“Captain Byrne,” said a pretty blond woman with a circlet of gold in her hair. Princess Mellony, Lila thought. The queen’s sister. “I’m glad you could join us. How is Raisa?”
“She remains fragile,” Byrne said, back straight, chin up, as if at attention. He was always at attention.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lord Bayar said. He was sitting next to Princess Mellony. Lila recognized him by his High Wizard stoles. One of his arms was wrapped in white linen bandages, and it appeared that one side of his face was healing from a bad burn.
“Just when we think she’s improving, there’s a setback,” Byrne said. “She’s not been able to keep her food down these past three days.”
Mellony frowned. “I wish that you would allow me to go and see her,” she said. “It would put my mind at ease.”
“That’s Prince Adrian’s call,” Byrne said. From the weary way he said it, Lila had a sense that this ground was well trodden. “Though I’m sure Her Majesty would love to see you, Lord Gryphon and His Highness both worry that visitors would tire her, and might bring in infection. Prince Adrian is concerned that the room might still be contaminated with the poison that sickened her. Since we haven’t identified the source—”
“If the queen still hasn’t recovered after weeks of convalescence,” a tall, pinched-faced wizard said, “then doesn’t it make sense to get a second opinion from a more senior practitioner?”
Byrne’s lips tightened. “Lord Vega, we appreciate your repeated offers of assistance,” he said, “but Prince Adrian was very specific about restricting access of caregivers to Lady Magret, Master Gryphon, and himself. Given that he is next of kin to the queen in the absence of Princess Alyssa, and that Prince Adrian is an academy-trained healer himself—”
“Who never graduated,” Lord Vega sneered. “If Prince Adrian wants to defend his decisions with regard to care of the queen, he should come here in person to do so.”
“Since both he and the queen agree on this course of action, he did not believe that it needed defending,” Byrne said, his voice hardening.
Lord Bayar cleared his throat. “While I cannot speak to Prince Adrian’s skills,” the High Wizard said, “I’ve seen Master Gryphon’s work on the battlefield. The queen could not be in better hands.”
That was a definite poke at Vega, who turned to Princess Mellony. “Really, Your Highness, I beg of you to overrule Captain Byrne in the interest of—”
“This is the queen’s decision, not mine,” Byrne said. “Do you propose to overrule your blooded queen?”
“Lord Vega, let’s not begin this meeting with an argument.” It was the young woman who’d recognized Shadow. Her sober and businesslike clothing reminded Lila of the way she herself used to dress as a scribe at King Gerard’s court. It looked better on her than it ever had on Lila. Her black hair was pulled back in a low twist that accentuated her high cheekbones and narrow, smoky eyes.
As for nonsense, she was not having it.
“Lady Barrett, with all due respect—”
“With all due respect, Lord Vega, I would like to move ahead with our agenda. You are welcome at any time to submit a motion to select another interim chairperson until the queen is well enough to resume that role.” Lady Barrett waited, but Vega shook his head and settled back in his chair.
So, Lila thought, that must be Lady Barrett, cousin to Adrian and Lyss, daughter to Princess Mellony. Hence the wolf scarf.
“Now, Captain Byrne,” Barrett said, “you said that you have a message from Queen Raisa?”
Byrne nodded. “Prince Adrian has decided that the queen might benefit from some time in the Spirits, since they have always connected so closely with the queens of the Line.”
“Pardon me, Captain, but aren’t we in the Spirit Mountains?” This was a handsome woman with red-streaked pale hair wearing the Mander fellscats on her stoles. Lila snuck a look at her notes. This must be Miranda Mander.
“Specifically, time on Hanalea Peak,” Captain Byrne said. “Speaker Jemson has offered the use of one of the temple’s retreat houses there. The queen intends to spend a month or two in seclusion in the hopes that it will restore her usual good health.”
This announcement was met with mingled dismay, confusion, and consternation.
“This is very bad news,” Lady Mander said. “This is a disastrous time for the queen to be absent. The next two months may decide the future of the queendom.”
