by C. J. Archer
“But no one knows except us,” Quentin said.
“I told no one,” Yelena said with a sniff.
“You sent documents to the temple of Merdu’s Guards in Tilting,” Dane reminded her. “Someone knew, and they attacked us in the forest before we reached Merrin Fahl.”
I gasped. “You think that attack was an attempt to stop you learning your identity in Freedland?”
“And to stop you claiming your rightful place,” his mother added.
“Perhaps,” Dane said. “It’s also likely that person also attacked us as we tried to escape from Merrin after my release on the scaffold. Do you remember, Josie?”
It all came back to me now, that attack, the one in the forest, and others. “It wasn’t just those two incidents. Someone set the Freedland authorities onto us in Noxford outside the inn, then again at Yelena’s house when you were arrested. That person must have known where to find you.”
It was Yelena’s turn to gasp. “They knew where I lived.”
“How?” Max asked. “We didn’t even know where you lived. We didn’t know Dane had a mother until then. So how did someone else find out?”
“From me,” Balthazar said.
Quentin sat up straight. “You told someone! Why?”
Balthazar lifted a hand off his walking stick, dismissing Quentin’s question. “I must have told someone before I lost my memory. I found the documents Yelena sent to the master of Merdu’s Guards and must have shown them to someone in Tilting before I left to find Dane in Noxford.”
My mind raced through the possibilities of who Balthazar had told but dismissed them all. We’d asked his fellow priests what he’d been studying when he disappeared from Tilting, and none knew.
“Someone lied,” Max said, his thoughts following the same path as mine.
I lifted my gaze to Dane, but he was looking at Balthazar. Something passed between them, an understanding or acknowledgement. They had both reached the same conclusion.
It took me a little longer, but I reached it too. The realization sickened me. It was the ultimate betrayal. A friendship would be shattered by this and trust broken.
Balthazar could have confided in a number of people before he left Tilting, but not all of them could have sent someone to attack us on the road. Only one had been in Merrin when we were attacked. Only one was here at the palace now and could have entered the kitchen without being ordered out by the cook.
“The high priest of Glancia,” I murmured.
“The high priest!” Yelena cried. “Are you sure?”
“Merdu,” Max muttered.
Quentin shook his head. “I can’t believe it. What an arse!”
“Are you sure?” Theodore asked.
Balthazar and Dane both nodded. “It could only have been him.” Balthazar’s shoulders sagged, and he lowered his head. “He lied to us when we asked him in Tilting if he knew where I’d gone before losing my memory. I must have done so and confided in him my intention to travel to Freedland and why. We were friends. I trusted him and would have sought his advice. It’s the only explanation that fits.”
Dane scrubbed a hand down his face. When it came away, he looked even more drawn. He cast a sympathetic glance at Balthazar. “Your memory loss was a blessing for him. It allowed him to cover up his betrayal.”
“It bought him time,” I added. “Time in which he could kill you, Dane. Or try to.”
“But why?” Yelena asked. “What does it matter to him if Dane takes the throne of Glancia from the dukes? Dane is a better option than them.”
“I think I know,” Balthazar said, rising. “But I want to hear it from him.”
I had an inkling too. The more I thought about my encounters with the high priest, the more I couldn’t stop thinking about the dinner he’d hosted for us the night before we left Tilting. It was then that he’d heard Dane’s name for the first time. Prior to that, he’d simply known him as Captain Hammer.
He’d been going to kill Dane that night after realizing who dined with him. I was sure of that now. He’d asked one of his servants to fetch a phial, telling me it was a tonic for his own health, but it was most likely poison. He’d not followed through with his hastily planned assassination, thank the god and goddess. Perhaps he realized he couldn’t get away with it with so many witnesses.
That’s why he’d sent men after us to Vytill, then come himself to Merrin Fahl when the attack in the forest failed. He’d been there when Dane was imprisoned for a murder he didn’t commit. When we met the high priest in the square where Dane’s execution was to take place, he’d claimed to have pleaded Dane’s case to the magistrate. But it was more likely he had done the opposite. If it hadn’t been for the king’s pardon, he would have succeeded in getting rid of Dane without staining his own hands with blood.
After several failed attempts, the high priest had come here in person to stop Dane before he claimed the Glancian throne. He didn’t know Dane wasn’t going to declare himself. I wasn’t sure it made a difference. While Dane lived, he was the rightful king.
“I’m coming with you,” I said to Balthazar as he rose to leave. “We must bring guards to arrest him.”
“He’s the high priest,” Yelena said darkly. “One does not simply arrest a high priest.”
“Not without evidence,” Dane said. “And I’d wager he can’t be linked to this.” He indicated the pie.
“We can’t let him get away with it!” I cried. “At least if he’s aware that we know he might stop trying to kill you.”
Yelena scoffed. “You’re naïve, Josie. We are no threat to the high priest. Our word means nothing against his. He will continue his attempts to eliminate Dane until he succeeds.”
“So what do you propose we do? Nothing? That is not an option for me, Yelena.”
“Do you think it’s an option for me?” She rose and turned to Balthazar. “Gather the dukes in the council chamber. We will address them as soon as Dane is ready.”
