Tyrant's Throne

by de Castell, Sebastien

  ‘I could come down and carry you if you want,’ Darriana offered.

  I didn’t dignify that with an answer but hauled myself up a few inches more, found a gap to jam in a toe and resumed the climb. There was a limit to how much abuse I was willing to take from her – also, at this point it was probably safer to finish the climb than it was to try to get back down.

  Eventually we reached the highest surviving floor and forced the window open. I pulled out a piece of amberlight and by the light of the torch Darriana produced I recognised our surroundings: one of the many storage rooms the King had used for unwanted gifts. Sure enough, the little cabinet with all the bottles from Saints-knew-where was still there – and it wasn’t even locked.

  ‘Why would the King keep these here?’ she asked. ‘Didn’t he have a wine cellar?’

  ‘A vast one,’ I replied. ‘But these were all gifts, so he could never be sure they weren’t poisoned.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ she said, picking out a bottle. She twisted the cork out and handed it to me. ‘You first.’

  ‘Me? Aren’t you supposed to be a Dashini? Don’t you go through some kind of mystical training to make yourself resistant to poison?’

  ‘Yes – but I reckon you’ve been poisoned so many times your body probably doesn’t care any more.’

  ‘Good point.’ I took a swig, and the taste of summer peaches woke up my tongue, closely followed by a burning sensation – but it could have been worse. ‘Not bad,’ I said, passing her the bottle.

  She took a drink. ‘Sweet,’ she said, then a moment later, ‘Oh . . . I quite like that.’

  I extended my hand for the bottle but she pulled it away from me and threw it against the far wall. It smashed into a thousand pieces, the delicious peachy liquor pooling on the floor.

  ‘Why in hells would you do that?’ I growled, glaring.

  Darriana picked out another bottle. ‘We already tried that one. Let’s push our luck a bit, shall we?’

  Reluctantly, I accepted the bottle. And the next. And the one after that.

  An hour or so later, sitting on the floor with our backs to the wall, somewhat drunk and still alive, she said, ‘I wanted to ask you something.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  She turned to me, her eyes a little blurry from the booze. ‘You came back to find Pastien – why?’

  ‘The same reason you did. I was going to beat some sense into him.’

  ‘But weren’t you risking the nobles getting pissed off with the Greatcoats?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And isn’t Aline likely to need Pastien’s support in the coming days?’

  I was a little confused about where this was going.

  ‘And didn’t Valiana specifically tell you to leave him alone?’

  I nodded again.

  She leaned her head back against the wall. ‘So you risked creating all kinds of inconveniences for yourself and the Crown, in full knowledge that Valiana would be furious with you, just to slap that git around a bit.’

  ‘Except you got there first.’

  She grinned. ‘Yes, but I’m crazy. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘So why did you do it? Why go there, knowing you’d likely only make things worse?’

  I rubbed my shoulder while I thought about that. The climb had been harder than I expected and the soothing effects of the alcohol were wearing off. ‘I don’t know,’ I said finally. ‘No, wait, that’s not true. I do know. Valiana said something to me. She said, “You’re not my real father. Don’t pretend to be”.’

  ‘So?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t give a shit if I’m her father or not. She’s my daughter, and no one gets to treat her like dirt while I’m alive.’

  Darriana gave a little snort, then looked up at the ceiling. After a few seconds, she turned and kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘What’s that for?’ I asked.

  She leaned her head against my shoulder. ‘For knowing that sometimes the right thing to do happens to be the wrong thing.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Price of a Crown

  The next morning I was summoned before the Ducal Council. I could think of two reasons, and I prepared a response for each one. If they’d heard about my shenanigans with Pastien and wanted to take the opportunity to dress me down or threaten me with one punishment or another, well, fine: I could live with that. I’d prostrate myself, apologise and beg forgiveness, and as long as that over-manicured piece of shit never tried humiliating Valiana again, I was happy to let him kick me around a bit.

