CHAPTER TWELVE
Lanius gave the moncats the chamber next to his bedroom. He’d named the male Iron and the reddish female Bronze. Then, two weeks later, he’d had to find another chamber for the male. When Bronze had her kittens—twins—Iron wanted to kill them, just as Yaropolk had warned he might.
The kittens each clung to Bronze’s fur with all four hands, and wrapped their tiny tails as far around her as they would go, too. For their first couple of weeks of life, clinging and sucking were about all they could do. Bronze was almost as suspicious of Lanius as she had been of Iron before the king gave him a new home. Little by little, feeding her bits of pork and poultry, Lanius won her trust.
When the kittens’ eyes opened, they came to take Lanius as much for granted as they did their mother. One was a male, the other a female. He wondered whether that was happenstance or the way moncats always did things. By then, though, Yaropolk had left the city of Avornis, and none of the Chernagors in the capital admitted to knowing the answer.
He called the male kitten Spider and the female Snitch—she had a way of reaching for anything she could get her tiny hands on and popping it into her mouth. With Grus running the kingdom, Lanius did enjoy having time to spend on the moncats.
He made sure he kept visiting Iron, too, to keep him tame. After sending him away from Bronze and the kittens, Lanius thought about renaming him the Banished One. He thought about it, but then put the idea aside. In Avornis, that was not a name of good omen, even in whimsy.
He was picking fleas off Spider when someone knocked on the door to the moncats’ room. “Who’s there?” he asked. With a little moncat purring on his lap, he didn’t want merely human company just then.
But the answer was, “Grus.”
Grus didn’t throw the title he’d stolen in Lanius’ face. He was doing what he could to get along with Lanius and work with him wherever he could. Lanius couldn’t decide whether that made him dislike his fellow king more or less. Whichever the answer was, he couldn’t ignore Grus. “Come in,” he said.
When Grus did, his gaze traveled from Spider to Snitch to Bronze. He quickly closed the door behind him so the moncats couldn’t get out. Yaropolk had been right about that, too—once loose, they were very hard to recapture. “Fascinating creatures, Your Majesty,” Grus remarked. “Really fascinating. I see why you’re so taken with them.”.
“Yes, they are,” Lanius agreed. “Your Majesty,” he added, a bit slower than he should have. He didn’t like yielding Grus the title, but saw no way around it. “Did you come here just to tell me that?”
Grus shook his head. “Not at all. I came to ask you a question.”
“Go on,” Lanius said. Spider squirmed. He let the moncat go. It scrambled over to its mother. Bronze scooped up the kitten and held it in an amazingly humanlike embrace.
“You’ve met my daughter, Sosia,” Grus said. Lanius nodded, puzzled—that wasn’t a question. When Lanius did no more than nod, Grus did ask a question. “What do you think of her?”
In truth, Lanius hadn’t thought much of Sosia, for good or ill. He’d noticed she wasn’t far from his own age, and that was about all. He didn’t much care for her brother, but he got the notion Grus didn’t much care for Ortalis, either. “What do I think of your daughter?” he echoed now. “She’s … very nice.” That seemed as safe an answer as he could give:
But it turned out not to be safe enough. Grus beamed at him. “I’m glad to hear you say so, Your Majesty. By the gods, I’m very glad. I’ll announce the betrothal tomorrow.”
“Betrothal?” Lanius squeaked. He hadn’t even seen the trap till it flipped him up into the air and left him dangling upside down.
Grus nodded vigorously. “Certainly, a betrothal. What better way to tie our two houses together than a wedding between them?”
“King Dagipert wanted to marry me to his daughter, too,” Lanius said.
Had Grus wanted to take that the wrong way, he could have made Lanius sorry—very sorry—he’d ever said it. As things were, the other king answered mildly, saying, “Dagipert is a foreigner, a barbarian, an enemy to Avornis. I hope you’ll agree I’m none of those things.”
You’d better agree I’m none of those things, his tone warned. And he was an Avornan, no doubt of that. Still … “I’m not sure I want to marry at all,” Lanius said, trying to escape the snare.
“Oh, of course you do,” Grus said. “You’ve found out about women, haven’t you?” He was gentle. He was genial. He was also implacable. Lanius hadn’t imagined how formidable he could be.
