Arwan laughed as he obeyed, selecting several pieces of cheese and a lump of bread. ‘I would not presume to argue with that hound,’ he said as he poured two glasses of wine. ‘No more than I will with his mistress.’
‘Liar.’ Fianna sipped from her glass, making a face at the sharp flavour. ‘You fear my bite less.’
Beside her, Alastair opened his jaws in a silent laugh. Fianna frowned down at him, wondering what she had said to so amuse him.
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Four days later, in the grey before dawn, they rode through the unguarded gates of Secondus. Fianna was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, for Arwan had insisted that they enter before many of the city’s denizens were awake and abroad. Their horses’ hooves rung out against the cobblestones as they started up the hill to the castle, gleaming with almost unnatural light above the city.
Arwan wisely let Fianna take the lead. She smiled at his natural caution. As ever, she felt an awareness rise from the cobbled streets. Does it really welcome me home? she wondered. I have to admit, I am glad to be here again.
The road wound round and up. She studied at the castle, the white sides and slender towers giving it an almost ethereal beauty. And making it almost impossible to defend. All the arrow slits had been added after its construction, the history of which was lost in time. The fortified homes of the Duke of Cassern and the Duchess of Kaliburn had used stone many times thicker than that of the castle, and included outposts and interior walls for added security. Fianna wondered once again why the capital of the Fourth Kingdom had at its centre a castle built more for charm than strength.
There was a guard at the castle entrance, standing with drawn sword before the oaken gates. His voice was quiet, but clear. ‘Who comes to Secondus castle?’
‘Come now, Albertus.’ Arwan pulled off his helmet. ‘Surely you recognise your own lieutenant.’
Albertus straightened. ‘Aye, and welcome, though many have wondered why you had left. Who is it that rides at your side?’
‘No concern of yours,’ Arwan said in a low growl.
‘Nay, but I seem to know her.’ The guard’s face suddenly whitened. He sank to one knee, and bent his head. ‘Glad am I see to you, Your Highness. I didn’t recognise you, now a woman, and I ask pardon.’
‘No pardon is required,’ Fianna answered. ‘And please rise.’
‘No one is to know that the Princess has returned,’ Arwan added urgently. ‘Not until we have met in conference.’
Albertus nodded. ‘I understand.’ He stood to one side, allowing them to pass.
Fianna felt her throat thicken as they rode into the castle proper. The rising sun caressed the crenellations of the highest tower, and was beginning to slowly drift down the length. Across the practice yard they rode, the horses lifting their heads and increasing their pace as the stables came into view. The wooden sides hadn’t changed in four years, although the two stable hands who came stumbling out, half asleep, were unfamiliar. She caught Arwan’s nod, pleased at their lack of recognition as they gave her only perfunctory bows, hands reaching up to her bridle as she dismounted.
‘Sir Arwan,’ asked one of the girls, ‘how many miles have you ridden?’
‘Near to the end of the Fourth Kingdom,’ he answered. ‘Only light duties for Arundel and Margethe for a week.’
‘It will be so noted.’
Fianna watched the horses be led away, remembering a time when she would have come out of her bed to see what knights had returned, hoping for a tale in return for the care shown to the mount. With dawn came the sounds of the castle stirring to life, the whines from the nearby kennels and, further away, the tread of the falconer through the mews, her voice soothing her charges.
Alastair pressed close to her leg, his eyes bright and excited at all he sensed. She found her hand resting comfortably on his back. ‘Where now, sir knight?’
‘There are those who must know first of your return,’ he said quietly. ‘I will take you to one of the quarters for visiting knights of rank, and ask you to remain there while I speak to those whose names I gave you.’
Fianna felt the castle at her back, the long rooms and twisting passageways she had not seen for four years. Were her rooms as she had left them? What changes had been made to the Throne room to welcome her father’s consort? She fought back her impatience, and inclined her head. ‘Very well, Arwan. I will continue to follow your lead.’
‘Then this way, my lady.’