Byrne’s jaw tightened. “Her Majesty recognizes that the timing is poor, but she has confidence in her team on the council. To further strengthen it, she has appointed two new members.”
Now the eyes of the council turned to Shadow and Lila. Lila read their expressions as Them? You can’t be serious.
Byrne continued on doggedly. “Since Fire Dancer left for the war in the east, we’ve not had a clan representative on the queen’s council, and Queen Raisa has been eager to remedy that. She has appointed Dancer’s son, Shadow Dancer, to the council on a temporary basis.”
“Shadow!” Lady Barrett said, smiling. “How did you get talked into this?”
“Captain Byrne said that it was the only way to lower the average age on the council,” Shadow said. He scanned the empty sideboard and scowled. “He also promised refreshments.”
Lila laughed, and Barrett smiled, but nobody else seemed amused.
“Was it really necessary to bring on a substitute for this relatively short time period?” This was an older man in a slashed velvet coat. “By the time he learns how things work, he’ll be leaving us.”
“It’s been months already, Lord Howard,” Byrne said. “And there’s no telling how much longer we’ll be in this situation.”
“I, for one, am glad he’s here,” another council member said. He was middle-aged, with fine, almost translucent white hair and blue eyes. “Shadow owes me money.”
“You promised I’d get a chance to win it back, Mitri,” Shadow said. “I’m still waiting.”
That must be Dimitri Fenwaeter, representing the Waterwalkers, Lila thought, checking him off her list.
“I intend to accompany the queen and Prince Adrian to her temporary quarters on Hanalea,” Byrne said. He dropped a hand on Lila’s shoulder, startling her. “I would like to introduce my daughter, Lila Byrne. The queen has asked her to sit in for me in my absence.”
Barrowhill, Lila thought fiercely, as jaws dropped around the room. A person would think that Byrne had brought his faerie chance child to the garden club.
“I had . . . forgotten that you had a daughter, Captain Byrne,” Princess Mellony said, looking from Byrne to Lila. “We all remember Simon, of course. . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Yes. We all remember Simon.
“I’m the one who’s not Simon,” Lila said.
Bayar studied her, rubbing his chin. “It seems that you take after your mother,” he said. Which might have been a polite way to say, Are you sure Captain Byrne is really your father?
“Lila grew up on the east coast, splitting her time between my sister Lydia’s and her mother’s family,” Byrne said, “which is why she’s not well known at court.”
“Forgive me,” Lord Howard said. “I cannot imagine how a person who has never been at court could make a meaningful contribution to our discussions and decisions.”
“Lila has been working with me for several years,” Byrne said, “elsewhere in the Realms.”
The expression on every face said, Huh. Really? Where? Doing what?
“Still, it smacks of nepotism,” Lord Howard persisted.
“It seems to me that nepotism is the linchpin of an aristocracy,” Fenwaeter said. “Lady Barrett, didn’t you assume your mother’s post on council at one time?”
Barrett nodded. “That’s true.”
“With all due respect, Captain Byrne, in a time of war, do we really want this kind of inexperience on the queen’s council?” Lord Vega said.
Isn’t it interesting how often the phrase “with a
ll due respect” is the prelude to disrespect? Lila thought.
“Sometimes a new voice can offer a new perspective.” From his cleric’s robes, Lila assumed that this was the famous Speaker Jemson. “Unbound by habit or tradition.”
“Speaker Jemson can attest to the fact that I am blood-bound to serve both the queen and the queendom,” Byrne said, his shoulders even stiffer than usual. “I would not speak for these appointments to council if I did not believe they were the best choice for the good of the realm.”
“I wonder if it is time to discuss the possibility of a proxy for the queen,” Lady Mander said.
Lord Bayar straightened in his chair, eyes narrowed. “What exactly do you mean, Miranda?” he said in the kind of voice that would signal most people to take cover.
