“No, Two Trees’son.”
Jumping a little, I turned my head to see Wyln. The enchanter hadn’t joined Jusson as I’d expected, but had worked his way not only past my guards, but also past the spheres to descend the stairs next to me.
“Honored cyhn?” I asked.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Wyln said. “Don’t even let it take root.”
“Scrying my thoughts again?” I asked.
“Unnecessary,” Wyln said, “when all I have to do is look at your face.”
I lowered my head and stared at my boots. They were bright with the reflection of the fire sphere. “I’m tired,” I said, my voice soft. “So very, very tired.”
Wyln let loose a singing sigh. “What happened to set this off? You summoning your aspects?”
“No,” I said. “They appeared by themselves while I slept.”
“Did they?” Wyln eyed them before returning his gaze to me, the flames in his eyes bright. “So why are you under guard?”
“The king thought I was going to sneak off with Lady Berenice.”
“And were you?” Wyln asked.
I shook my head. “No, honored cyhn. I had no intention of going anywhere with anybody. However, His Majesty did not ask me.”
“Then why did he think you were?”
Wyln was silent as I told him about Berenice’s public demand that she and I meet privately. By the time I finished, we had debouched onto the grand gallery and met up with Jusson’s aristos appearing from their lodging in the other parts of the castle—apparently a servant had been sent to issue the king’s summons. Jusson paused to both update his nobles and to also send Groskin and a contingent of troopers to get the horses. Wyln, taking hold of my arm, pulled me out of the milling chaos and into a far corner. The guards and Jeff went with us, though they all stood a little off because of the spheres surrounding me. Despite the incarceration of their mistress and master, the castle servants were up and about and had placed lit candles in the wall sconces. In their light, I could see the troubled expression on Wyln’s face.
“I see,” he said when I’d stopped talking.
“Do you, honored cyhn?” I asked. “For I don’t.”
“You are new to this,” Wyln said quietly. “To high rank and court life, which can be treacherous ground, full of bogs, hidden traps, and pitfalls.”
“No worse than garrison life,” I muttered.
“On one hand, yes,” Wyln said. “People are people no matter their station in life. On the other hand, though, stubbing your toe in Freston is much different than stumbling in Iver’son’s court. One would get you a sore foot and perhaps time in the stockades, the other could topple thrones. You’re used to doing for yourself, deciding for yourself—”
“Not in the army, you don’t,” I said.
A faint smile flickered on Wyln’s face. “All right. You’re used to doing and deciding for yourself within a set of known parameters. But now those parameters have changed. Under normal circumstances, you would’ve had a chance to explore, figure out where the hazards are; however, there hasn’t been the time or luxury. Add to it the fact that Iver’son is also new at this—”
“New? He has been king almost as long as I’ve been alive.”
“And you are his first and only heir,” Wyln pointed out. “An heir he only knows through the reports of others and the extremely short time he’s spent with you. Time that has been fraught with difficulties and danger.”
I stared at Wyln before shifting my gaze over to Jusson, standing in the middle of his nobles, Thadro and Suiden flanking him. “I’ve sworn three times to his throne. A fourth to him directly. My oaths mean nothing?”
“I understand that Gherat Dru’son also swore to him and his throne, in both fealty and in lifelong friendship,” Wyln said.
I opened my mouth, found I had nothing to say to that, and shut it again.
“A ruler learns that oaths are as trustworthy as the people who give them,” Wyln said. “And the only way a ruler learns a person is trustworthy is by that person’s actions. You should’ve told Iver’son about honored Berenice’s demands, Rabbit, especially after he had her mother and father restrained. Just like you should’ve told him why you left the searchers yesterday and exactly what happened with honored Berenice and Princess Rajya the previous night.”
“I wasn’t hiding anything.” Not exactly. I scrubbed my hand against my stomach as my truth rune gave a twinge. “I just didn’t think they were all that important. At least not important to what all else was happening at the time.”
“As I said, I understand,” Wyln said. “The trick is to get Iver’son to understand too. In the meantime, however, I want you to stay close.”
“Don’t worry, honored cyhn,” I said. “I’m not about to try to shake my guards.” I caught sight of Arlis standing right behind Groskin, his back turned deliberately towards me. “Such as they are.”
“No, I mean stay close to me.” Wyln aimed his troubled look out over the balcony. While the gallery had lighted candles in the sconces, the castle servants must’ve stopped there for there were none in the Great Hall. Dawn was coming; I see could a tinge of gray in the windows, but down below lay in stillness and darkness. Wyln stared down in it, his winged brows once more pulling together. “While you and Iver’son have your … issues, there’s something happening beyond that.”
“You mean, something besides disappearances, ambushes, mage attacks, enchantments, revelations about the late queen, imprisonments, and a set of catastrophes guaranteed to turn any host’s hair white?”
Wyln’s amused expression briefly appeared. “Yes, something beyond that.” His smile faded. “But with everything that happened yesterday evening and last night, I wonder whether that wrongness is aimed at you.”
