“The effects of the spell may linger for a day or so,” Caedmon said sharply. “For her own safety, her majesty cannot leave the tower yet.”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Merewyn, as a cold line of sweat broke out on her forehead. “Magy is like wine, it seems, and there is a hangover afterward. I’m sorry, Broderick. Perhaps later.”
Broderick scowled, looking from Merewyn to Caedmon. “That’s odd. I was sure I heard you talking with Daryna Olekovna at supper last night. I assumed when you said you would lift the spell today, that meant.... Ah, well.” He shrugged. “Nothing to be done about it.” Smiling, he turned back to Merewyn. “I’m so glad to see you, though.”
Caedmon’s whole form seemed to stiffen, and he drew himself up, apparently so he could look down his nose at Broderick. “I’m surprised you could spare a minute for the queen. You seem to have been rather busy with all those troops you have brought upriver with you. We have been wondering if you would be able to attend the feast at all.”
“‘We’?” One corner of Broderick’s mouth turned up. “Who is this mysterious ‘we,’ Caedmon. Would this be you and your colleagues at Diernemynster? Or perhaps just you and Daryna Olekovna?”
Merewyn’s stomach tightened again. What was Caedmon plotting with Daryna? Were they both working with Vadik now to undermine Merewyn’s position? Were they trying to find a way to get rid of this “obstacle” for Vadik?
Caedmon’s brow furrowed until his eyes almost disappeared in the shade of his eyebrows. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Sir Broderick.” He shook his head, then bowed, yet again, to Merewyn. “Your majesty. I have occupied enough of your time. I hope you enjoy the new pastels.”
He left, and Broderick only just managed to close the door before breaking out in loud, raucous laughter. “Why is it I always feel as if I’ve swallowed a bottle of vinegar after I’ve spoken to that man?”
“Clearly you need something to cleanse your palate,” she said, laughing, too, as she headed over to the table to pour two glasses of a light, sweet Argitis.
When he came to take his glass, he stood for a moment, staring down at the table. She thought he would make some remark on Caedmon’s gifts, but instead, he reached behind the stack of books and pulled out a little dish of blue cut glass, filled with pistachios.
“Expecting a visit from Maxen?”
“Oh, those. Yes, he’s been staying here at the castle, so I thought I’d better keep a few on hand for him.” She clinked her glass against his. “You can have some, if you’d like.”
He took her up on the offer, popping the shell off one and tossing it in his mouth. “I prefer almonds,” he said, as he set the dish back on the table.
“Me, too,” she said.
They both sat down: her, perched on the edge of her seat, still nervous and wary after Caedmon’s visit. Him, sprawled extravagantly, one long leg crossed over the other. He was a large man—his shoulders wider than the back of the chair. Somehow she always forgot how big he was. He never moved like a large man, like a blundering stonemason or blacksmith, embarrassed by his size. He moved as if he simply expected the world to accommodate his bulk, and he was usually right. He moved with such grace and confidence that often, in her memories, she saw him built like Fransis—all long, sinewy limbs. And then she was always surprised, when Broderick visited, to find this man built like an Immani statue of chiseled, gleaming marble.
“How are you?” he asked. “I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t seem very enthusiastic about leaving your tower to meet the Loshadnarodskis.”
“Nonsense! I can’t wait to get out of here finally. Though I wonder if I can actually make myself go to the feast. Perhaps I will go out on the castle lawn and lie down in the grass for awhile. Do you know what it’s like not to have felt real grass under your feet or real dirt for seventeen years?”
Broderick cocked his head to one side. “I’m sorry, but you’re evading the question. You’re a terrible liar. Almost as bad as my mother, actually. Neither of you can ever hide bad news. Why don’t you want to go to the feast?”
It was impossible to lie to him. He was too quick-witted, too sensitive. But she could, at least, change the subject. “What’s this about your mother? Please tell me you didn’t wait as long to see her as you waited to see me.”
He hesitated, averting his face from hers. She reached up, fingers firmly on his chin and brought his face to her own. This close, she saw his eyes were nearly as puffy and red as her own. Had he been crying?
“Broderick,” she said softly, “tell me what’s wrong.”
For obvious reasons, Merewyn had never known Susan Gramiren well, but apparently she was a charming, intelligent woman. Sadly, she had been naïve and all too willing to give Ethelred his way. So she had lost her reputation and her place in society. But in return, she had Broderick. And Broderick, who had always been a dutiful stepson, was doubly dutiful to his mother.
“My mother is....” He let out a long sigh, then said, “My mother is dying. But she did not feel it necessary to tell me until this week, even though she has been ill for months.”
Merewyn let out a gasp. “Earstien! What sort of illness is it?”
He rubbed his eyes, almost as if he were trying to stop the tears from falling. Poor boy.
“She is suffering from...,” he lowered his gaze, “a complaint of the lungs. Her physician is doing all he can, but he is not hopeful.”
“Is there something we can do to help? Surely your father has physicians who can see to her. Or perhaps Duke Brandon could arrange a consultation with the professors of the university here.” She clenched her fists. “You tell Ethelred that if he doesn’t get her a new physician, I’m not coming to his stupid feast!”
