door, his hand resting near his sword.
Marissa tried to relax back into sleep, but her father’s visit had brought her back to harsh realities. Her son was meant to be the next Keeper of the Dragon Throne, she was certain of it. Why else had he been given to her, long past hope that Stannard might still be able to produce a child?
And Stan’s heart had been eased to know that there would be a second child. Marissa bit her lower lip, remembering his grief over Fianna’s sudden departure. It had been of little comfort to hear that she had taken lodging with the Lady Sallah. Not only because of law and tradition did Marissa want to see her son receive his due. Why should Fianna inherit a throne from a man she had so utterly rejected?
Marissa slipped from the bed and made her way to the bathing room. If she were to attend a meeting, she was going to be presentable, even if she did have to nurse a baby during the proceedings.
Several hours later, dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, she leaned back into an armchair and smiled at the compliments the others gave her baby. To her relief, the brief walk to a meeting room hadn’t disturbed him from his sleep. She placed his basket at her feet, and took in the faces of the circle. Her father, pleased as usual to be in such company. Capella, who had taken over the duties of Castellan as Marissa’s pregnancy progressed and Stannard’s illness took more and more of her time. Beside her glowered Leonard, Jerome’s second officer. Marissa wondered briefly where Pealla was, then moved on. Kaspan, representing the Duchess of Kaliburn, and looking uneasy in his first official duty on behalf of his mother. The court recorder, Bernard, pen ready to document any agreements reached and to offer interpretations of the law as required. And finally, standing apart from the circle, Jerome himself. Marissa gave him a quick smile, comforted by his presence. He gave her a nod in return.
Bernard cleared his throat. ‘All present, my lady?’
Marissa started, still unused to the drop in title. With Stannard’s death, she was no longer Queen. ‘All present, Bernard. My lords and ladies, my son will soon have passed his first day on the Land. He will need a name, and a Regent to protect him until he is of age to assume the Dragon Throne.’
The door swung open, booming as it hit against the wall. The baby awoke and began crying. Marissa started to her feet, reaching automatically for her son even as the others reached for swords and daggers. Then in a blink she recognised the royal reds and golds of the royal house. In another blink she saw who wore them. Fianna, daughter to Stannard. At her heels hovered a grey hound.
A long moment of silence gave Marissa time to study the young woman. By the Blood, she’s changed, she found herself thinking. And not only in height. She never used to look so bitter. How could four years affect someone so? Marissa swallowed against the cold fear the hard green eyes raised in her throat.
‘My lords and ladies,’ Fianna said, not moving from the doorway. ‘I understand you are in council regarding my brother’s regency. I regret that I have come late to the meeting.’
The Duke growled before anyone else could speak. ‘You are not welcome here.’
‘You speak of matters which concern my brother.’ She shifted slightly, and Marissa saw the ruby of the Summoning Ring glitter on the woman’s left hand. ‘It’s my duty to be here.’
‘You carry the state sword,’ Latham said angrily. ‘That belongs to the lad, not you.’
Fianna took a few strides into the room. Now all could see plainly that her hand rested on the golden hilt of the massive sword, rigged high on her hip to clear the ground behind her. ‘Yes, I carry it now. The boy will need another to hold it until he’s able to wield power in his own name. I will be that one. I will be Regent.’
‘No.’ Marissa straightened, forcing herself to ignore her wailing child. ‘I’ll choose his Regent. And it won’t be you.’
‘Then who, Lady Marissa? Who will guard the boy to maturity?’ Fianna turned her head, nodding to someone just outside the doorway. ‘I offer my arm, and that of the Colonel of the royal army. She will second me.’
Pealla stepped softly into the room, taking up a position to Fianna’s left. To her horror, Marissa saw that several heads were nodding to Fianna’s suggestion. ‘I will be his Regent,’ she said quickly. ‘Surely that’s my right, as his mother and wife to his father.’
‘Sister or mother,’ Fianna acknowledged quietly. ‘But who will serve as your second?’
Marissa smiled, sure of her ground now. ‘The King’s Champion, of course.’ She turned her smile to Jerome.