“Why?” Theodore asked with caution.
“Dane must announce his claim. It’s the only way to keep him safe.”
A weighty silence filled the bedchamber. Then it was broken by several voices talking over the top of one another.
Mine was not one of them. I glanced at Dane as he argued with his mother, telling her all the reasons he didn’t want to be king. But in my heart, I knew she was right. It was the right thing for Glancia and its people, but more importantly, it was the right thing for Dane. By declaring himself, the high priest would be defeated, bringing an end to his attempts to kill Dane. Dane would even have the power to arrest him if he wished.
But Dane becoming king would mean the end for us. The king couldn’t marry a commoner, no matter what the law stated or what that king wanted. Glancia needed an alliance with a nation like Vytill. Dane couldn’t afford to make an enemy of them. Declaring himself king was the last thing either of us wanted, but if it meant saving his life, I would support it.
“She’s right,” I said.
Only Dane seemed to have heard me through the cacophony of voices. He stopped mid-sentence and stared at me. “No, Josie.” His deep, commanding tones rose above all others.
The weight of the sudden silence pressed down on me, smothering. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes but I willed them away. I must be strong or Dane would never go through with it. And he had to do this.
“Yes, Dane,” I said. “Yelena’s right. The only way to keep you safe is to negate the high priest’s threats. You becoming king will do that. It will stop the Deerhorns too, and end the war between the dukes. It will solve all our problems. You have to do this, Dane. You have to, or the high priest will never stop trying to take your life.”
His chest heaved with his deep breath. He looked away, his jaw rigid. But he did not shake his head. He did not refuse.
I turned to Yelena. “Fetch Prince Hugo’s letters from the cottage. Max, Erik and Quentin will escort you. Dane, get dressed. Theodore, ask the dukes to mee
t us in the council chamber. Don’t tell them why.”
“And us?” Balthazar asked.
“We’re going to confront the high priest. I want answers. I also want to make sure he doesn’t have an inkling of what we’re about to do.”
I helped Balthazar to his feet as the guards filed out with Yelena. I did not look at Dane. I couldn’t.
“Wait, Josie,” he said.
“No, Dane. I won’t wait.”
“Talk to me.”
I shook my head.
“We have to talk about this!”
“There is nothing to say,” I said over my shoulder. “This must be done.”
I felt his glare boring into my back as I left with Balthazar and Theodore. “Nothing will change between us,” he called out.
But we both knew that was a lie.
The cook confirmed that the high priest had indeed been in the kitchen the night before and had asked for a slice of pie. The cook hadn’t dared throw him out or deny him the slice.
With that confirmed, we confronted the high priest. We found him in one of the salons, studying a painting of Leon. All the artwork still hung on the walls, even those depicting the false king. The valuable ornaments and gilt furniture were exactly as I’d seen them the last time I’d wandered through these rooms. The servants hadn’t touched them. The only difference was the lack of people. We were alone in a chamber that used to be filled with noblemen and women playing cards, gossiping, and preening. There was an eeriness about the empty palace, and a sadness too, like a painted whore ignored by passersby.
“Ah, Bal, Josie,” he said upon our entry. “This is a fine portrait, don’t you think? He was a good looking young man.”
“It’s nothing like him,” Balthazar said.
The high priest bristled at the brusque tone. His gaze slipped from Balthazar to me and back again. “You both look serious. Has something happened?”
“Dane was poisoned.”
The high priest gasped. His jaw dropped. “Merdu, no. That’s awful. Truly awful.” He took my hand between both of his and gave me a sympathetic frown. “Josie, you poor thing. I want you to know that I will be here if you need me. You are not alone. You have good friends—”
“He didn’t die,” I said, withdrawing my hand.
The shocked look on the high priest’s face was more satisfying than it should have been.
I smiled. “He is up and about as we speak. Fortunately he wasn’t hungry last night and ate little of the pie you delivered to his room.”
The high priest cocked his head to the side. “Pardon?”
“You heard her,” Balthazar said. “You delivered the poisoned slice of pie to Dane’s room last night with the expectation he would eat it all. But Dane already ate earlier in the evening and consumed only a small portion. It made him ill, but not terribly.” He smiled at the high priest’s frozen face. “He has a strong constitution.”
The high priest rallied, blinking furiously. “No, no, you’re mistaken. I didn’t deliver anything to his room.”
“You were seen,” Balthazar said simply.
The high priest looked to me again. I simply nodded.
“It’s all right,” Balthazar said, gazing up at Leon’s portrait. “There’s nothing we can do about it. You are too powerful to bring to justice. No one will believe the word of mere servants over you.” He shuffled around to face the high priest. “We just want to know why.”
The high priest hesitated, then his throat moved with his swallow. He indicated the painting. “You told me he was a weak man, selfish, greedy and immature. If he’d lived longer, he could have ruined this country and set the entire Fist Peninsula on a path to war.”
The high priest had never believed our claims that magic put Leon on the throne and cost the servants their memories. Balthazar seemed disinclined to try to convince him again so I remained silent too.
