“Alone, Lastland would surely fall,” the Prince said.
“It may anyway,” the King said.
“Many warriors,” Utor said.
“And a prince,” the King said, “to direct the preparations.”
I looked between them, watching the idea form like a pot from clay beneath the hands of a master. “With the Pedagno.”
Their heads turned, the light in both pairs of eyes one I recognized. Magistre Poll looked at me so when I mastered a lesson he considered basic, and been barely concealing his frustration I’d not done so more quickly.
“Just so,” said Utor.
“After delivering our reproach in the sternest terms,” the King said. “We will insinuate that after the Pedagno’s failure to dispatch the letter to Reud immediately, Bruster does not trust his judgment in this matter, and we insist upon our prince remaining.”
“Cedrick?” Utor asked.
The High King waved a hand. “We need not choose now.”
The strategy was not unimpeachable. Magistre Ulton might act against Pedagno Poll before the King’s party arrived. He might not feel as constrained as we hoped by a prince and his men. Magistre Ulton was determined and subtle. He would not be easily swayed from his path. But it was far more help than I’d dared hope might be forthcoming. “Thank you, lord.”
My father took my hand. “I am glad your wishes and our need find common cause.” He led me towards the chairs standing before the hearth, gesturing with his other hand for Utor and Hal to follow.
“Now,” he said once we were seated. “Tell me what you’ve learned about this Saradena.”
Chapter V
“Why should I know more than what can be gleaned from the letter itself?” I stretched my legs towards the fire, crossing them at the ankles.
Utor chuckled. “You told us you do, just now. Honestly, how can any Brusterian, let alone a noble, dissemble so badly? You say one thing but your body screams something else.”
I scowled at him.
“Children,” my father said, amusement and rebuke in his voice. He eyed me. “Come now. Why else would the Roth send you to Ragonne after the letter came, if not that he believed you might gather information there about it?”
Hal smiled at this, earning him a narrow-eyed stare from me. “I knew you reminded me of my brothers.” I would tell my father what I knew. I knew this. But I hesitated. I felt like all I had done since I had made my vow to the Roth to keep secret the Saradenian threat was to break that vow. Always for good reason. Most likely, the Roth would approve. We faced an unknown threat. It might be that our old ways of doing things were not sufficient to address it. But in our lands, vows were meant to be kept, and the reasons you might have to do so did not matter. It stuck in my throat to break it again, although I knew that the Roth would have agreed to give the High King this information, had he known Bruster shared the Saradenian threat. But he did not, not yet.
“Maudlin,” my father said.
I looked around the room. The King’s room, if not the King himself, remained as I remembered. On the wall behind the high seat were three cupboards, walnut like the high seat, each door carved with a rampant leoyong. Concealed somewhere within them was the entrance to the King’s sleeping chamber. I had only the vaguest memories of that room, having been in it seldom and only as a child. I could not recall having seen how the hidden door opened. And well hidden it was, given the number of times I’d crept into the chamber to search for it. Perhaps the Black Keep with all its cleverness really had been built by Ator.
Part of that cleverness was that the room’s most striking characteristic was understated beauty. As in the rest of the Black Keep, defense was primary, but here attention was not drawn to it. Here alone the builders had conceded tasteful wealth was as important to have at a king’s side as thick walls and sharp knives. The carved stone mantle was as large as those in the hall below, and as many tapestries hung here. In the hall, the High King held court. Here he held counsel with his under-kings. More often, the greater danger lay here.
“You guess rightly, lord,” I said. And I told him. Oliver. Sera Serdent. Old Valenian. Martin de Kolon. Carlomond. Charles Henry. Bloodweed. Ferrant.
When I finished, Utor looked at me with undisguised pity in his eyes. “Must you? Go back?”
Our father cast him a hard glance. “Don’t be foolish.” He leaned towards me. “Francis kept those books from you for no purpose but enjoyment of the pain it caused. To return, and read them...” He spread his hands as he sat back. “Not all vengeance need be bloody.”
I swallowed hard. “Thank you, lord.” Would it help, to think of returning in those terms? Perhaps.
“What will you tell Francis to gain access to the books?” Utor said. “Surely the Roth will not tell him about the letter.”