  The second possibility was that the Dukes had a list of demands in order to put Aline on the throne, as Duchess Ossia had predicted. They would seek to curb the Greatcoats’ influence in their territories, or maybe demand we stamp out a problem or two. I had little doubt that whatever they wanted from me would involve a combination of humiliation and life-threatening danger. I could live with that too. The country’s need was far too great, and the salvation of seeing Aline crowned was too close for me to screw things up out of pride or indignity.

  Whatever they demanded, this time I was going to keep my temper. I would honour my commitment to maintain my calm and give offence to no one, remembering the times when Paelis had been King and I’d been able to sit quietly and speak diplomatically, regardless of whatever asinine proposals the Dukes had in mind for me.

  A magistrate is, first and foremost, a man of words.

  Peaceful words.

  ‘Are you absolutely fucking mad?’ I shouted, slamming a hand down on the new large round oak table inside the council chambers. I suspected the table’s shape was to prevent anyone – especially Valiana or Aline – from ever being at the head of the table and therefore being seen to have greater status than the Dukes.

  ‘It’s a perfectly sound request,’ Hadiermo, Duke of Domaris, said for the third time. He was, notably, the man who’d lost most of his men to Trin’s army in less than a week of fighting.

  ‘None of you,’ I said, pointing to each one of them in turn, ‘not one fucking one of you is ever going to marry Aline.’

  ‘It needn’t be one of us,’ Duke Jillard said, with the calm that comes from already knowing that even if you haven’t quite won yet, your opponent has lost.

  So much for my new best friend, I thought.

  ‘She. Is. Too. Young,’ I said, emphasising each word to see if I could, through sheer effort, make them understand.

  Erris, Duke of Pulnam, the brave leader who, having largely lost his own battles with Trin’s forces, waited until we had saved his bony arse before making a pact with the bitch to betray us, creaked his way to a standing position. This was, apparently, a time for the sage wisdom of elder statesmen. ‘She is of marriageable age,’ he said, and promptly sat back down again.

  ‘Well argued, Duke—’

  ‘I’m not finished,’ he said. ‘Like it or not, First Cantor, the girl is old enough – by the Saints, man: you want to make her Queen of Tristia and give her the whole country, but you say she’s too young to manage a husband?’

  ‘There’s a side to this you aren’t seeing, Falcio,’ said Duke Jillard, looking for all the world as if he were magnanimously trying to reason with me. ‘For the sake of the Kingdom, Aline must take a husband so that she can produce an heir.’

  ‘And when she does you’ll have no more use for her, will you, your Graces?’

  ‘You tread close to a dangerous accusation,’ Hadiermo said. ‘Do the Greatcoats suspect this council of wrongdoing?’

  ‘I suspect you of little else.’

  ‘There!’ Erris said to Valiana. ‘You see? You ask us to permanently reinstate the Greatcoats but you see how they seethe with desire for petty revenge? How can we ever trust them to fairly adjudicate the laws in our Duchies when this barking dog is their leader
?’

  ‘Have you forgotten that you killed our King, you fucking senile bastard? Why should we ever trust you?’

  Normally at a time like this, Valiana would have stopped me – she knew exactly what to say to get me to back down – and yet she was silent. If I had been in a saner frame of mind I might have taken this as a warning that something wasn’t right here, but, of course, I was nowhere near in my right mind.

  Jillard stood, with considerably more calm and grace than the others, and asked, ‘So what is your solution, First Cantor? We deposed the King, that is fact, and it will not change. To you, he was a visionary – a Saint. To us, he was a tyrant, shaping the world to his own liking. We fought over the matter and our side won. Now the country is weak and we must either stand together or fall apart – you’ve said it yourself. There are many who would see Aline dead. So again I ask, what is your solution?’

  ‘Simple,’ I said, belligerence rapidly overtaking my earlier commitment to calm, reasoned debate. ‘I’ll just find every man who wants to harm her and I’ll teach them the first rule of the sword.’

