Shona took him to the same spot where she’d seen Castar and Benedern talking; it was out of the way at the edge of the room, where no one would interrupt.
“Rudol—”
“If this is about Duke Castar, you can stop. I don’t want to hear it.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t. I don’t want to fight.”
His face softened instantly; he’d never been able to stay mad at her long. “Shona, I… I know that Josen was important to you. I didn’t mean to make it worse for you the other day, I just…” He spread his hands. “I got angry.”
“So did I. Let’s not dwell on it.” She almost meant it—he was the oldest friend she had left, and she wanted to trust him. She would have let it all go if she could have. If Josen was still alive. But he wasn’t, and she couldn’t, so she just smiled and said what she had to say to make Rudol listen. “I’ll forget it if you will.”
“Forget what?” The corner of Rudol’s mouth quirked upward, just a bit. “But why did you need to speak with me, if not about that?”
“I’m concerned about the coronation. Both you and King Gerod will be exposed tomorrow, and your family is not … greatly popular just now. I’ve heard rumors among the guests tonight, talk of friends of friends or wives’ second cousins plotting this or that—no consistent details, but enough to worry me. The people are afraid, and that is dangerous. Whatever protection the Swords have planned, they need to increase it, especially at the Orator’s Rise.” After Rudol was anointed in the eyrie, the king would present his son on the Rise before all of the Plateaus. They would be vulnerable; if Castar had something planned, it would be there.
“They speak of treason while taking advantage of their king’s hospitality? Who?” Rudol passed his gaze over the hall as if trying to pick out traitors by sight. “Show me.”
Spirit of All, Rudol, stop bristling at everything and just do what I need you to do. “I can’t. It isn’t any one person, just snippets I’ve overheard. Maybe nothing but empty rumor. And if you start accusing guests of treason, it will only make things worse. You need more support right now, not less.” When she turned to trace Rudol’s gaze across the room, her eyes fastened on a spot of red and gold moving through the crowd: Lenoden Castar, walking alone toward the western doors that led out to the courtyard. Does he just want some air, or is he meeting someone?
“There should be consequences for such talk,” Rudol insisted.
“You can’t stop gossip, Rudol. Please, just speak to your father about more guards.” She didn’t have time to argue—Castar had paused to greet a man dressed in Storm Knight grey, but he was very near the doors.
“Come with me, at least,” said Rudol. “Tell him what you heard.”
“Better it come from you. And I have… another matter to attend.” She started toward Castar before she had even finished speaking, and looked back at Rudol over her shoulder. “Promise you’ll talk to him.” She turned back in time to see the courtyard doors swinging closed. Castar was gone.
“Fine. Just wait a—”
Shona didn’t hear the rest. She was already weaving her way across the hall, dodging and side-stepping through the crowded aisles between tables. When she reached the doors, she paused a moment to gather her courage, and then followed Castar through into the courtyard.
It was dark outside, near midnight; stars sparkled in the sky, thousands of souls watching over the world from the Above. The semi-circular courtyard between the outer walls and the Keep proper was unlit but for the moonlight and the torches of the Royal Swords patrolling the battlements far above. Shona’s eyes struggled to adjust to the change as the doors swung closed behind her, cutting off the light of the hall’s gas-lamps. There was no wind during the rest, but it was cold enough to raise gooseflesh on her arms all the same—her dress wasn’t made for warmth.
“Shona. I’m glad you could join me.”
She kept herself from jumping in surprise, but just barely. Castar leaned against the inner wall, not far from the door; she hadn’t seen him there in the shadows until he’d spoken.
“Duke Castar. I was just—”
“Following me?”
He lured me out here alone. Spirit of All, how could I be so stupid? Her hands were trembling; she clasped them behind her back so Castar wouldn’t see. “You think too highly of yourself.” She forced a laugh. “I just wanted to escape the noise for a moment.”
Castar shook his head. “No, let’s not play games. If you wanted to hide your intentions, you shouldn’t have had Eian Gryston watch me. The lord general has his talents, but subterfuge isn’t one of them.”
