Pentandra was a little irritated that Father Amus was claiming credit for her work, but she could understand the man’s passionate hate of the grain merchants.
“As we are assembled here anyway,” Duke Anguin continued, “it has been brought to my notice by the Town Constable that there was an attempt to overthrow my lawful rule a few nights ago,” he said, his voice growing colder and darker as he spoke. “Thanks to dear friends in court, the plot was exposed and foiled, and the plotters – some of them – have been arrested.
“Under interrogation their leaders and co-conspirators were revealed. Sir Vemas, as Town Constable I call upon you to arrest and produce . . .” he said, glancing at a roll of parchment a secretary helpfully held open for him, “Lord Garay of Hardstone, Sir Bestus, Lord Purveyor of the Palace, Lady Martricia of Falas and . . . Master Luthar of Vorone,” he finished.
Three of the conspirators were already in custody, thanks to the swift action of the palace guards. She’d heard the men name them herself, once she’d cast a helpful truthtell spell to compel their honesty. But that fourth name, Master Luthar, the grain merchant and clandestine head of the Rat Crew, had not been mentioned.
Until now. Sir Vemas, it appeared, had finally found a means to put manacles on the Boss Rat of Vorone. Now the crimelord squeaked in shocked surprise as two burly guardsmen put a hand on each shoulder and locked their spears behind his back.
“But Sire!” he instantly protested. “I am innocent of any plots!”
The other prisoners, who had spent an unpleasant night in the palace dungeons under duress, were quick to take up the cry despite their confessions.
“I am innocent, Your Grace!” “I have made no plots, my Duke!” “By the gods I am innocent!”
But Master Luthar, to her knowledge, really was innocent . . . of the Sea Lord’s plot to overthrow the court. Despite his involvement in many other schemes, he had not been part of that conspiracy.
Instantly her eyes flicked toward Sir Vemas, who was escorting the prisoners to the spot in front of the throne. All four prisoners looked frightened, but Master Luthar looked shocked, as well. He had come here expecting to sell his ill-gotten grain at a premium price. Now he was falsely accused and in danger of losing his head.
“The four of you stand accused of treason,” Father Amus pronounced. “Such a charge is a grave one, and not lightly made. If one of you should be willing to testify against—
“They did it!” squeaked Lord Garay of Hardstone, a little Southerner who held considerable estates in rich farmlands of south Alshar - now in the hands of a hated half-brother. His eyes were wide, sleepless and filled with tears. “They did it, I’ll testify, before the gods I’ll testify! They did it! Bestus and Martricia and that other one, whatever his name is, they did it! They made me do it! I am loyal, Your Grace! I assure you! They forced my hand!” blubbered the conspirator.
“Your Grace, by your own ears you’ve heard the testimony implicating these people in a plot against your regime, and perhaps against your very life,” Sir Vemas said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, even over Garay’s sobbing. “According to the confessions of their agents, these four were behind the attempt to seize the guard stations of the palace by night, secure the building against the garrison, and take control of your own noble person and your most trusted advisors in the depths of the night. While their true purposes can only be guessed, what they plotted was, indeed, a crime of treason against their sworn and lawful liege,” he finished, decisively.
“So it appears,” murmured Anguin. “So soon in my reign, too. One might consider it a sign of success, I suppose, to engender such opposition so quickly.”
“Your Grace! It was not intended to put you in danger!” Lady Martricia pleaded, wringing her bound hands together. “It was merely to convince you to turn your attention to the important matter of Enultramar!”
“The rebellion is the real danger to the Duchy, Your Grace!” added Sir Bestus, trying to look brave and noble after a rough night in the dungeon. “We have been back here months, and there has been no real attempt to overcome the rebellion!”
“Nor will there be, until I – and I alone! – decide to turn my attention there!” Anguin thundered, his mood and manner shifting abruptly negative. He nearly snarled as he got out of his throne and stomped across the rain-soaked flags of the yard to face the traitors. “I am the Duke of Alshar, and I command here. When I decide that it is time to turn my attention to the south, then that is what will happen!”
“Your Grace, we merely wished to implore upon you the importance of the greater part of the realm!” Martrisha pleaded.
“Every inch of my realm is important, and no inch more important than any other,” Anguin shot back, angrily. “When I brought you into my court, you swore an oath to me. Conspiring to subvert my lawful counselors through force and influence my decisions through threats are a vile, vile repayment of loyalty, my friends,” he said, leaning sarcastically on the last word.
“Regardless of my reasoning and rationale, I will NOT be intimidated! Not by those outside of my court, and damn sure not by those who are supposed to be my most loyal servants! Whether you wished to compel me to invade Enultramar – however foolish a proposition that is – or whether you wished to turn me over to the rebels to serve as their puppet, it makes no matter. You had the temerity to plot against your liege. The penalty for that is death,” he said, with a ring of finality.
“Your Grace, surely we can argue for our innocence before the court!” Master Luthar insisted, looking around at the court angrily. “I, for one, have not had any opportunity to defend myself as the gods insist!”