I can’t even lie. He knows better. “Yes,” he said unhappily.
“Well, then.” Grus smiled a wide, cheerful smile. Lanius supposed it was a father-in-lawish kind of smile. He didn’t have standards of comparison there, though. He’d never seen Dagipert smile, although he supposed Arch-Hallow Bucco had. Grus went on, “Don’t you think it would be better to get yourself a wife and not have to worry about chasing after serving girls when you’re in the mood?”
“I don’t know,” Lanius answered honestly. Then he asked a question of his own. “Didn’t you do some chasing of your own even after you got yourself a wife?”
By the look Grus gave him, the other King of Avornis hadn’t expected that. But Grus soon steadied himself. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. As you’ll probably have heard—you seem to have heard all sorts of things—I have a bastard boy in the south. He’s not far from your age, as a matter of fact. I spent a lot of time away from home, you know.”
Lanius didn’t know. Except for his one brief campaigning foray, he’d never spent any time away from home. “What’s his name?” he asked. That wasn’t just his usual curiosity. Grus’ illegitimate son might soon become a sort of relative by marriage.
“He’s called Anser,” Grus replied. “He seems a likely lad, or reasonably so. I’ve been giving his mother money to raise him for years. Now that I’ve … come up in the world a bit, I’ll have to do more than that.”
Lanius didn’t say anything. If this Anser was a likely lad, he could fill one of any number of posts, and perhaps fill it well. If he turned out not to be so likely, would that stop Grus from appointing him to a position where what he did mattered? Lanius filed that away. He’d have to see what Grus did, and what Anser did after Grus decided where to put him.
Meanwhile, Grus wasn’t about to ease the pressure on Lanius himself. “What do you say?” he asked. “I want to announce the betrothal as soon as I can.”
I’m sure you do, Lanius thought. The more tightly Grus grafted his family to the longtime reigning dynasty, the harder he’d be to pry loose. Lanius considered simply telling him no. Then he looked at Grus’ face. On second thought, that didn’t seem so wise. What kind of accident or illness would you arrange for me? he wondered. Bucco had tried it. Lanius had managed to foil him. He didn’t think he could foil Grus, who seemed alarmingly capable. Maybe I’d better become his son-in-law. He might not want to arrange any misfortune for me if I’m married to his daughter.
But despite that thought, Lanius asked, “What does Sosia think about marrying me?”
“She thinks you’re very nice,” Grus answered, which might have meant his daughter thought Lanius was very nice, or might have meant Grus hadn’t bothered getting his daughter’s opinion. But then Grus added, “And I believe she also thinks joining our two houses would be a good idea.”
That, if true, interested Lanius. Unlike the other, it wasn’t something Grus had had to say. “Does she?” Lanius asked.
His fellow king nodded. “Yes. Sosia’s a clever girl. She’ll do what needs doing.”
Had he said she was beautiful, Lanius would have known he was lying. He’d seen her himself. She was pleasant, but far from gorgeous. Cleverness, though … Cleverness did pique Lanius’ curiosity. He didn’t know much about what he wanted in a wife, but he didn’t think he could put up with a stupid woman.
“Well,” he said, “let’s see what happens.”
Grus stared at his wife. “Where do you think we’ll get a better match for Sosia? How can you get a higher match than the King of Avornis?”
“I don’t say you can get a higher match. Of course you can’t. But better?” Estrilda shrugged. “How can you know? I wouldn’t have wanted to marry anybody like Lanius when I was a girl. He thinks too much.”
“Well, you never said I did anything like that,” Grus answered, trying to tease a smile from Estrilda. It didn’t work. Frowning himself, Grus went on, “It’s the best thing we can do for the family.”
“How often do men ‘help’ the family by making their women miserable?” his wife returned. “You didn’t even ask Sosia if this was what she wanted to do. You just went and told Lanius he’d wed her. That’s no way to do things.”
“All right, then—we’ll ask her,” Grus said. “If she tells us yes, we’ll go ahead. If she says no …” His voice trailed away. He didn’t know what he’d do if Sosia said she didn’t want to marry Lanius. Probably see if he could talk her into changing her mind. He’d have to do that when Estrilda wasn’t listening.