  ‘And so barks the dog who does not see the hammer coming down upon his own head,’ Erris said.

  Valiana placed her hands on the table and the gesture somehow brought the room back to order. ‘Gentlemen, let us set this particular matter aside for now. There are other issues which concern us.’

  ‘Like Orison,’ Jillard said.

  I looked at the Duke of Rijou with what I hoped was a sufficiently threatening expression. ‘What exactly about Orison would you like to discuss, your Grace?’ And if you think I’m going to support whatever little plans you have now, you’re crazier than old Erris is.

  Valiana surprised me when she motioned to a small stack of papers on the table. ‘There have been a number of reports of Western villages claiming the right to secede.’

  ‘Secede? Why bother? And why now?’ I asked. ‘There hasn’t even been anyone to annoy them since Duke Perault died.’

  ‘We don’t know,’ she replied. ‘We haven’t had many dealings with the Duchy of Orison for precisely that reason. But if there really are villages threatening to break away . . .’

  ‘Break away where? They don’t grow enough of their own food – who will they join with? Avares?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Hadiermo admitted. ‘That’s why we thought it might be prudent for the Greatcoats to—’

  ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘I’m not sending men to be spies or tax collectors for you. Besides, don’t you have your own men you could send?’

  Valiana spoke up before the Duke of Domaris could reply. ‘I believe it’s unwise to send soldiers, especially Ducal soldiers, into a situation that may require investigation before action.’

  Again, she surprised me: she knew how much I hated the ­Greatcoats being used to suppress rebellion amongst honest people who had genuine grievances with their Dukes. ‘Send someone else,’ I said. ‘I’m staying here until I see Aline seated on the throne.’

  ‘Falcio,’ Valiana said warningly, ‘it would be a mistake to imply that the Greatcoats might defy the Ducal Council’s direct order.’

  I let it go. I’d come here to make peace, and while I was doing a lousy job of it so far, I knew it was time to step back. ‘You’re right. My apologies, your Graces. I’ll . . . I’ll find someone to send north to investigate these villages you’ve talked about.’

  ‘Good,’ Jillard said. ‘Then I suggest we adjourn.’

  ‘What of the matter of finding a husband for the heir?’ Hadiermo said.

  ‘I’m sure we can leave this for another time and allow the First Cantor to adjust to the idea.’

  ‘No!’ Hadiermo said, his voice suddenly raised to a shout, ‘I’ll not see council business ignored simply because it offends the Trattari’s sensibilities.’

  This was another of those times where Valiana would usually step in and calm everyone down, and then we’d work something out – and yet again, she stayed silent.

  Great, so I have to actually be reasonable of my own accord.

  I took in a breath and held it as long as I could before letting it out. When I was confident I could speak rationally again, I said, ‘I mean no offence, your Grace, but I still fail to understand why it’s so important for Aline to marry, never mind immediately give birth to a child.’

  ‘Falcio,’ Jillard said, ‘if we put her on the throne . . . if something happened to her and there wasn’t another heir . . .’

  Saints, I thought, he’s right – it would be chaos. It would mean civil war for generations. How had I not seen this before? Was my own determination to protect Aline blinding me to the country’s plight?

  ‘See?’ Hadiermo said triumphantly. ‘The dog has finally learned to add two and two together. That’s right, First Cantor. It’s time to decide if you’re fighting for the safety of your King’s bastard child or for the survival of your country.’

  ‘That “bastard child” is your rightful Queen, and Aline will marry when she wishes, and to a man she loves,’ I said.

  Hadiermo rose to his feet. ‘She’ll marry whomever you damn well tell her to and you bloody well know it! Let us not pretend you aren’t the one who can pull her strings whenever you wish, First Cantor. So now, tell us: do the Greatcoats work for the people of Tristia, or do they exist solely to act on your petty vows and passions?’

  ‘Enough, Hadiermo,’ Jillard said. ‘The First Cantor understands now. It’s enough.’