She was suddenly aware of just how hidden away they were in this dark corner of the courtyard. “Rudol and Eian both know I’m out here,” she said, though she didn’t know if it was true. “If I don’t come back soon…”
Castar chuckled, a sinister sound out of the shadows shrouding his face. “What do you think this is, Shona? All I want is to speak plainly with you.”
“Then speak. It’s a bit cold; I’d like to get back inside.” Entirely false bravado, but it was better than giving in to real fear.
“I would have your hand in marriage.”
Shona blinked; that was plainer than she’d been expecting. “You would have Greenwall, you mean.”
Castar shrugged. “I won’t deny that. But that is not all I want. You have a better mind for governance than any duke in the Peaks, and your family is one of the few left to boast Windwalker blood, however distant the relation. You don’t need to be a full-blooded Eagle for that to mean something. We could accomplish much together, if we were wed.”
“You should be asking my father’s permission, then.”
“I’m asking yours. We both know whose decision this is.”
She wanted to laugh in his face, or maybe slap it, but she resisted both urges. Keep him talking. He might let something useful slip. “Then convince me. Why should I say yes? You’ve already admitted you want Greenwall for yourself.”
“You make it sound like that is a flaw. I will not apologize for my ambition, and neither should you. You want Greenwall as much as I do. To have your work acknowledged, to sit in your father’s place without fear of having it taken away. And my ambition is precisely why you can trust me to fulfil yours. Has Goldstone not prospered under my care? Yes, I want your fields—but I need them to flourish to be of use, just as my mines have. I keep my people content and they reward me with loyalty and profit. That is the kind of power I am interested in, and it can’t be seized by force. I can best achieve it in Greenwall by lending my resources and letting you do the rest. All the benefits of Goldstone’s wealth and no interference. No other man in the Nine Peaks would offer the same.”
The sad thing was that he was probably right. Her hand would otherwise be a boon for the king to grant—likely to a man much older than her. Iman Harthey of Seastair, perhaps, twice a widower with no heir. And once she was given away, long-standing custom said that her husband would control her duchy. But Lenoden Castar would let her govern as she saw fit, as long as it benefitted him. He wanted to win hearts, and he was canny enough to know that a man who stole power from the Falloways would not be welcomed in Greenwall.
“So,” she said, “it would be a partnership of mutual advantage?”
“Precisely. I don’t want your heart, Shona, only your hand—and the influence that comes with it. But I know that nothing I say will sway you until I address the question you so badly want to ask. So ask.”
Don’t. Don’t reveal any more than you have to. But this question had been begging her to ask it for a long time now, and Castar was being more honest than usual tonight. She couldn’t help herself.
“What really happened to Josen?” God Above, what am I doing? Even if he confesses, it just means I’m alone in the dark with a murderer.
“Exactly what I said. You think I did it, or at least that I let him die, but why, Shona? I was charged with keeping him safe—I am lucky that I wasn
’t made to stand the cliff for his death. Why would I invite that? I am not the man you think I am, but even if I was, I am not stupid. You know that.”
“I suppose I do,” she said. It was true that he wouldn’t take a risk that offered no reward—but that only meant there had to be one, a benefit to him that she couldn’t see yet.
“So you understand that there was nothing I could have gained. I don’t know why Prince Josen did what he did, but it had nothing to do with me.”
That, she didn’t believe. She’d known Josen Aryllia, flaws and all. Maybe better than anyone had. And that wasn’t him.
But she’d pushed Castar enough; now she just wanted to get back inside where it was safe and crowded. “Fine,” she said. “Even so, I need time to think about your proposal. If this is just a political arrangement, you of all people must understand that I’d be foolish to enter into it without considering the consequences.”
Castar slid from languid recline into motion as suddenly as a cat. One moment his face was in shadow; an instant later he emerged into the moonlight, closing the distance between them in a few strides. His eyes were cold, like grey ice. Shona’s chest seized and she stumbled back a step, but he grabbed her before she could run. His hands gripped her arms, squeezing tight.