When he and Estrilda walked into Sosia’s chamber, he found his daughter embroidering a unicorn on a square of linen. He thought unicorns were imaginary beasts, but wasn’t quite sure. After the Chernagors had brought those moncats to the city of Avornis, he wasn’t so positive what could be real and what couldn’t.
He wasted no time on preliminaries, but asked Sosia, “What do you think of being betrothed to Lanius?”
Sosia only shrugged; she seemed less worried about it than her mother. That’s something, anyhow, Grus thought. Then his daughter answered, “I think it will be all right. He’s not ugly, and I don’t think he’s mean.”
She looked around after she said that. So, automatically, did Grus and Estrilda. But Ortalis, wherever he was, wasn’t in earshot. Grus said, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk more with you about the match before I went and made it.” He was willing to throw Estrilda a sop if he could. Why not? Sosia seemed willing to marry Lanius, if not bursting with enthusiasm at the prospect.
And then she answered, “It really is all right, Father. I expected you to do something like this. How else are we going to make sure Lanius stays loyal to us?”
Grus’ mouth fell open. What he’d told Lanius proved true after all. He didn’t bother looking over at his wife. Estrilda couldn’t have been more surprised than he was. “Are you sure, dear?” she asked.
“I’m pretty sure, Mother,” Sosia said. “I’m going to marry someone, and better Lanius than some count three times my age who gets drunk all the time and sings songs about sheep when he’s feeling jolly.”
Now Grus did catch Estrilda’s eye. She wouldn’t meet his, not for long. Throwing her hands in the air, she said, “All right. I give up. Let the match go forward. I only wanted what was best for you, sweetheart, and to be sure you knew your own mind.”
“I usually do,” Sosia said.
“Well.” Even Grus sounded a little dazed. He tried to make the best of it. “As long as that’s settled.”
“Yes, Father. Yes, Mother. Is there anything else?” Sosia waited while Grus and Estrilda both shook their heads. Estrilda looked as dazed as Grus felt. Not Sosia. Sosia knew her own mind perfectly well. Grus wondered if she’d decided she was going to marry Lanius before Grus came to the same conclusion. As he retreated in what he hoped was well-concealed disorder, he decided he wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.
Lanius found himself looking forward to his wedding day. That surprised him. No matter what Grus said, Lanius remained convinced he could have more fun with a string of compliant, pretty serving girls than with a single, solitary wife. A wife—especially a wife who was also the daughter of the man who’d usurped his power, if not all of his throne—seemed more likely to prove an encumbrance than an advantage.
And yet … However much Lanius resented Grus, he had trouble resenting Sosia. Whenever he saw her in the palace, she was unfailingly polite and pleasant. She never had a great deal to say, but what she did say proved she had a head on her shoulders. Things could, he decided, have been worse.
And wedding Sosia would settle his life. Up till then, he’d known nothing but disruption since his father died. King Scolopax had despised him. Arch-Hallow Bucco had reckoned him—still did reckon him—a bastard. His own mother had coddled and patronized him. And then Queen Certhia, too, was whisked from the palace, and Grus took her place. Lanius didn’t know exactly what Grus thought of him. He suspected Grus wanted to think of him as little as possible.
He minded less than he’d thought he would. At fifteen, he was content—even eager—to be left alone. He had his books. Now he had the moncats. If he had a wife, too, he wouldn’t need to worry about chasing the maidservants—not that some of them required much chasing.
Besides, he couldn’t do anything about getting married. However little Grus had to do with him, the former commodore who’d promoted himself to king made that very clear. Lanius decided to make the best of it.
His wedding day—appointed by King Lanius—dawned cool and rainy. Servants decked him in the snow-white shirt and midnight breeches bridegrooms wore. He being king, his wedding shirt was of silk, and shot through with silver threads. His breeches were spun from the finest, softest wool in Avornis. A grinning young man fastened to them a codpiece whose extravagance was likelier to frighten a new bride than’ intrigue her.
“Too much,” Lanius said. “Take out some of the padding.”
But the servant shook his head. In some matters, not even kings were masters of their fate. The man said, “Not today, Your Majesty. Today you’ve got to show yourself off.”