But Jerome did not return the look. He glanced away, his face set. ‘I cannot, my lady. I have sworn to be neutral in this matter.’
‘Jerome,’ she pleaded. His mouth tightened, but he did not respond. Feeling betrayed, Marissa glanced at the faces of the others. Only in her father’s eyes did she see an echo of her own concern. Leonard, unable to obtain any direction from his General, was looking to Pealla for instruction. Kaspan seemed pleased, and Marissa realised that he was close enough in age to Fianna to hope to court the Princess. Bernard was nodding as he compared the qualities of both candidates, obviously finding them at least equal. And Capella was busy comforting the baby, unconcerned as to whom became his Regent.
Steel whispered against steel as Fianna suddenly drew the state sword. Marissa stifled a gasp. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father reach for his own hilt. Then Jerome’s hand was clamped across his wrist, forcing the sword back into its scabbard. Only Fianna moved, offering the golden hilt to the kicking baby. ‘Blood of my blood,’ she said quietly, ‘child of the same sire, I offer you my service as your Regent, my protection until you are able to carry the burden of our house alone.’
The Duke’s face was purple with rage. His words were clipped, precise. ‘Which has the stronger claim, Court Recorder?’
Bernard raised his head slowly, carefully meeting no one’s eyes. ‘Princess Fianna is the only other blood relative of the royal house. Hers is the greater claim.’
‘Then we have no choice?’ Marissa asked despairingly.
‘None.’ Bernard bent his head closer to his note pad. ‘Unless you would provide a challenger to the Princess’s second.’
‘By the Family--’ Latham started, snapping his arm free of the General’s grip.
‘No, father.’ Marissa’s voice stopped him. She took a deep breath. ‘I will not have blood spilled before my son is even named. Princess Fianna, will you take the full oath to him on the Dragon Throne, before the entire court?’
Fianna swallowed convulsively. For a moment, Marissa was able to hope that the woman would refuse. Then she bent her head in a nod. ‘When he has been named and declared to the people, I will recognise him as my father’s heir and my future liege. Then I will be declared his Regent.’
The Duke nodded, resigned. ‘Then you will be declared Regent.’
Marissa accepted the baby from Capella, and numbly held him against her chest. She still didn’t trust Fianna, especially not with the satisfied look in her green eyes. But she had no choice. Not when the one man she had thought would stand beside her had instead betrayed that trust.
Words were spoken, timings arranged. Marissa caught Jerome’s eye as the others filed from the room, and he obediently, if reluctantly, waited until they were alone. ‘Why, Jerome?’ she asked, keeping her voice low for the sake of her dozing baby. ‘Why wouldn’t you support me?’
‘I couldn’t choose between my King’s daughter and his second wife.’ The mouth quirked in the nearest he came to a smile. ‘The Princess too made the same request for my support, and I gave her the same answer.’
‘Then rather than betray one of us,’ Marissa said icily, ‘you chose to betray us both.’
‘I chose to remain neutral, my lady.’
Marissa tightened her hold on her son. ‘And if Fianna should decide that serving my son has become inconvenient? Is he safe in her hands?’
‘She has pledged to protect him.’
‘Do you believe her?’
The General nodded slowly. ‘I have no reason to doubt her word.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ Marissa lowered her head, brushing her lips against the soft hairs on her son’s head. ‘For his sake, I hope you’re right.’
<><><><><><>
Fianna waited until Pealla closed the door behind them. Then she sank into a chair, releasing a long breath. The metal tip of the scabbard at her side clanked heavily against the ground, and she eased the sword back, glad to be released from its heavy weight. ‘Mostly successful, I’d say.’
Pealla leaned back against a tapestry, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘I wouldn’t. Should you have agreed to a full oath?’
Fianna shrugged, forcing back her own uncertainty. ‘I would have to give him some pledge as Regent.’
‘But not a full oath of fealty. Not until he was of age.’ Pealla turned to the window, added casually, ‘I believe the Lady Sallah might be in agreement with me.’
‘She might, were she here.’ Fianna grimaced at the tightness of the wide sword belt, and began to fumble at the gold buckle.