“My father and I have done all we can for her. Now I want to do all that I can for you.”
“But...but she’s your mother, and I....”
“I have been blessed by Earstien. Everyone has one mother, but I have two.”
Her throat constricted, and tears burned at the corners of her eyes. “Broderick, you can’t imagine what it means to have you here. You’ve always been on my side, even though there’s no reason that you should be.”
He took her trembling hands off the table and held them. “I remember being a little boy, coming to court with my grandfather. I didn’t even understand quite why I was there. I certainly didn’t know what it meant to be a bastard. I just remember noticing how worried my grandfather was. Worried on my behalf, I suppose. But you accepted me, and you welcomed me, and you loved me like a son. Merewyn, I’m never, ever going to forget that.”
“Broderick,” she said, still fighting not to cry. “Broderick, please promise me that you will look after Maxen. He needs your help.”
Broderick sat back in his chair, his expression hardening. “I have tried. Earstien knows, I have tried.”
“But you don’t understand,” she sighed. “He’s keeping secrets from me now. He’s falling in with this foreign prince, Vadik. And he’s been looking for advice from Bishop Robertson, if you can believe it.”
“Robertson? Would you like me to have a word with his grace?” Broderick held up one massive hand and slowly clenched his fingers, making each knuckle crack in turn.
In spite of herself, Merewyn let out a snort of laughter. “You really shouldn’t go punching the Bishop of Leornian, dear.”
“You never let me have any fun,” said Broderick, grinning. “In all seriousness, though, I will have a talk with Robertson. Not to threaten him, mind you, but simply to remind him that he has been rather free with the church’s money lately. If I promise not to look too closely into his account books, I’m sure I can get him to promise to leave Maxen alone, in return.”
He gulped down the last of his wine, rose to his feet, and bowed.
“You’re not leaving already?” she said. “Surely you don’t need to see Robertson right this moment.”
Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head.
“I will see you soon, Merewyn. Depend on it.”
He left, and she longed to run after him. There was something that happened every time he visited, something she could barely describe, even to herself. When he was with her, she felt as if her world expanded, and everything was possible. Then he left, and the world shrank again, and she was stuck in these tiny chambers high up in this tower, like she always had been.
She thought, “He and Maxen are the only ones who love me.” Except that now, even Maxen’s loyalty was questionable. So that left Broderick. And maybe Brandon, too. But certainly Broderick.
As for the rest, they were hoping for her to fail, hoping for her to die. But she refused to give them the satisfaction. They could all go to the Void. All of them, every one.
She looked wildly around the room, and her eye fell on Caedmon’s presents, still neatly stacked on the table. She stomped over, grabbed the pastels up in her fist and hurled them to the floor. The sticks snapped and crumbled in a spray of color. But they still offended her, so she ground each splinter into dust with the heels of her shoes.
Chapter 18
HILDRED SCOWLED DOWN at Brandon. “What do you mean, you have a ‘meeting’? What sort of ‘meeting’ might this be, may I ask?”
“Daryna Olekovna wants to speak with the captain general.” Brandon shifted the silver inkwell on his desk a few inches to one side, then shifted it back. “Something about the silver mines and our army engineers, I believe.”
“And the two of them require your presence? I can hardly believe that.”
Frankly, he agreed with her, but he didn’t really trust Broderick to handle matters of foreign policy on his own. It was best if another member of the privy council was there to make sure he didn’t make some extravagant and excessive promise on behalf of the kingdom. Brandon sighed and frowned at his sister. “I can’t skip this meeting to attend a garden party.”
She stamped her foot. “It’s not just a garden party! I told you about it two weeks ago. The leaders of the city guilds want to arrange a grand procession next week for the king and our Loshadnarodski guests, and they are still trying to decide how much each guild will pay to provide decorations and refreshments for the public.”
“I really don’t see why that requires my presence, either.”
Presley gave a slight, polite cough from over by the bookshelves. “Perhaps I could negotiate between the guild leaders on your behalf, sir.”
“Really?” Hildred glared at him. “You think you can step so easily into the shoes of a duke, Mister Kemp?”
The young treasurer had on a close-fitting new tunic of cream-colored velvet and tight red leather trousers. He was definitely trying to make an impression on someone.
“Are you certain you want to go instead of coming with me to the meeting? You seemed quite eager to, ah....”
How should I put this exactly? “Eager to see that handsome Loshadnarodski fellow again?” No, I certainly can’t say that. Especially not in front of Hildred.
“Really, sir. I’ll speak to the guilds. It’s far more important that you attend to Lady Daryna and the captain general.”
So Presley went away to the garden party, no doubt doing his best to ignore Hildred’s grumbling and muttering about “flashy young upstarts.” When they were gone, Brandon went to the dark oak sideboard by the window, poured himself half a glass of Cheruscian fortified wine, and downed it in one quick gulp. He shivered as the tingling warmth spread through his chest and let out a long sigh.
Feeling equal now to the task of seeing Broderick, he headed down the hall to the parlor where the meeting was supposed to take place.