  ‘Pah!’ he said, sitting back down heavily on his chair. ‘Look at you, coddling the fucking Trattari. Shall we sing sweet songs to the heir to soothe this fool’s nerves?’ He turned to look at the other members of the council. With a ribald laugh, he added, ‘I tell you this: I’ll wed her and I’ll see her pregnant within a fortnight, whether she wants it or not.’

  ‘Say that again,’ I said. ‘Get back on your feet, Duke Hadiermo, and tell me again how you’ll bed Aline whether she wishes it or not—’

  ‘Do you threaten a member of the council in open session, Trattari?’

  ‘Hadn’t I made that clear?’ My right hand reached down to my side and drew one of my rapiers. The hell with the people who say I threaten too much. ‘Does this clarify my intentions, your Grace?’

  Erris slammed a fist on the table and shouted, ‘How dare you come into this council chamber and—’

  ‘I’ll come and threaten you in a different one, if you prefer, your Grace. For example, I’d be happy to turn up in your Ducal bed­chambers the next time you—’

  ‘Falcio, be silent,’ Valiana said, her voice even.

  I turned to her, my earlier regret over my harsh words vanishing. ‘Oh, now you’ve found something to say?’

  ‘Keep silent, I said.’ She turned and walked to the door. At first I thought she was leaving the meeting, but instead, she signalled for the guards to enter, four men in armour, war swords at their sides. It took me a moment to realise what she’d said – and the guards themselves were so surprised that she had to repeat herself.

  ‘I said, arrest him.’

  The guard in charge hesitated. ‘Realm’s Protector, you set an order that prisoners were to be taken to the Greatcoats for trial – so how am I to—?’

  ‘Just take him to the damned dungeon,’ she said. ‘Let him sit there a while and recover his temper, if not his senses.’

  The guards took a step towards me and I raised my weapon. ‘Think carefully, gentlemen,’ I said. ‘People are prone to get hurt in these situations.’

  Valiana stepped in front of the guard so that the point of my sword touched her chest. ‘Then start with me, Falcio. If you really want to kill someone, start with me.’ When she saw me hesitate she batted my blade out of the way with her hand. ‘Or else follow these men down to the dungeon and wait until I see fit to have you released.’

  I considered my options,
which amounted to harming the young woman to whom I’d given my own name and made my daughter, or allowing myself to be arrested. I sheathed my rapier and let the guards lead me away, pausing only to say loudly, ‘No wonder those fucking northern villages want to secede. I’m starting to think it would be a good idea myself.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The King’s Glaive

  With as much gentleness as men of violence could manage, they led me down the three flights of stairs to the dungeons of Castle Aramor. I suffered the indignity of it all with as much good grace as I could, given that it was entirely my own fault that I was in this situation. I knew it would take all of an hour for Kest and Brasti to find out what had happened and either convince Valiana to have me released or simply break me out themselves.

  Castle Aramor’s dungeon is about as pleasant a place to pass the time while incarcerated as you could hope for. Unlike most dungeons, the King had installed long diagonal vents in the stone walls so that there was some natural light in the cells. There were actual beds, with thick woollen blankets, and the food was tolerable, so it wasn’t until we reached the end of the long row of cells that I seriously considered resisting my arrest.

  ‘Well, well, if it isn’t the world’s dumbest man come to pay me a visit.’

  The walls of the last cell were lined with books, and ensconced in what looked like an excessively comfortable chair, sewing pieces of leather, sat the Tailor. Several bottles of wine were grouped on a small table in the corner. Apparently Aline and Valiana had decided to make what remained of the Tailor’s sentence for having nearly destroyed the country only slightly less comfortable than if they’d simply given her the crown and seated her on the throne of Tristia.

  The guards ushered me into the cell opposite hers before I had a chance to protest.

  ‘So it took almost a whole day, did it?’ Her voice was always full of grit and sand. ‘I bet Gerrald here a silver stag that it would take you no more than an hour to force Valiana to have you arrested.’