The Queen's Tower

by J. S. Mawdsley

  Chapter 10

  PRESLEY WAS GONE NOW, riding off to greet Queen Nina at Ealorn, passing along important messages of welcome from King Ethelred and Caedmon Aldred. Sending Presley had been Brandon’s idea, of course. He could have sent anyone, but Presley was the most capable of his various retainers, and he spoke a little Loshadnarodsk. Considering this, Brandon hardly had a right to feel aggrieved at the young man’s departure, though he missed him, all the same.

  Before Presley left, Brandon had given him the entire afternoon off, “In case you have someone you particularly want to say goodbye to.”

  Presley frowned. “You mean...like my parents, sir?”

  “Well, yes. But if there’s anyone else, you....” Brandon cleared his throat. “A friend you might miss while you’re away, perhaps.”

  “Sir, I’ll be back in a few days,” said Presley, shaking his head in confusion.

  Brandon hadn’t pressed the point. The young man’s life was his own business.

  Now Brandon had to finish the last preparations by himself, though of course there was barely anything left for him to do, as Presley had arranged everything already. In the evening, Brandon’s sons Robert and Philip were coming over for supper, along with his daughter, Margaret, and her husband. That was something to look forward to. In the meantime, Brandon wandered contentedly through his home, watching as servants set up trestle tables and hung banners with the arms of the great families of Myrcia. He never lingered for too long, of course; he didn’t want them to feel nervous under his gaze.

  Up on the second floor, he stood in the shadow of a suit of armor and watched, greatly amused, as a team of six footmen tried to maneuver three enormous beds into the old Ealdorman’s Suite. To save time, they had kept the frames mostly intact. But the passage was narrow, as was the doorway, and the poor fellows gradually realized they would have to take everything apart—and possibly take the door off its hinges, as well. They swore and fumed and sweated, and Brandon wrestled with whether he ought to go help them.

  Wait. Three beds? The Ealdorman’s Suite? That’s where we put old Baron Garrishall. He’s a widower, and his son lives in the Empire. Why in the Void would he need three extra beds?

  “Excuse me,” said Brandon, striding over to the men. “Might I enquire what you’re doing here?”

  “Morning, your grace!” The most senior footman, Beamish, stepped up with cap in hand. “We’re getting the room ready for the...,” he took a scrap of paper from his pocket, “for the Earl of Laguton and his family.” He gestured with the paper at the beds.

  “I see. Forgive me, Mr. Beamish, but I seem to recall that Mr. Kemp and I decided to put Baron Garrishall in here.”

  “Ah, yes, of course, sir. That was the previous plan. Perhaps you’re forgetting the changes, sir.”

  Brandon crossed his arms. “And what changes would these be?”

  Beamish handed the scrap of paper to him, and Brandon sighed as he recognized the handwriting.

  “Lady Hildred did say you had approved the new plan, sir,” said Beamish, sounding nervous now.

  “Yes, I’m sure she did,” grumbled Brandon. Tucking the paper into his own tunic, he forced a smile. “Well, gentlemen, I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that we’re going back to the original plan. The good news, of course, is that you can stop trying to fit these beds through that door.”

  He left them to clear the passageway as they would and went in search of his sister.

  I have been patient. No, I have been more than patient. I have been heroic in my forbearance, if I do say so myself. But this has to end now. Hildred has to understand her place. She cannot act like this when Ethelred and Queen Nina are here.

  In the pantries, he found the housekeeper, who reported that Hildred had left only minutes earlier, saying something about the wine cellars. Down there, however, the wine steward said that he hadn’t seen Hildred all day. A pair of housemaids mopping the entrance hall claimed they had seen Hildred crossing the courtyard, headed for the main gate, but the guards on duty there said she had gone to the stables, instead.

  Why would she go there? Then again, why does she do anything that she does?

  The stables were bustling with activity today. Riders kept coming in from the various great nobles and from the royal court, advising Brandon when he could expect their arrival. But he had read all their messages earlier that morning, and now all the young knights and men-at-arms were seeing to their horses or playing cards or trading stories about girls and distant taverns. They rose to bow as he approached, but he waved for them to remain seated, only asking if they had seen Lady Hildred recently. None of them had, unfortunately.