The high priest wagged a finger at the portrait. “Men like that should not be allowed to rule. They shouldn’t have any power at all, let alone the power to affect thousands of lives. Yet they do. They are given power simply because they were born into royalty. It’s not right, Bal, and you know it.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He’d gone to such lengths simply because he hated royalty? “How does killing Dane change anything?” I cried.
The high priest hesitated.
“We know he’s the heir to both the Averlea and Glancian thrones,” Balthazar said.
The high priest shifted his stance and nodded slowly. “I see.”
“Well then?” I snapped. “Explain yourself.”
“Removing him keeps Freedland a republic and gives Glancians the opportunity to install a republic here too.”
“Except Glancians aren’t interested in becoming a republic. Removing Dane means the dukes are left to fight over the throne. It will lead to war. How does that benefit the people?”
“You can’t see the longer view, Josie. You see, neither duke will have enough support to take power completely. That will lead to a weak monarchy and a weak monarchy will bring discontent. Discontent with the monarchy leads to its demise at the hands of its people. Monarchies are dangerous systems. Look what happened in Freedland forty years ago. King Diamedes almost ruined his kingdom through his greed and corruption. But he was brought down by the people, and something new and egalitarian rose from the ashes of the revolution. Freedland is a fine example of what can happen when the monarchy is removed. All nations on the Fist should learn from it.”
“You want Dreen and Vytill to become republics too?” I scoffed.
“In time. Glancia is a good place to start, now that it is without a clear king.”
“Dane notwithstanding,” Balthazar said.
The high priest gave him a grim smile. “Quite.”
“He would make an excellent king.”
“For a while, perhaps. But power corrupts, Bal. You know that. Or you used to, before you lost your memory. And what of his heir? And his son’s heir, his grandson’s heir? Dane might make a good king, but good monarchs die and bad ones replace them.”
“Bad rulers can be elected too,” I said.
“And a different one elected in their place after a brief term.” The high priest shrugged. “Which is the lesser of two evils, Josie?”
“How long have you plotted Glancia’s path to becoming a republic through murder?” Balthazar asked.
The high priest winced. “I didn’t think I would have to resort to murder. As King Alain grew old and frail, no one knew he had an heir. Not even me. Then you showed me those documents from the former princess of Averlea, proving she had married Prince Hugo before his death years ago and borne him a son. You were amazed, shocked, and elated too. You thought putting King Alain’s grandson on the Glancian throne would solve the impending problem of the succession, whereas I could see beyond that. Having no clear heir made fertile ground in which a republic could plant its seed and grow. I knew I had to do something before Dane’s existence became public knowledge.”
“What did you do with those documents?” Balthazar asked.
“I wrote to the authorities in Freedland after you left Tilting and told them what you had in your possession. They burned the documents after they arrested you. Unfortunately you’d already showed them to Dane.”
“You knew where to find Yelena and Dane from those documents?” Balthazar asked.
The high priest nodded. “I was able to direct the Freedland authorities straight to you.”
“They were imprisoned in a mine,” I snapped. “You condemned an old man, your friend, to the cruelest of punishments.”
“I was assured that he was treated well and didn’t work in the mine.” The high priest seemed entirely at ease with the role he’d played in events. “I was saddened when I learned of the prisoners’ escape and subsequent death after being rounded up. I truly was, Bal. I believed the story the Freedland authorities put out.” He indicated the portrait. “Then he showed u
p.”
Balthazar merely grunted.
“He seemed to come from nowhere,” the high priest went on. “I would have called him out as a pretender, but he had all the correct documents. More importantly, he had the support from the advisors and dukes. I was devastated. All that effort in suppressing Dane’s name and identity, for nothing. Your death too, Bal. All for nothing.”
Balthazar leaned on his walking stick. “Leon’s lies affected many.” He lifted his gaze to me. “Yet he did save us. We all would have perished in that mine, sooner or later, if not for him.”
Leon smiled down at us from his portrait in that imperial, smug way of his. He had few good traits, and many bad ones, but Balthazar was right. Leon wishing to become king had saved all of the prisoners from certain death.
“Leon’s death was a blessing,” the high priest went on, as if Balthazar hadn’t spoken. “Once again, having no clear heir meant I could hope for a republic. When I received a letter from the master of Merdu’s Guards stating he’d found you here, Bal, I was overjoyed that you’d somehow escaped. I still thought Dane deceased at that point. Your memory loss was fortuitous. You’d forgotten about the documents and Dane’s identity, about the prison mine and about my involvement in your arrest. You’d forgotten it all. It was a relief. I could have my friend back with none of the unpleasantness.”
“With none of the consequences of your actions,” Balthazar countered.
The high priest looked pained. He stepped towards Balthazar, his hand outstretched. Balthazar put up his walking stick, warding him off. The high priest lowered his head. “The night you came to dine at the high temple in Tilting, I hoped to dissuade you from traveling to Freedland. But then I discovered you were with Dane, the heir to two kingdoms…” He shook his head. “It was a severe shock. Not only had I assumed him dead, but I could see all my hard work unraveling before my eyes. I knew you would both learn the truth in Freedland.”
“So you tried to stop him going by killing him,” I snapped. “And you’re still trying.”
The high priest stiffened. “For the greater good, Josie.”