“Like I said before, we’re in a crisis. We have a war on two fronts, a missing princess heir, a here-today-and-gone-tomorrow prince, and a queen in ill health. There are many decisions to be made in the near term. Wouldn’t it make sense to appoint someone—a regent, perhaps—to stand in for the queen until she can resume her usual duties?”
“Did you have a candidate in mind?” Bayar raised an eyebrow.
“It would make sense if it was someone in the royal family,” Lady Mander said. “Someone close to the queen. Princess Mellony, perhaps, or Lady Barrett.”
Your in-laws-to-be? Lila thought, feeling like a first-time player in a street game, the ball whizzing back and forth over her head.
Mander paused, as if dithering whether to make that final leap. “We haven’t seen the queen in weeks,” she said. “How do we know that she’s still alive?”
This was met with a quick intake of breath, followed by a storm of protest.
“We haven’t seen her since she was poisoned,” Mander went on, raising her voice to be heard over the hubbub. “For all we know, Captain Byrne has been lying to us, unable to admit that his mistress is—”
“Captain Byrne is not a liar.”
Everyone flinched and looked around, wide-eyed. The queen’s voice seemed to echo from every corner of the library.
“I may have been poisoned, and my strength and stamina are limited, but I assure you, Lady Mander, that I am very much alive.”
That definitely came from overhead. Lila looked up, scanning the gallery. The queen stood at the railing in a sumptuous robe, the jewels in her tiara glittering in the light from the sconces. She leaned on the railing for support, and Lila could see Gryphon hovering behind her, to catch her if she fell. There was a chair next to her, suggesting she’d been sitting there listening for some time.
“Raisa,” Mellony whispered, chin quivering, her cheeks streaked with tears.
“Thank the Maker,” Bayar said, closing his eyes, as if sending a silent prayer after the spoken one.
Lady Mander appeared totally ambushed. “Your Majesty, I never meant—I didn’t realize—”
“I also assure you that I am in complete control of my faculties, and so have no need of a regent. Although I recognize the inconvenience of communicating with me over a distance, I am confident it can be done.”
Mander resembled a flamboyant potted plant, rapidly wilting in the midday sun.
The queen’s gaze found Lord Vega, who appeared thunderstruck. “Now, as to these new appointees to council, Lord Vega, before you pass judgment on my choice of representative, you should know that Lila Byrne has contributed more to our war effort than many of us on the council. Despite her youth, she has engaged in critical espionage and sabotage operations on behalf of our queendom—often at great risk to herself. Lila was the one who brought Prince Adrian safely home. She has done this without rank, title, or recognition. Both she and Shadow Dancer have suffered great personal losses during this time of war. I don’t know how I can ever repay them.
“I have demanded much of them, yet they’ve never faltered when it comes to loyalty and service. Anyone, and I mean anyone who questions their suitability to serve on this council will answer to me.”
Lila and Shadow looked at each other. Well, Lila thought, maybe we’ve faltered a time or two. Yet the queen was getting to her. The pain in her heart and the burn of tears in her eyes said so.
Gryphon leaned toward the queen and murmured something in her ear. She nodded and turned back to the counselors below. “Now, is there anything else to discuss with me before I return to my bed?” She gazed down at the council for a moment. “Good. Then I suggest that you all get seated and do business.” With that, she eased herself back into her chair and Gryphon wheeled her away.
So, Lila thought, that’s how she does it.
24
A MATTER OF TACTICS
Lyss’s days in Celesgarde were long and physically strenuous. She would fall into bed, exhausted, only to find that her mind continued to work all night. At first, she spent that time second-guessing herself, wondering if she was doing the right thing. If staying alive justified her contributions to Celestine’s war machine. Wondering how long she could continue this charade.
I’m just not that good at lying, she thought.
If Lyss had hoped that her Gray Wolf ancestors would return regularly to advise her, she was disappointed. Having delivered their message about her accession to the throne, they seemed to have returned to the uplands, leaving her on her own.
Gradually, she left off dithering.
You won’t get what you don’t go after. Lyss’s father, Han Alister, had drilled that into her. So the first thing to do is to figure out what you want.