I remembered that the enchanter had said the same thing yesterday at the anvea, and thinking over those same events my spine stiffened. “You mean, like a demon or something?”
“No,” he said, frowning, though he looked more perplexed than upset. “Nothing of hell. It just feels off. Like a sour grace note in a welter of music. I wish Laurel were here—he has a keener sense for subtle magicks.” He looked surprised for a moment at what he’d just admitted, then shrugged, a gentle movement of his shoulders. “So he does, which was probably why he was stolen away.”
I also frowned. “Maybe, though that doesn’t explain Captain Javes.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Wyln agreed. “However, I would not want to be in Iver’son’s shoes if he ever has to explain to the Qarant that he lost one of their sons. Nor would I want to be the messenger.”
“Heigh-ho, merry go,” I whispered, shaken out of my anger. “Maybe he could have Kveta tell them for him.”
“Perhaps,” Wyln said. He looked around as the crowd on the gallery shifted. Jusson, done with conferring with his nobles, headed for the grand staircase, the two servants with the lit candles going before. About us, aristos, troopers, and King’s Own politely jockeyed for position as they poured down the steps, Arlis remaining at the fore of the line. Wyln’s gaze rested on him for a moment before sweeping the rest of the crowd. “Where is Kveta?” he asked.
“She decided to stay upstairs,” I said as we joined the last of the queue going downstairs. “Her injury is paining her too much to attempt the stairs—”
I broke off as there was a sudden flaring light down below and everyone came to an abrupt halt. All around the great hall torches, candles, braziers, and the massive hearth were being lit until, in just moments, the entire hall was ablaze. We could see that though we’d come down to breakfast, there wasn’t any food anywhere. The hall was bare, the long tables nowhere in sight, and even the rushes removed from the stone floor. Well, it was bare except for the people crowded into it. There were castle armsmen wearing chain mail and some of the burlier servants in leather armor, all of whom were carrying sharp weapons. And seated on his lord’s chair was Idwal, his captain dressed for battle at his side. O
f Berenice and Lady Margriet, though, there was no sign.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Idwal said.
Twenty-three
It was like a scene from a play. The torches on either side of the lord’s chair cast a golden light over the armor of the castle armsmen and servants flanking their lord. On the floor in front of Idwal were the troopers and Own who had been set to guard him and his armsmen, stripped down to their smalls, their hands and feet bound. Idwal himself sat forward in his chair, his elbow resting on the chair arm, his chin propped on his fist, his face bisected by the nosepiece of his helm, which came down almost to his mouth. In its shadow, his forest green eyes glowed. Above him, the tapestry with his house crest hung, the flickering flames making the white stag angrily shift and toss his antlers.
“Bones and bloody ashes,” Jeff cursed softly, his gaze on the bound troopers and guards, his fists clenching. He wasn’t the only one. A low growl rose from the troopers and royal guards as their hands went to rest on their swords.
“The eorl is a fool, Jeffen Corbin’son,” Wyln murmured. “A fool who hasn’t given thought to the consequence of his actions.”
“A fool with a death wish,” I said, the rage curling almost lazily about my stomach.
Whatever Jusson intended, he was keeping it to himself—sort of. He wore the same mildly interested expression he had on all morning, which had several of his aristos discreetly edging away. That wasn’t true of Thadro. The lord commander’s face was flushed with fury, his body leaning forward on the balls of his feet, his eyes two frozen points that jabbed at Idwal. However, eclipsing them both was Suiden. The captain was incandescent with his rage (which had several Freston troopers edging away from him). He started to move towards his bound men, but Thadro, without looking, thrust out his arm carrying the king’s shield and Suiden allowed himself to be stopped. For the moment.
“You go too far, Mearden,” Thadro snarled.
“Another old and tired cliché, Thadro,” Idwal said. “Surely you can do better than that.”
“All rebellion is clichéd,” Jusson said. “The stirring sentiments are added later by the winning side.” He moved, bridging the distance between him and Idwal, his soldiers, Own, and aristos moving with him, leather creaking and chain mail clinking as they walked with their king. I, however, remained where I was, Jeff and Wyln with me, all of us still caged both by my aspects and the surrounding guards. There was another ripple of light on the tapestry and I looked up to see the white stag had also moved and was now watching me, and my rage tipped briefly into fear.
I’m a good son of the Church, I thought.
“Am I rebelling?” Idwal asked. Smiling, he leaned back, thrust his feet out, and folded his hands over his stomach—a deliberate mocking of Jusson’s favorite pose. “I would’ve sworn I was just protecting what was mine—”
Idwal broke off, sitting up straight at a sudden clattering sound of armor, weaponry, and boot steps. A moment later, Lieutenant Groskin appeared, leading a mixture of the Freston Patrollers and aristos’ armsmen from town. They were pushing before them castle armsmen who bore marks of a very recent altercation. Shoving through the mob, Groskin walked up to Captain Suiden.
“I saw several people who shouldn’t have been up and about trying to prevent Captain Remke from reaching his lord, sir,” he said. “So I returned to help out.”
“Excellent, Lieutenant,” Suiden said.