  He headed deeper into the stables, into the dusty darkness, heavy with the scent of hay and a blacksmith’s forge and saddle oil and fresh horse droppings. Not an unpleasant smell, at all, as it happened. A familiar smell; the scent of knighthood. Brandon felt a sudden, powerful longing for his youth, and he almost turned around to sit and gamble with those messengers. But they would feel awkward around him. One didn’t tell dirty jokes and swear and boast about one’s conquests with the Duke of Leornian sitting there. They would try to pretend to be serious and sober and manly in his presence, and that would be so painfully dull for everyone.

  He decided to go to the west gate and ask there for Hildred. But as he reached the northern end of the stables, he heard a girl’s laughter, and he saw Haley Randal, Merewyn’s lady-in-waiting, standing in the open door. She was leaning against the doorframe with her hands behind her back, grinning at some unseen figure outside.

  She said something like, “Didn’t you miss me, even a little?” Her voice was low, however, and Brandon couldn’t be quite sure.

  Does Lady Haley have a young gentleman? I hadn’t thought she did, but then, I’m hardly the person she would confide in, am I?

  He rarely thought about Haley at all. She seemed a nice girl, and she kept to herself, and Merewyn was happy with her services. She worked for the crown, officially, not for Brandon, so he had no particular reason to pay attention to her. And he had no particular wish to intrude on a tender moment between her and her paramour. Haley was 25, if he remembered correctly. This wasn’t a matter of a 15-year-old scullery maid going head-over-heels for the first handsome footman to smile at her. She didn’t need someone to act in loco parentis, as the Immani would say. She was a grown woman, and she was entitled to her privacy.

  Then the man she was speaking with stepped forward. He looked tall and well-built, with broad shoulders and muscles that strained against the dusty leather of his riding jacket. He turned his head; Brandon saw his profile and immediately knew him. It was Sir Broderick Gramiren, captain general of Myrcia and natural son of the king.

  When did he arrive in town? And why is he talking to Haley like that?

  Brandon had never much cared for Broderick, though he did his best to keep his feelings to himself. Firstly because it was very much a minority opinion, and secondly because he had never quite been able to figure out the reason for his antipathy. Broderick was the son of Brandon’s best friend. They ought to have been friends, too. Broderick was smart and capable and brave—everyone said so. He was well-spoken and gave excellent advice on the council. He even voted with Brandon most of the time. So Brandon had nothing he could point to and say, “This is why I mistrust the man.”

  Perhaps it was because there was so much about Broderick that reminded him of Fransis. It wasn’t simply that he held the same military title as Fransis. Their looks were similar—almost eerily so, in fact. They had the same eyes, the same nose; their eyebrows had the same angle. They had the same laugh, and their lips curled up in the same way when they heard something they thought was ridiculous. At first glance, one might think he was Fransis’s son, not Ethelred’s. He had the same confident air of command. His handsome smiles and easy grace had the same effect on the young ladies of the court. Yes, perhaps that was it. He seemed too much like Fransis i
n every possible way, both good and bad. Maybe that was why Brandon so often went out of his way to avoid Broderick.

  He certainly didn’t want to run into the man at that very moment. If Haley was getting mixed up with the famous captain general, then Brandon really didn’t think he cared to know about it. Better to walk away and pretend he had never seen them together.

  He was about to retrace his steps to the main stable door, when suddenly Haley spotted him and called out cheerfully, “Oh, your grace! There you are. The captain general is looking for you!”

  Now there was nothing for it but to smile and nod and come over to say, “Hello.”

  Broderick dropped into a low bow so graceful it would have made a dancing master weep for joy. “Duke Brandon. The pleasure, as always, is entirely mine.”

  “Sir Broderick,” said Brandon stiffly. “When did you arrive?”

  “Just now, your grace.” He straightened up, brushed his tousled brown hair out of his eyes, and smiled at Haley. “Lady Haley was about to help me search you out.”