The events of the past year had stripped away the self-doubt and ambivalence that had dogged Lyss since her sister, Hanalea, died. She might not be the queen everyone planned on, or maybe hoped for, but she was the queen they had. She was the survivor. Everyone would just have to deal with it.
So. First and foremost, she was determined to survive and return to the Fells and take her place in the line of Gray Wolf queens.
In order to achieve that goal, she had to succeed in a job she didn’t want. The more time she spent with Empress Celestine, the clearer the consequences of failure. The Desert Coast was littered with the bones of those who had disappointed her. Her armies were swollen with her blood-bound slaves.
If Lyss wanted to remain free of the empress’s blood magic, she had to hone Celestine’s land army into a viable fighting force. Or at least do well enough to sell the appearance of success. If she could forge clan warriors, wizards, and Valefolk into an army, then surely she could hone the bloodsworn into something resembling that. Probably. Maybe.
She still had to deal with the voice in her head that said she might be building an army capable of taking her birthright away.
So the second prong of her strategy was to persuade the empress that Arden would prove a much more valuable target than the queendom in the north. It was a delicate dance for Lyss, who preferred to do her dancing on the battlefield. The empress was moody, arbitrary, quick to anger, slow to forgive, and capricious as hell. She loved flattery but resented unsolicited advice, and even solicited advice that didn’t dovetail with her own opinion, which seemed to change daily.
Lyss, Celestine, Captain Samara, and Breon often dined together, when Samara was in port. Lyss came to dread these stomach-churning ordeals, as she picked her way through conversational land mines.
Breon, of course, said nothing, only picked at his food and dreamed through dinner, his pipe in a little dish by his plate. Sometimes Celestine scolded him for not eating more. He would dutifully take another bite, then put his fork down. The empress was unfailingly affectionate toward him, solicitous of his well-being, doing everything she could to improve his quality of life without actually giving him his voice back.
Sometimes, Lyss caught Breon watching the empress with unblinking intensity, as if he was storing something away for later. She didn’t know whether to be hopeful or worried about that.
At these dinners, Celestine often included some handsome young man for Lyss, and a lovely young woman
for Breon, or vice versa. She seemed determined to distract the erstwhile lovers with new options. These guests were heartbreakingly beautiful, talented on the jafasa or basilka, and thoroughly trained in flattery and meaningless conversation. Maybe they were interesting people in real life, but in this setting Lyss found them irredeemably boring.
The empress seemed puzzled by Lyss’s lack of response to the young courtesans put before her. “They are not to your liking, Captain Gray?” she said. “You could take either one or both to your bed. If there is a different . . . need you have, I will do my best to—”
“They are fine,” Lyss said hastily. “They are lovely and charming. I’m just . . . not in the mood.”
Celestine’s eyes narrowed. “I hope you are not harboring any hopes regarding a relationship with my brother. He is not for you.”
What is he for? Lyss wanted to say. Instead, she said, “I understand that, Your Eminence.”
“If you are inexperienced, don’t worry. They are very good teachers,” she said. “In fact, that can be a good way to—”
“No!” Lyss said. She was tempted to add, If I go to bed with someone, I want it to mean something. Her face heated as an image of a shirtless Matelon came to mind—those broad shoulders, his muscled arms, the odd silver thimble on a chain around his neck. The way he paused to collect his thoughts before he spoke. The way he challenged her day after day. The way she challenged him. There was always something to learn from Matelon.
Blood and bones. Clearly, she hadn’t buried that deeply enough.
“Captain?”
The empress was still looking at her, frowning a little, as if waiting for an answer, so she said, “I find that when going into battle, celibacy sharpens my mental skills and improves my performance.”
Samara’s eyes widened, and he went a little pale.
“Oh!” Celestine said, shooting a smirk at Samara. “If that’s true, shall we order our soldiers to abstain until such time as—”
“No!” Lyss said, trying not to shout and only partly succeeding. “I’m speaking just for myself. Everyone is different.”
Deathcaster (Shattered Realms) Page 18