“You dispute that you are involved in this conspiracy, even though you have been named by more than one prisoner?” asked the handsome constable on behalf of his duke.
“I do!” he insisted, indignantly. “Why, I’ve scarcely been to the palace since Yule! I know these others either by reputation alone or not at all! How could I have possibly been involved?” he demanded.
“So you are willing to be deposed in open court?” asked Sir Vemas, expectantly. “Under a truthtell spell supplied by the Court Wizard?”
Master Luthar stopped his speech before he could speak a word. “Concerning my involvement in this plot? Certainly!”
“Well, Master Luthar,” Sir Vemas said, with an air of triumph about him, “the law makes no distinction about such circumstances. When the nature of the accusation involves treason - particularly against the person of the Duke - there are no limitations on what questions the court may ask a witness. And you will be compelled to tell the truth. About everything,” he said, knowingly, enunciating the word with delight. “Now, do you still dispute that you were involved, or would you like to confess now? Either way, I am secure that the gods will see justice done.”
“I . . . that is . . . may I not consult with a lawbrother?” he asked, the mask over his emotions starting to crack.
“Indeed, all of you may consult with counsel, as is proper in cases of treason,” Father Amus agreed. “If you do not wish to confess now, and earn yourself a quick and painless death, then the court is more than happy to oblige . . . the alternative . . . no matter how brutal,” he assured them.
“Then let us reconvene this case in two weeks, after there has been sufficient time for the defendants to consult with their counsel and make their final preparations,” acceded the Duke, raising his hand. “Is there any other business before this court? My fingers are starting to resemble raisins,” he said, earning a giggle from the crowd.
“Your Grace, there has been a petition of admittance to the court,” announced the strong-voiced herald. “Dowager Countess Shirlin of Danavel, late of Wilderhall, begs that you recognize her and admit her to your court.”
“Countess . . . Shirlin?” Father Amus asked, doubtfully.
“Countess Shirlin . . .” Duke Anguin said, tapping his chin with a forefinger, confused. “Danavel is in Southern Remere, but I am . .
. unaware of any relation to my court.”
“Perhaps I can shed some light on that, Your Grace,” the overly-melodic voice of an older woman trying too hard to sound youthfully cheerful intruded on the event. A mature woman of high station in a long yellow travel gown came forward, a clutch of servants behind her with her baggage. She bowed low and respectfully. Obsequiously, in Pentandra’s opinion.
Her intuition instantly went on alert, though there was no sign of alarm from Everkeen.
Who in six hells was this woman?
The sentiment was shared by her liege. “And you are, my lady?” Duke Anguin asked, mildly annoyed.
“Why, Your Grace, your dear aunt Grendine sent me to look after you,” Countess Shirlin explained. “When she heard you had struck out on your own and came to this . . . place,” she said, looking around at Vorone’s skyline with obvious dislike, “she felt remiss that she did not include a single advisor for you,” she said, clucking as if the Duke were a child.
Pentandra decided to avoid the wait and start loathing the woman now.
Everkeen might not see her as any kind of arcane danger, but the woman’s entire manner seemed calculated to irritate everyone in the room.
“I seem to have a sufficiency of advisors already,” Anguin said, gesturing to Father Amus and Count Angrial . . . and herself, she realized. “On what else do I need advice?”
“Oh, they’ll help you with the town, perhaps,” she dismissed, “but I’m talking about the important things. Dynastic things,” she said, knowingly.
“I’m afraid I do not understand your purpose here, Your Excellency,” Anguin said with a swallow.
“Oh, you dear sweet boy,” the older woman sighed. “Your Aunt Grendine sent me to arrange for you to be wed. I am to find you a bride suitable to your house and station. You’re going to get married! Isn’t that exciting?” she beamed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dowager Countess Shirlin
There was precious little information available about the suddenly-appearing Countess Shirlin, but Pentandra wasted no time in scouring her contacts for anything related to the aging courtier. Pentandra spoke with her successor at the Arcane Orders, mind-to-mind, and urged him to discover all that he could in Castabriel.
Within a few hours he returned a report that confirmed that Countess Shirlin was, indeed, one of Queen Grendine’s trusted advisors. Indeed, she was one of the principals responsible for her son’s union with the Remeran merchant houses through the auspices of one of their daughters.
Countess Shirlin’s reputation for dynastic match-making amongst the high nobility was profound, Pentandra learned, and her history at the Castali and Royal courts demonstrated a woman with an interest - some said obsession - in how each of the Great Houses of the Five Duchies paired up for dynastic reasons. That made her a valuable resource for Grendine’s court . . . and an incurable busybody for everyone else.
By midnight, Pentandra had some additional information about her, largely because Astyral gossiped with everyone and Minalan’s court wizard, Dranus, was very politically aware. Their intelligence on the woman was not thorough, but it did prove revealing.
Shirlin was the second daughter of a Remeran great house, House Porone, when she married into power at a young age. But her high station did not shield her from tragedy in her youth. Countess Shirlin had married young and beautiful, and like so many women of her generation she’d been left a widow after a jousting accident. Her second husband, an elderly man of a military bent, passed away not six months after taking her to wed.