The captain general was not there yet, however. Daryna Olekovna lounged on the thick velvet cushions of the window seat, nestled amid the folds of the heavy embroidered curtains. She was looking intently out the window over the river, as if she was expecting to see someone coming in the distance. Meanwhile, Grigory Sobol was spreading big sheets of parchment covered in detailed engineering diagrams over a pair of spindly little inlaid mahogany end tables. Brandon felt bad—if he’d known the boy needed a table, he would have told the servants to bring one over from his study.
He felt even worse when Mr. Sobol looked up, eyes bright with anticipation, as he heard footsteps. The engineer’s face fell as he realized Brandon was alone.
“I’m afraid Mr. Kemp couldn’t join us,” Brandon said.
Daryna’s head snapped around. “Where is Sir Broderick? I assumed he would be with you.”
“I had supposed he would already be here.”
Brandon went over to the tables and made a polite show of examining Mr. Sobol’s diagrams, and the Loshadnarodski engineer made a polite, though futile, attempt to explain them. But the boy was listless and sad now, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. As for the hillichmagnar, she kept looking out the window, twisting the knotted fringe of the curtain absentmindedly in her hands.
At least a quarter of an hour went by, and then suddenly the door flew open, and Broderick appeared, crying, “So sorry I wasn’t here earlier!” He breezed across the room to where Daryna was seated. “My lady, you look exquisite. A thousand pardons for keeping you waiting.” After kissing her hand, he nodded at Mr. Sobol. “You, too. I regret I was unavoidably detained.”
“Yes, where have you been, exactly?” asked Brandon. “Did I not put the time of this meeting in my note to you?” He knew he had, of course. Or rather, Presley had.
“The fault is entirely mine,” said Broderick, turning to face Brandon with that obnoxiously dazzling smile of his. “I’m afraid I was visiting my stepmother, Queen Merewyn, and the time got away from me.”
“You...you were with Merewyn?” stammered Brandon. He hadn’t given his permission for this visit. Broderick hadn’t even mentioned visiting the queen since that talk at the stables a week ago.
“Yes, I asked my father, and he said it was all right with him.” His grin spread wider, and there was a look of challenge in it, like a dog baring its teeth.
This is really not the place to be having an argument with this fool. Not here, in front of our foreign guests. He knows, of course, that I have to be the adult here, the bigger man. Blast him.
“Be that as it may,” said Brandon stiffly, “I am pleased you are here now, Sir Broderick.”
Broderick turned his attention back to Daryna. “I’m sure that, like me, you long for the day when the queen is released from her unjust imprisonment.”
The hillichmagnar looked back out the window. “It’s not my place to say whether her majesty was imprisoned justly or unjustly. I came to Myrcia to get advice on improving our silver mines.”
“Ah. Of course.” Broderick raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly. He went to the table and peered at the diagrams, turning his head one way, then the other. He walked around, pushing Brandon lightly aside, so he could look at them from a different angle. “So this is the main shaft here, isn’t it?” He pointed. “And this is where you carry the ore up, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Sobol, with a look of cautious optimism.
“And these are your pumps, then.” Broderick held up one of the drawings and frowned at it. “Hand-powered, I see. Have you tried a treadmill?”
Mr. Sobol nodded. “Yes, sir. It still doesn’t move enough water, I’m afraid.”
Daryna Olekovna slid off the window seat and came over to join them. “Do you know a great deal about military engineering, Sir Broderick?”
He gave a tiny shrug of false modesty. “Not as much as my engineering officers do, of course. But I was constable of the great fortress of Keaton Fastenn before I became captain general. There are many old tunnels and caverns in the rock under the castle there. Not as deep as your mines, obviously, but I understand the basic process of digging tunnels, shoring them up, and pumping the water out.”
The two Loshadnarodskis looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
“When I was at school in Briddobad,” said Mr. Sobol, “I read about a di
fferent kind of pump—something that could move massive quantities of water. I don’t remember quite how it works, though.”
Broderick crossed his arms and pursed his lips, as if lost in thought. “I suppose I’ve heard something along those lines myself. The trick, as I understand it, is to make the water your ally, not your enemy.”
“Meaning what, precisely?” asked Daryna.
Mr. Sobol fished into his pocket and brought out a thin stick of charcoal, which he placed atop a blank sheet of cheap paper and pushed across the table toward Broderick. “Would it help if you could draw a diagram, sir?”
Broderick picked up the charcoal, tapped it on the table a few times, and then set it down. “Of course, my engineers understand the concept much better than I do.”
“Could we speak to them?” asked Mr. Sobol.
“H’m...yes, I suppose.” Broderick sighed. “But these sorts of things are always much easier to deal with on site. It would be much better if I could send my engineers up to take a look at your mines.”
Daryna’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘take a look’?”
“Oh, I’m sure it would be no problem,” said Mr. Sobol eagerly. “One or two foreign engineers would be no burden.”
“It would need to be more than that,” said Broderick. “Several companies of engineers and sappers. Perhaps a cavalry regiment to—”
“A regiment?” cried Daryna. “An entire regiment just to look at our mining pumps?”
“Of course,” said Broderick with a shrug. “Maybe two regiments. There are a lot of bandits in the area, or so I’ve heard.”
The Queen's Tower Page 15