They walked into the stables, Fianna raising the cowl of her cloak over her head to hide her red hair and to shadow her face. The horses were awake, heads lifted over the bottom gate of stalls. She smiled as she passed, unable to withhold pats on the noses she recognised. Some she had only known as awkward yearlings, dismayed at being taken away from their dams for the cold comfort of a straw-lined stall. Now they were geldings and mares, their chests filling out with the strength they would need to carry knights into battle.
I too have grown, she told herself. I left as an angry child. I return as a woman, ready to claim her own place. I too am ready for battle.
The room Arwan showed her to was sparse, but comfortable. She sank into a padded chair, giving him a wave as he excused himself. A fire spluttered in the fireplace, and she leaned forward to poke at the logs with a nearby rod, encouraging the flames.
Alastair curled to one side, his chest rising and flattening in a soundless sigh. ‘It was a long ride,’ Fianna agreed. She eyed the riding boots Arwan had obtained for her on the second day of their journey. No, best to leave them on. Soon the knight would have gathered her supporters. She was a Queen in waiting, not a humble petitioner, and she would not meet them barefooted.
A bowl of fruit rested on a side table, along with a bottle of wine and a flagon of water. Fianna tipped out the apples and pears, and filled the bowl with water. She placed it on the ground for Alastair, and as he drank she poured herself a small glass of red wine. ‘No meat,’ she told him, ‘but I’ll see you fed by noon. Unless you would eat an apple?’
His tail thumped the stone floor. Fianna used her belt knife to carve slices for herself and the hound. The easy rhythm relaxed her, and when the door opened she was able to look up without breaking the motion.
Arwan bowed. ‘My lady, we are ready.’
Are you, really? she wondered. But she said nothing as she rose, wiping the knife on her breeches before sliding it back into its sheath. Alastair paced at her side as she walked down the passageway to the room indicated by Arwan. He went inside before her, announcing, ‘Her Royal Highness, Princess Fianna of the Dragon Throne.’
Arwan stepped to one side, then went down to one knee. The others in the room followed, bending their heads as she entered. Fianna paused in the doorway, studying the faces she recognised, placing names and ranks. According to Arwan, these would support her claim to the throne even in the face of a male heir. They were loyal both to the royal princess they had always expected to be their next sovereign, and to the page who had been alongside them to take sword blows on the training yard and wipe down lathered horses. Twenty knights, out of the castle garrison of a hundred. A larger number than could have been expected, given her long absence, and she swallowed to clear her throat.
Remembering the reason for such a meeting, she quietly closed the door. ‘Princess, and not yet Queen. Please, take your places at the table.’ She waved at the long oak trestle behind them. ‘And could meat be brought for my hound? He has had to walk the long journey from the Lady Sallah’s lands.’
As she had hoped, the last brought a quick smile from the knights. Yes, she was one of them. She knew that the care of one’s beasts came first. As a young knight slipped out, Fianna walked around the table to take the carved chair at its head. ‘Well met, and in good time. Will any of you be missed from your duties?’
‘We shall have an answer by the time questions are asked.’ The woman who answered so confidently was only a few years older than Fianna. She remembered her as a squire,
bending to check girth straps around knights’ mounts. Now she wore the spurs and the red belt of a knight in service to the Dragon Throne.
‘Well spoken, Sir Miranda.’ The use of the woman’s name had the desired effect. Fianna basked in her smile for a moment, then turned her attention back to the rest of the knights around the table. ‘I’m late come to these deliberations. Perhaps one of you can voice what support I can expect for my claim to the throne.’
A lieutenant leaned forward, his light hair still damp from his morning’s wash. ‘You were brought to us upon your eighth year, and as is right, your father the King pledged you to us as our future liege. And we pledged ourselves to you.’
Fianna nodded. In a cavern deep below the castle, in a ceremony as ancient as the kingdom, she had repeated words which had seemed innocent enough practised in her chambers, but menacing in the eerie half-light of torches, glittering against drawn swords and polished armour. ‘And?’