‘She is here. The castle guard is welcoming her even as I speak.’ Pealla glanced back, a smile curving her lips. ‘Servants and knights have suddenly become scarce.’
Aunt Sallah. Fianna looked down at the buckle, then fastened the tongue back through the red leather. ‘She’ll want to see me.’
‘Aye, that she will.’ Pealla moved forward as Fianna stood. ‘And she should come to you, Your Highness. She gave up title and place in the succession many years ago. You outrank her.’
‘I outrank her,’ Fianna echoed nervously, wondering why the thought gave her little confidence. ‘Perhaps then, Colonel, you will send a servant to give her notice that I await her in my chambers.’
‘My squire is nearby. I’ll send him.’
Fianna stood as Pealla left. She moved slowly to the window, and leaned against the thick glass to study the courtyard below. Her aunt had refused to allow age to come before her dignity. She had ridden into the city, rather than use a horse cart. Now she remained on her docile mare, shouting orders at the stable hands and servants who had not scurried away quickly enough when she had entered the castle gates. Even as a child Fianna had heard tales of Sallah’s temper, that many a servant had petitioned for even the duty of cleaning garderobes rather than face another day in her service. Four years of living under the woman’s roof had taught her that the tales held much truth.
But she taught me many things, and I owe her for that, Fianna thought. And now I outrank her. I am a woman, an adult, and soon to be Regent to the King-in-waiting. What do I have to be afraid of? I’m no longer in her service.
Pealla returned a few minutes later. ‘I’m more than willing to stand as your second,’ she continued, as if the interruption of Sallah’s entry had not occurred. ‘However, you’ll need a Champion for the boy in due course.’
‘Not for awhile.’ Court law rose easily to Fianna’s mind, as it should, after so many years of rote learning. ‘He can’t be confirmed to the crown until he has reached his fourth year. Coronation can be put off until his eighth year.’
‘Nevertheless, one day he will be crowned, and he may be challenged,’ Pealla pointed out. ‘If you place him on the Dragon Throne sooner rather than later, the General might agree to become Champion to the lad. Few would dare to challenge hi
m.’
‘I don’t think he will ever again be Champion.’ Fianna touched the bulky ring around her neck thoughtfully, the metal warm against her skin. ‘He made that clear.’
A loud knock came from the door. A young man stepped inside. ‘Your Highness, Colonel, the Lady Sallah--’
‘Is here and can speak for herself.’ As usual, Sallah’s strides were firm, making the cane she carried seem more an ornament than a necessity. ‘Go now, lad.’
The squire waited for Pealla’s nod, then closed the door behind him. Fianna rose slowly, holding her arm away from the sword so that Sallah could see that she carried it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alastair also rise to his feet, his head lowered, watchful.
Sallah turned to the knight. ‘I will speak to my niece alone.’
‘Colonel Pealla,’ Fianna said, her voice almost steady, ‘is my second, and welcome to remain.’
‘Second?’ Sallah lowered herself into a chair, propping the cane up in front of her. Fianna had the sudden, uneasy feeling that the usual shift of power between herself and her aunt had taken place. ‘Why should you need a second? You need a Champion.’
‘A sovereign needs a Champion.’ Fianna straightened. ‘A Regent needs a second.’
‘Regent.’ Sallah twisted the word, making it into an insult. ‘To that yet unnamed brat?’
‘He’s my father’s son--’
‘And you are my brother’s daughter!’ Sallah waved the cane at her, the sharp point inches away from Fianna’s chest. ‘I didn’t give up my place in the succession so that another male could take precedence over a first born woman!’
‘The law is quite clear.’ Fianna felt her voice straining to remain calm. ‘If a boy is born to the sovereign--’
‘Don’t quote court law to me, girl!’ Sallah harumphed, then settled back in her chair. ‘You haven’t sworn anything yet, have you?’
‘I will place myself under oath two days from now.’
‘Then I’ve arrived just in time.’ Sallah looked down at her hands, rubbing them reflectively over the smooth end of her cane. ‘The boy is only hours old. Many babes don’t live much beyond that.’