  Haley beamed adoringly at him. “Is there anything else I can do, Sir Broderick? Anything at all?”

  From somewhere under his short riding cloak, Broderick produced a single pink rose. “Pass this along to your mistress with my compliments, will you?”

  Brandon rolled his eyes, as he was pretty sure the rose was from one of the flower beds right here in the courtyard. Haley let out a girlish giggle and trotted off toward Merewyn’s tower, looking back several times to simper and wave. Broderick waved back and blew a kiss.

  “Was there something you wished to see me about?” Brandon asked. “If you’re hoping to find accommodation here, I’m afraid we only have—”

  “Thank you, but no. I’m getting my own rooms in town. I want to be near my mother, you see.”

  “Ah. Of course.” Brandon shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He hoped Broderick wasn’t going to insist on an invitation for his mother to the feast.

  “I would never wish to impose on your hospitality,” the captain general went on. “However, I fear I have a favor to ask.”

  “Yes?”

  “I was hoping I might be able to speak with my stepmother, Queen Merewyn. As you know, she’s practically as dear to me as my real mother, and I wouldn’t want her to think that I was in town and couldn’t take the time to visit. If we can squeeze it in, I’m sure I can even manage enough for cards.”

  In the past, Brandon would have given his assent without a second thought, particularly as Merewyn had already asked Brandon to extend such an invitation as soon as possible. Broderick was a great favorite with the queen, and he always had been, even when he was a little boy. For some reason Merewyn, who loathed her husband’s other bastards, had taken an instant liking to Broderick. Perhaps it was his winning charm. Perhaps it was the way he resembled a younger version of Fransis. Or perhaps it was because he had been born before her marriage, so she didn’t take his existence as a personal affront.

  The trouble was that, even at the best of times, a visit from Broderick left Merewyn unsettled, even the friendly card parties that frequently included Brandon’s own children. Most days she seemed tranquil and happy, or at least as happy as any prisoner ever could be, but after Broderick came by, she changed. It was as if she remembered her former life and her former power, and she resented their loss. She would be snappish and rude to the serving girls. She would send Brandon notes demanding better food. She would be secretive and sullen, like she was brooding on her captivity and plotting her escape. It usually took at least a week before she returned to normal. And that, again, was at the best of times.

  But these were not the best of times. Hildred’s ill-advised visit had already unsettled Merewyn, and according to the housemaids, Merewyn had been staying up far into the night, reading and drinking and muttering to herself. Considering she was already in such a state, Brandon hesitated to allow Broderick to visit.

  “I think,” he said, “that it might be best to wait. She has been somewhat...unwell recently.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope,” said Broderick earnestly. “Could I send for any of my army physicians? Or someone from the university, perhaps?”

  “No, no. It’s nothing you need to fear,” said Brandon. “She has merely become overexcited with the prospect of the royal visit.”

  The corner of Broderick’s mouth curled up. “I see. I don’t suppose you have any idea when I might be able to see her, do you?”

  “Er...not really. I do apologize.”

  “Did you know my father is thinking of giving her a little more freedom while the Loshadnarodskis are here?”

  “More freedom?” Brandon said. “Well, I wrote him a letter asking that she be allowed to see Queen Nina. Is that what we’re talking about here? A private tea or supper?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He hasn’t quite made up his mind. So just keep that to yourself for the time being, will you? We wouldn’t want to...raise anyone’s hopes unfairly, would we?”

  “Um, no. Of course not, obviously.” Half to himself, Brandon added, “Why didn’t Ethelred send a message?”

  “We discussed it privately just before I left Formacaster. You weren’t there, of course, so there’s no way you could know.”

  Brandon looked past Broderick just in time to see Hildred, of all people, come out of the Valamir Tower, leading a group of harried-looking chambermaids and carrying a vase of wilted flowers. He had never been so glad for an opportunity to have an argument with his sister.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said to Broderick, “I need to go have a word with someone. Please feel free to stop by the buttery, though, if you need something to eat or drink.”

  Chapter 11

  “WELCOME TO EALORN!”