“That’s not me,” Lanius said. “By the gods, the stallions who go out to stud would have trouble matching what you’ve put in there.”
“It’s custom,” the servant declared. Against custom, the gods themselves protested in vain.
Sosia was dressed all in red, to symbolize the loss of her maidenhead that would follow the wedding ceremony—would, in fact, for all practical purposes be a part of it. Lanius got a glimpse of her as she climbed into one carriage and he into another for the short journey to the cathedral.
One of Lanius’ earliest memories was of priests lined up shoulder to shoulder behind Arch-Hallow Bucco to keep his father and mother and him from worshiping at the cathedral. Now soldiers—or were they Grus’ marines?—surrounded the place to make sure nothing happened to him. Lanius would have been happier about that had the men been there to obey his orders and not his fellow king’s.
He couldn’t do anything about it, though. He got out of the carriage in the square in front of the cathedral. The square was the second largest in the city of Avornis, smaller only than the one in front of the royal palace. He’d come through it more times than he could count, once Bucco finally condescended to let him pay his respects to the gods. It seemed different now. He needed a moment to figure out why—no ordinary worshipers streaming into the cathedral. The wedding party would have the place to itself.
Even so, royal bodyguards formed up around Lanius. At their head marched Lepturus. “Congratulations, Your Majesty,” he said in tones likelier to be used for condolences.
“It won’t be so bad,” Lanius said. They walked on for a few paces before he added, “And it could be a lot worse.” He laid a hand on the back of his neck to show what he meant. To Lepturus, if to no one else left in the palace these days, he could say what he meant.
“Yes, Your Majesty, that’s so,” Lepturus allowed. “You could have gone to the block. For that matter, so could I. I’m still a little surprised I haven’t.”
“If you suggest it to Grus, I’m sure he could make the necessary arrangements,” Lanius murmured.
“Heh,” Lepturus said. But Lanius noticed that he didn’t disagree.
When they came to the entrance into the cathedral, one of Grus’ henchmen�
�a river-galley captain named Nicator—strode up with enough marines to outnumber Lanius’ bodyguards about two to one. He nodded to Grus and said, “We’ll take care of him from here on out.”
Lepturus bristled. “Who says? Nobody told me about that.”
“Not my worry,” Nicator replied with a shrug. “Your boys can clear out now.” The warning behind his words was, If they don’t clear out, we’ll clear them.
No less than Lepturus himself, the bodyguards looked furious. More than a few of them had served not just Lanius but his father, King Mergus. By their expressions, they feared Nicator’s men were getting them out of the way as a first step toward putting Lanius out of the way. Lanius didn’t believe that. Grus had too many other simpler, less public ways of disposing of him; he didn’t need to do it in a setting like this. “It’s all right, boys,” Lanius said.
Lepturus’ scowl said he didn’t think it was all right. He glared at Nicator and said, “I’m coming with His Majesty.” And you’ll have to kill me to stop me, the forward thrust of his body warned.
“I want Lepturus with me,” Lanius said.
He waited for Nicator to argue. But the naval officer only nodded and said, “That’s fine, Your Majesty. He’s on my list. Even if he wasn’t, we’d fix things. I know he’s been guarding you since you were tiny.” Nicator nodded again, this time to Lepturus. “Come right ahead, Marshal.”
Anticlimax. Maybe Lepturus really had been worrying over nothing. Maybe. Any which way, he and Lanius went forward, escorted by Grus’ marines and by this fellow who’d been at Grus’ side longer than Lanius had been alive.
Incense filled the inside of the cathedral. The sweet smoke made Lanius’ eyes water even as it tickled his nose. Olor, king of the gods, peered down from the dome at the King of Avornis. Quelea, Olor’s Queen, stood behind her husband in the vast fresco that must have taken years to paint.
Neither the divine king nor his queen looked directly at their puny human worshipers in the cedarwood seats below. Instead, their gaze was on the Banished One, whom the painters had shown at the edge of the dome, tumbling endlessly down from the heavens after the other gods cast him out. By the satisfied, almost smug look on Olor’s face, he was pleased with himself at solving a problem.
The Bastard King Page 21