Jusson gave a razor smile as the additional men fell in with the rest behind him, swelling their ranks considerably. “Is it yours, Mearden?” he asked.
Before Idwal could respond, there was another sound of people rushing, this one coming from above. All of us turned and looked up to see Princess Rajya, Munir, and the soldiers of Her Highness’ entourage spilling into the gallery. They slowed, then stopped as they took in the solid mass of armed men staring up at them.
“By the Sun Throne’s talons,” Princess Rajya said, her dark eyes bright. “I wondered why a servant hadn’t responded to my summons for hot water, but then reckoned that the castle was still upended from yesterday’s mishaps.” She snapped her fingers at her soldiers. “See to xe Abbe.”
The Turalian soldiers immediately headed for the grand staircase. At the same time, Thadro spun on his heel to face them.
“You will not come near Captain Suiden,” the lord commander snapped. “In fact, I suggest that you and your pet wizard return to your chambers until such time it is deemed prudent to leave them.”
“You will keep us from protecting our crown prince?” Princess Rajya asked. “I wonder what the amir would say to that.” She impatiently gestured at the soldiers who paused on the steps. “Go on.”
“Daughter,” began Suiden.
“I don’t care if you’ve chained yourself to the Iversterre throne, Father,” Princess Rajya said. “You will have your men about you. And they will bring you home.”
Mearden gave a dark laugh, once more leaning back in his chair. “Your guest, Your Majesty. You invited her here.”
Ignoring Mearden, Jusson nodded at Thadro, who in turn gestured at Groskin, who split off with most of the Freston Patrollers to block the Turals.
“If the captain doesn’t want to go,” Groskin said, his eyes glinting gold, “he’s not going.”
“Damn straight,” Ryson said over the mutters of Suiden’s troop.
“M’daces!” Princess Rajya hissed. She shifted her glare to Jusson. “You spoke of acts of war. If they do not move, I will consider this one.”
“Indeed,” Munir said. He moved to stand next to Princess Rajya, his hands tucked into his robe sleeves, his own gaze on Suiden. “The time has come for this farce to end, Your Highness. You will take your rightful place in the Sun Court.”
“Rightful place?” Suiden asked, his voice taking on a basso rumble. “What did the amir promise you for my return, Adeptus?”
Munir pulled his hands from his sleeves and I saw that he was wearing silver rings attached by a crisscrossing network of thin chains that lay across the back of his hands and created an intricate web between his fingers.
“Battle wizard,” Wyln said beside me as both Jusson’s and Idwal’s men stirred. My spine stiffening, I took a protective step towards the king, only to be brought up short once more by my guards. The anger deepened, once more tingeing my vision red.
Munir smiled, a flash of white as he spread his fingers, the new light pouring in from the windows glinting on the chains, on the silver embroidery of his gray robe, and the blue tattoos on his bald head. “Who said anything about returning you to the amir—”
“Munir!” Princess Rajya said, seemingly more startled at what the wizard had just let slip than what he’d actually said. The Turalian soldiers, though, turned as one and gave Munir slit-eyed stares. Munir wasn’t fazed.
“Quiet,” he said to the princess. “It doesn’t matter what an elf child king of a backwards kingdom on the outer reaches knows or thinks he knows. What is done here will remain done by the time it reaches the Sun Court and then nothing anyone can do will change it.”
“Not all are children here, wizard,” Wyln said.
“I’ve tasted your power, enchanter,” Munir said. “At the anvea, I tasted it. While you might have once been formidable, you’ve allowed yourself to go soft. Too long it’s been since your Fyrst has sent you to war.” His eyes rested on me. “And the tiro is exactly that. A talented boy who shows great promise, but half trained, untried, easily thrown off stride—”
“He’s no boy.”
Munir—along with Princess Rajya and the rest of us shifted to see that Berenice had appeared on the gallery. The daughter of Mearden looked magnificent in the increasing morning light. She wore a well-fitting dress as green as her father’s eyes, which not only turned her skin creamy with the blush of a new rose, but also showed the curves and roundness of a lush body. Her hair was pulled back into her snood with her usual single pearl hanging by a chain on her forehead, but that only highlighted
the perfection of her features, even with the bruise along her cheek. I blinked at her, momentarily forgetting my anger as I controlled both the urge to step back and the desire to get up close and very personal.
Princess Rajya’s eyes narrowed, but before she could speak, Lord Idwal rose from his chair. “Go back upstairs,” he said. “Now.”
“Papa, the stag moved,” Berenice said. She pointed at the tapestry. “In fact, he’s moved again.”
At Berenice’s words, most everyone shifted to look, those standing underneath it turning to stare up at the tapestry. Then they remembered where they were and who they were with and snapped back around, but no one on our side had moved. Except to look at me with expressions of long suffering.
“Lieutenant,” Thadro said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I shook my head. “It wasn’t me. He moved on his own. Sir.” Despite what Kveta thought.
“I don’t care if he came down and did the gavotte,” Idwal said, still staring at his daughter. “You go upstairs to your mother.”
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