‘And what late-born whelp,’ the lieutenant growled, ‘can take the place of the one promised to us?’
Fianna smiled inwardly. The loyalty of the castle knights could often be fanatical. And all too easily swayed by laws and tradition. ‘So if this whelp is a boy?’
Another knight raised glittering eyes. ‘Kill it.’
So Arwan’s suggestion had not been his idea alone. In a move she knew was reminiscent of her father, Fianna raised clasped hands to her chin. She saw several eyes glance away, recognising the familiar gesture. ‘Why not accept the rule of the King’s first born, though she be female?’
Arwan said, almost reluctantly, ‘If there be a son born to the monarch, the dragons prefer a male on the Throne.’
‘And you don’t think they will know if a male heir has been eliminated?’
‘Many babes die within weeks of birth,’ Arwan continued. ‘What is a dragon to know, or to care?’
Fianna lowered her eyes to the table. The wood was old, the grain dark with years of polish. She placed her hands palm down on the smooth surface. ‘In the name of my blood and on my life,’ she said quietly, repeating the oath she had taken when only half her current age, ‘I swear that I will bear faith to you and all my people. To be the first into battle, and the last in retreat. To feed and shelter the weak and friendless in peace. To never turn my back on a foe, nor hold my hands closed to the least of those in the kingdom.’ She raised her head again. ‘If the consort’s child is a girl, I will be Queen. If it be a boy, I will be Regent. Royal blood has never been spilled inside the castle walls, and I will not be the first to do so. Turn your plotting to ensuring me the Regency, should it come to that. Then may I at least be your liege in fact, if not in name.’
She searched the faces of the knights, finding unwilling acceptance on some, agreeing smiles from others. ‘Now, shall we hear--’
The door was suddenly flung open, crashing against the wall with a shudder of wood against stone. A tall man glared at them, his wide shoulders almost filling the entrance. ‘What is this? A meeting for treason?’
Some of the knights had started from their seats, hands on swords. Fianna gazed at General Jerome, letting him see her red hair, green eyes. As recognition dawned on the grim face, she gave him a smile. ‘Hardly treason if I am present, King’s Champion.’ She stressed the penultimate word slightly, noting the ring he still wore on his left forefinger.
‘Your Highness.’ He remained stiffly in place, giving her the barest of nods. Then his eyes roamed down the table, marking those present. ‘I wasn’t informed of your return.’
‘We have only resumed our place in Secondus this last hour.’
Jerome gave her a mocking half-smile. ‘In the knights’ quarters?’
Fianna took a deep breath, refusing to let him shake her composure. ‘Nor do we wish our presence to be announced to any outside this room. Not yet.’
The General studied her for a moment. ‘I would ask the favour of an audience with you, Your Highness.’
The tone was civil, the brown eyes hard. Fianna toyed with the idea of refusing his supposed request. But the knights were restless, trapped between their chosen sovereign and their General. Jerome’s name had been absent from both sides of Arwan’s list. Perhaps now was the time to find out to which side he would ally himself. ‘We will speak to you now, General.’
‘Outside this room.’
She inclined her head, and rose. ‘Outside this room.’ Aware of Arwan’s concern, she gave him a quick shake of her head. The General could be trusted. And even if he couldn’t, Alastair padded at her heels, his bulk enough to give any man pause.
A knight handed her a cloak as she passed down the table. She smiled at the forethought, draping the scarlet folds across her shoulders as she followed Jerome down the passageway. In the woollen cowl she was safely anonymous, even if she did seem young for a knight in the service of the royal family.
To her surprise, Jerome led her up the steep stone steps to the west wall of the castle. He strode first through the wooden door, dismissing the guard. Fianna pressed back against the wall to allow the guard to pass by, then stepped out into the open air.
Jerome stood by the waist high wall, leaning against a crenellation as he stared out across the city below. Fianna closed the door, glancing to her left as she heard the sound of metal against stone. Horses were being led from the stables. One moonlit night, she had walked the castle walls, keeping to her right, away from the drop into the yard which surrounded the castle, startling guards as she marched through each tower.