Despite her title (and perhaps because of her personality) she’d never remarried a third time. Instead she had worked her way into the inner recesses of Rard’s court and eventually found herself the catspaw of the queen.
Left a widow by first a baron and then a count, the unlucky Shirlin had spent most of her dowry and most of her inheritance by the time her second husband died. She was shopping around for a third husband of similar power and wealth - a difficult proposition at her age - when Queen Grendine intervened and brought her to court to handle important little tasks for her. Like finding her son, Tavard, the heir to the throne, a perfect bride and mother for her grandchildren and heirs. That task now successfully concluded, and the goal of finding her daughter Princess Rardine a husband becoming more difficult, the Queen had sent the old busybody to harass her nephew for a while.
That was concerning to Pentandra and the other members of the inner court. While there was no direct evidence Shirlin herself was an assassin, she was certainly a spy. She certainly had other spies in her large retinue. And she certainly brought at least a few who might be handy with a dagger in an unsuspecting back.
Pentandra could see the queen’s strategy plainly, of course. Grendine expressed grave reservations about Anguin’s rise to power in the past, in her recent letter. She’d even warned him about the inspection tour her vicious daughter would be giving him if he didn’t run back to Castal like a good little boy.
From Grendine’s perspective, without adequate supervision there was no telling what mischief the lad would bring on the duchies through his inexperience in governance. She could hardly insist on oversight of his military on that basis, thanks to Count Salgo, or his foreign policy, thanks to Count Angrial . . . so Grendine had attacked the lad in the one area in which he was weakest: his marital future.
By tradition it was a boy’s mother who helped with selecting a suitable bride, of course. Especially among the upper nobility, where marriages were far more about rights and duties and land and property than they were about children or hearts. But as Anguin’s mother was dead, it fell to his older female relatives to fill that void. Grendine was simply trying to help her nephew by providing an experienced counselor on dynastic marriages.
Which coincidentally provided Grendine with an eye and ear, and (when necessary) a voice at Anguin’s court.
The stratagem fooled no one, Anguin least of all. He accepted the countess’ credentials grudgingly, and admitted her to his court as a matter of courtesy. But the next time she spoke with him one-on-one, the Duke was still fuming about the temerity of his aunt when Pentandra met with him afterward.
“Can she not be content to rule the rest of the kingdom, and leave me and my little patch of woods in peace?” he complained at the special meeting of senior officers called by His Grace that evening. There seemed no better reason to call the meeting than to complain about Countess Shirlin, which seemed a shallow purpose . . . but then most of the ministers were all too aware of Queen Grendine’s subtle way of exerting her influence. Pentandra was gratified that each of the lad’s senior advisors took the threat as seriously as she.
“Grendine will not be satisfied until you are as much her puppet as Tavard is,” remarked Salgo, “from what my friends at the royal court say, she was extremely angry that you chose to leave her hospitality in the first place. She’s been overheard calling you ‘that doltish boy’ and ‘the idiot in Alshar’,” the Warlord added, helpfully. Anguin winced, but he expected no less from his father’s sister.
“Who even said I wanted to get married?” demanded the Duke, crossly. He’d been enjoying a regular stream of young female companions from both the court and the quarters of Lady Pleasure’s brothel. The idea that he’d have to give up those young lovelies so soon after making their acquaintance did not appeal to the virile young man. “I’m young, yet! The last thing I need is a wife!”
“It does seem premature to consider the dynastic issues before we have successfully established security,” murmured Angrial, his mouth sucking on his pipe stem as he contemplated the development. “Yet her concern is not misplaced, merely . . . premature. Nor realistically in her power to compel, if you are not happy about it, Your Grace,” reminded the Prime Minister.
“I’m not!” the Orphan Duke agreed, emphatically. “Not at all! My friends, Angrial is correct, we must see to it that she does not interfere in our plans.” Whether he was referring to Coun
tess Shirlin or Queen Grendine was uncertain, but his opposition to both was clear. He did not want to accede to their plans. Particularly plans that might see him wed before he was ready, apparently.
“I think we can manage an adequate watch on her,” agreed the Prime Minister, thoughtfully. “And I do not think we need to fear her schemes. In fact, we may well be able to turn this to our eventual advantage. I recall the woman from court at Wilderhall. She’s as subtle as a mace.”
“This is nothing less than Grendine’s attempt to control Anguin from afar, now that he is out of her immediate influence,” Father Amus observed, angrily. “We cannot let her get away with that!”
“We won’t,” soothed Pentandra. “But his capacity to wed and strike an alliance against the royal house is clearly a threat to the queen. Until he stands before a priestess, we can delay this process and use it to our political advantage as long as possible. As far as Countess Shirlin, I’ll keep an eye on her. One reason that Grendine sent a woman is that without a sitting duchess right now, that’s a weak spot in court.”
“Do all courts get clogged up with dowagers like this?” Anguin wondered aloud. “First Lady Plea—Baroness Amandice, and now this . . . woman.”
Court Wizard: Book Eight Of The Spellmonger Series Page 56