“I hope you weigh the cost of refusing me very carefully, then,” he said, and she didn’t have to stretch her imagination very far to hear a threat there. “I doubt you will find another offer so generous.” He released her and brushed by to pull open the doors. The brightness of the hall flooded Shona’s eyes. Castar looked back one last time, a shade rimmed in blinding light. “Don’t make me wait too long.”
20. Aryllia’s Heir
Rudol
Midnight couldn’t come soon enough.
Rudol nodded along as Carissa made conversation with yet another count and his wife, but he wasn’t really listening. He had no idea how to talk to these people—all he wanted was to be alone, standing his midnight vigil in the eyrie. The only thing that made it bearable at all was Carissa; she thrived at such social engagements. She’d been navigating between conversations all night, and she always had more than enough to say for both of them.
“Oh, I’m sure Rudol could talk to someone. They might still find something.” He recognized that tone in Carissa’s voice. She wanted him to say something.
Rudol went over the bits of conversation he’d heard—the man had been complaining about a trade-barge lost in the Swamp somewhere downriver toward Seastair, if he remembered correctly. “I’ll ask about it,” he said. He didn’t intend to do any such thing, really—once the swamplings took something, it was gone. The Knights of the Storm couldn’t afford to scour the Swamp for every lost wagon. But he didn’t want to disappoint his wife.
“I would appreciate whatever help you can offer, Prince Rudol,” said the count—a squat slug-like man with three chins.
Which one is he? Renough? Or is it Lamon? One of the merchant counts, anyway. Rudol decided against guessing. “Don’t expect anything. We rarely recover what the swamplings take.”
“Of course, of course. Do what you can.”
The conversation moved on, and Rudol’s attention faded once more. He peered absently around the banquet hall, and tried to convince himself that he wasn’t looking for Shona. She’d claimed that all was forgiven, but she hadn’t returned to finish their conversation after leaving so suddenly, and he’d seen her speaking with Eian Gryston and others since. Let it be, he told himself. If she wanted to talk to me, she wouldn’t have run off. But still, he found himself glancing surreptitiously toward her chair—and then quickly away again when she raised her eyes.
Still as nervous as a little boy around her, I see, Josen’s voice whispered in his ears alone.
Stop it. You’re not even… I know you aren’t real. Just a memory. And anyway, you’re wrong. It wasn’t just his old infatuation making Rudol nervous, not anymore. The way Shona had been acting, he feared she might suspect the truth about what had happened to Josen.
I don’t think she’d approve, little brother. She always did like me best.
Rudol dug his fingers into his palms and shook his head. It was justice. I showed you mercy. But no matter how much he believed that, the thought of Shona knowing what he’d done terrified him.
Carissa touched his elbow to get his attention, and he was all too grateful to be distracted. She must have been done, because she inclined her head to the count with a fetching smile and said, “I’m so glad we had the chance to talk.”
“As am I, milady.” The count grasped her hand and touched it to his lips while his wife—who looked distressingly similar to him—looked on with a frown. “You have been blessed with a most beautiful wife, Prince Rudol.”
“Kind of you to say,” Rudol mumbled at the man. “Good evening.” With that, he took Carissa by the arm and started back toward their seats.
Carissa gripped his arm with both hands as they climbed the steps to the dais. “I wish you would pay these men more attention, Rudol.” Her head barely reached his chest; she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. “You’ll need the support of the Plateaus’ counts when you’re king. The crown is rather deeply in debt to Count Lamon—it would be convenient if he liked you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Rudol, fixing his gaze on the steps at his feet. “You know I’m not good at this.”
“Well, that is exactly what I’m trying to help you with, dear.”
“I know. And you are. Helping. As much as anyone can.” Rudol offered his wife a weary smile. If he had to be there, he was glad to have her there with him. It was always worse when he was alone, and he had been alone too often before Carissa. “I just never know what to say. I don’t know anything about”—he waved his hand vaguely—“whatever it is these people like to discuss. And they don’t want to hear about fighting in the Swamp. Nothing real about it, at least.”