‘The city of Secondus,’ Jerome said as she came to his side. ‘This castle would be helpless to defend it. Look at this barrier.’ His palm slapped the stone. ‘What are archers to do, crouch to shoot their arrows? And any stone we lay would be weaker than the original structure.’
Fianna glanced at the city, noting that the Street of Threadmasters had once again moved north, its usual location housing Greenvine Lane instead. ‘Do you expect a need to defend the city, Lord General?’
‘Always have the kingdoms been at odds.’ His gold Champion’s ring glittered on his finger, the dragon clinging to the rough skin by a long tail which circled the thick digit. Two small ruby eyes gleamed between the forelegs. ‘Dragon against unicorn, and the Third and Fourth following suit.’
‘Always at odds,’ Fianna agreed, ‘but never at war. Why should you expect battle now?’
‘I have heard from one close to the Third Kingdom’s new King.’ His voice lowered, though no one else was near. ‘It’s said that he spends long hours from his court, and when he returns his face is pale and strained with new knowledge. Strange lights have been seen over Primus, and noises unlike any heard before come from his chambers. His knights have been training with a new vigour, and it’s said that a new magic will soon be brought forth by their King. A new magic to sweep both Second and Fourth Kingdoms from the Land.’
‘What plans had you made with my father?’
He glanced at her, face still stiff, unrevealing. ‘The Third Kingdom has always had the advantage of numbers over us. Five cities to our three, a thousand knights to our three hundred. We agreed that only by summoning the dragons could we hope to hold our own in war.’
Fianna found herself biting her lip, and she turned her head, not wanting Jerome to see her sudden concern. ‘Would not the First Kingdom join the Third in battle?’
‘From what my source has learned, the rulers of that kingdom have kept little contact with the unicorns.’
‘But they are still aligned, by tradition and blood.’ She rubbed her wrists self-consciously as she spoke. Although legend held that dragon blood flowed in her veins, and unicorn in that of the rulers of the Third Kingdom, she had doubted that tale since meeting a dragon in the flesh. ‘Did my father summon the dragons?’
‘He was still unconvinced. War was not uppermost on his mind, of late.’
No, a new heir was. Fianna said calmly, ‘Not a time to entrust the kingdom to a babe, methinks.’
&n
bsp; ‘Nor a girl recently become a woman, and still two years from knighthood.’
Fianna felt a flash of anger. ‘I was raised to rule this kingdom. I am of legal age.’
‘And if a boy is born to the Lady Marissa, he will be the legal heir.’
Fianna turned, faced him squarely. ‘Which would you support, Lord General, King’s Champion?’
The brown eyes met hers for a moment, almost amused. ‘You are the heir sworn to us at your eighth year. Given. But that was before the King took another consort, when all believed that you would be the only heir. Now a boy may be born to the Throne, and he would have stronger claim. That is also a given.’
‘An answer is still to be given,’ she said angrily, pressing him.
‘I cannot support you, either above a boy’s claim, nor if you seek to control a Regency.’ He shrugged. ‘Neither will I act against you. Find what allies you will. I can only be neutral, and command the knights in whatever name is finally given as the next sovereign.’
Fianna felt her hands ball into helpless fists. ‘Your support would mean a great deal.’
‘Enough, Princess.’ His voice broke away from his careful control. ‘How can I choose between you, the Princess who served alongside stable hands and squires, or the consort who gave my King and my friend such happiness late in his life? You were right to call me King’s Champion. So I was. And, at his death, I am no longer.’
He lifted his hands. With a quick tug, he pulled the dragon ring free, exposing pale flesh under the golden band. Fianna raised her own hand, felt the warm metal pressed against her palm. Without a further word, he turned and strode to the nearest tower. Fianna clasped the ring, uncaring as the gems pressed into her skin. Only now did she realise that she could have had an ally in this man, but her impatience had driven him away. And she was the weaker for it.
The Dragon Throne Page 11