  The greeting came from a dark-haired, energetic young man with the sharpest cheekbones Daryna had ever seen. He bounded across the gravel at the front entrance of the large manor house, and he gave the impression he was genuinely glad they had arrived, and not simply relieved they were finally here, a couple hours later than planned. Perhaps it was his smile, or his enthusiasm, but Daryna took a liking to him immediately.

  The young man walked directly toward Queen Nina’s horse, and he took the bridle in the Myrcian fashion to help steady the animal while the queen dismounted. “Greetings, your majesty,” he said in Loshadnarodsk.

  Queen Nina jumped down from the saddle and looked as if she wanted to embrace their Myrcian host. Luckily, she refrained and merely said, in Myrcian, “I am so happy to be here.”

  Anik beamed with pride that Nina had pronounced the phrase correctly. The introductions became a bit confused at this point, though, as servants of the house came to take horses to the stables, while the Loshadnarodski riders were trying to care for the horses themselves. With the help of Anik and this man who had greeted them, the situation was soon sorted out.

  In the brief time the chaos flared, however, Daryna caught a glimpse of Grigory, eyes wide with wonder and following the handsome Myrcian like the great Odelandic astronomers of old had followed the stars.

  “So, I think we have that all straightened out now,” said the young Myrcian. “I’ll make certain things go more smoothly at the Bocburg. Which makes me realize—I really ought to introduce myself. Presley Kemp of his grace, the Duke of Leornian’s service. I join with the Baron of Ealorn in welcoming you. Please come in and meet the baron and his family and rest from your long journey.”

  Presley Kemp turned and jogged through the door. Nina followed, smiling her placid, motherly smile, along with Anik, who had on his serious, emotionless, diplomatic expression. Vadik came next, frowning and suspicious. Then came Grigory, who looked completely dazzled. Daryna grabbed Grigory’s sleeve and whispered, “Close your mouth. You don’t want to start drooling.” Then she hurried him through the door after the others.

  “The family are just at the end of the hall,” Mr. Kemp told Nina as they walked along. “But even before I introduce
you to them, I need to pass along the warmest greetings from her majesty, Queen Merewyn. I was particularly pressed not to forget to do so.”

  Nina smiled rapturously. “I...Myrcian is poor. Very nice, but more. This makes me happy.”

  Mr. Kemp nodded sympathetically and said in passable Loshadnarodsk, “I understand your pleasure and difficulty saying it in another tongue.”

  They got to the parlor, and unfortunately the Ealorns did not make quite so good an impression as the lovely Mr. Kemp. The baroness struck Daryna as the worst kind of snob. Undoubtedly she had fought other minor nobles in the area for the honor of hosting the Loshadnarodski party, but then she could barely conceal her disgust when Nina hugged her. She whispered to her son, “She smells terribly of horse.”

  The slack-jawed boy had the decency to look embarrassed. “Mother, they might hear you.”

  “They won’t understand a word if they do.”

  Mr. Kemp began the introductions with Nina and Vadik, everyone bowing and curtsying. When he reached Daryna, the baroness curtsied, but Daryna only nodded.

  “Well, I never!” the baroness gasped.

  “In case it should become necessary,” Daryna said, too tired to withstand the rudeness, “I speak excellent Myrcian. I have been speaking it for over two hundred years. Our foreign minister, Anik Kaur,” she gestured, “is also fluent, as is Mr. Sobol.” She whipped her cloak off her shoulders, intentionally shedding some of the fur, which she transformed into an illusion of the growling wolf that had given its life to keep her warm. The baroness recoiled, as Daryna had hoped she would.

  “Ah, yes, that was quite something,” said Mr. Kemp. “Very entertaining. And it reminds me, Lady Daryna, that I have been bidden by Lord Aldred to discuss some details with you. Why don’t we all head into the dining room for refreshments? We can talk over tea, which is always more pleasant.”

  “You sound almost Loshadnarodski, Mr. Kemp,” Anik said smoothly. “And you, my lady,” he bowed to the baroness, “the decorations of this house are exquisite. You must tell me the history of those tapestries.”