“Let me worry about what to say, dear. It’s what I’m good at.” Carissa returned his smile and patted his arm. “If you would only appear attentive, it would be enough. You were doing so well before Shona dragged you off. What did she need to tell you so urgently?”
Only that everyone here blames me for what Josen did. But Carissa didn’t need to hear that. He already knew how she’d react—his wife didn’t much care for Shona even when she wasn’t bearing ill tidings. “She had some concerns about the guard for the coronation. It was nothing.”
“And of course she couldn’t have waited. That woman! She thinks she knows best about everything, doesn’t she? Well, put her out of your mind, dear. Tonight is too important to let her distract you.” They came to their seats at the king’s side, and Carissa waited for Rudol to pull her chair out before sitting down. “The midnight bell can’t be long now, can it, Your Majesty?” she asked Gerod as she arranged her gown beneath her. There was no way to judge the time from within the hall—they had to rely on the Chastors and the eyrie’s bells to mark the approach of midnight.
King Gerod gave Carissa a curt nod as Rudol lowered himself into the chair between them. “Not long.” The king muffled a cough with one hand and glanced at Rudol. “Chastor Ren should be along shortly—he’s to collect you a half-hour before the bell tolls. I trust you’re ready?”
“I’ve gone longer without sleep.”
“Not for the vigil.” Gerod gestured dismissively. “What does that matter? You’ll be alone—sleep if you like, as long as you’re awake come sunrise. I mean the ceremony. It must go perfectly.”
“He won’t disappoint you, Your Majesty,” Carissa interjected, laying her small hand atop Rudol’s much larger one.
“I’m sure he won’t,” said Gerod, but he kept his eyes on Rudol, one thin eyebrow raised.
He doesn’t have much faith in you, does he, little brother? It was harder to ignore Josen’s phantom voice when he agreed with it, but all Rudol said was, “I’m ready, Father. I know my part.”
“Good.” The word came out in a cough
, and Gerod gulped down what was left of his wine to ease his throat, wiped a sleeve over his mouth, and motioned for more. Carissa hurriedly grabbed a nearby flagon and reached past Rudol to replenish the king’s drink. Sipping from the refilled cup, Gerod cast his impassive gaze over the guests laughing and dancing below. “These people will be watching for any mistake, any sign of weakness.”
They don’t trust us anymore. For as long as Rudol could remember there had been talk of Gerod’s “curse”, the Sky God’s punishment for ending two Windwalker bloodlines, but such gossip had been harmless enough before now. Galling, but harmless. This was different. Josen betrays them and they find a way to hate everyone but him for it. And if the whispers Shona had warned him about could be relied on, some meant to go further than hate.
Rudol found himself glancing down the table at Shona, and this time he caught her looking at him, with a clear question in her eyes. He jerked his gaze away. Damn it. His father tended to meet his suggestions with disinterest at best and contempt at worst, but he had no choice now. If he didn’t say anything and Shona was right, he would never forgive himself.
“Father…”
Gerod gave him a sidelong glance. “What is it?”
“I have heard rumblings… rumors… the people are ill at ease. Angry. An increased guard at the Orator’s Rise tomorrow—”
“Do you think me stupid, Rudol? Cer Byron will have every man in the Swords on guard. I will not have Aryllia’s line ended by some discontented peasants.”
Rudol dipped his head to hide his flush. “Of course, Father.” I should have known he’d be prepared. Shona should have known. He felt a fool, but at least he’d passed on the warning—there was some peace in knowing it was out of his hands.
“You both worry too much,” said Carissa, squeezing Rudol’s hand. “They will forget all about their doubts when they see you on the Rise. How could they not love you? Their king-to-be standing tall in Storm Knight colors. They’ll see that your character is above question, I know they will.”
The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1) Page 31