“The library,” Hal said. “He could offer to pay to copy books for his collection.”
“That might—” I said.
“Bruster. Elbany. Logan. Ragonne.” The High King’s forefinger tapped the arm of his chair as he spoke.
“Us, and our allies,” Utor said.
“There’s some reason for that,” my father said. “As you search, watch for it. If we can determine why we were targeted, it might tell us how to avert it.”
“Perhaps other Valenian kingdoms received them,” Hal said, “and are keeping the threat to themselves.”
“Perhaps,” the King said, giving him an appraising look. “But I would guess not. There are sixteen kingdoms of Valenna. If fourteen more had received these letters...I think word would have begun to seep out.”
“Our allies do not know Bruster also lies under this threat,” Utor said.
“Messengers will be sent tomorrow,” the High King said, sharing a look with his son. “I will write the letter to Ragonne myself.”
“To Logan and Ragonne,” I said. “I can take word to the Roth.”
My father looked at me, distress shading his face for the first time. “To all three. Surely you will give us a few days before you leave again?”
I sat silent, arrested. To bring him such tidings—Saradena’s animosity, its very existence, the trouble at Vere—and see his most uncontrolled response at the idea of my quick departure. I dipped my head, unable to speak.
“Just a few days,” he said. “More would be unwise. You must return to your search.”
Silence took the room. At last the King stood, and we followed. “Maudlin,” he took my hand once more, “I may not do as I wish, or you and I would sit here hours longer.”
I covered his hand with my other. “Of course, lord.”
“The under-kings are coming. They may already have arrived. There will be a welcoming feast tonight, and tomorrow we hold counsel.” A wry smile touched his lips. “Our discussion will be rather different than we thought.”
“Will they believe me?” I asked.
“They need not believe you. They must obey me.” His hand squeezed mine. “And there is the letter.” He looked at Utor. “I must meet with the princes.” His gaze returned to me. “You will come tonight?”
I nodded, dreading the public display but knowing I could not do otherwise. My presence would be known, and to stay away would be seen as an insult.
His gaze moved to Hal. “I expect you as well, Master Carlson.”
He bowed. “Yours to command, lord.”
The King embraced me, less tightly than before, but longer, as if reluctant to let go. At last his arms loosened. One hand touched my hair as he moved away. “I am glad to see you—and our braid in your hair.”
***
Hal and I returned to the children’s quarters to await the evening. Clean clothes and fresh water were waiting in Utor’s room. For me, a fine wool dress of Brusterian black, leoyongs embroidered in gold at the hem and cuffs. My own, left when I departed for Vere. For Hal, the second best shirt and trousers of one of my brothers. Cedrick, if I had to guess. Hal waited outside while I changed and washed, careful not
to disrupt the family braid, then I left so Hal could have his turn.
When I returned, I found he’d made himself ready, then stretched out on Utor’s bed and gone to sleep. A warrior’s habit, the discipline and ability to sleep when the opportunity arose. I wondered how he had acquired it. I did not grudge him the rest. He had had long nights, studying the charters. But watching someone else sleep is tediousness itself. I paced from room to room for a while, but it was irksome checking my stride to stoop through doorways, so I settled into walking the perimeter of the largest room. I felt strange and somewhat caged. The bag of books, which I’d carried so long, was not with me. I could not, of course, bring it to the feast. Before we’d left the King’s Room, I had reluctantly agreed to leave them locked in the cupboard where the King kept his own books.
But this enforced change was not the sole cause of the unease I was trying to walk out. The King consulted his princes on a matter of dire importance, and I was not there. I felt a growing ache in my jaw from clenched teeth and called myself a fool. I’d left Bruster, had removed myself from its concerns without so much as a letter in six years. It was more than foolish; it was arrogant to be annoyed at my exclusion. But recognizing the absurdity did not remove the sting.
I went to my room and threw my knives at the door until my arm ached, as I’d done as a child. The gouges were still there, and soon fresh nicks joined the old. I pulled out the whetstone I wore on a cord around my neck and honed their edges before I returned them to their sheaths, remembering the time Utor and I were practicing together here and he nearly skewered Murrow, who should have realized what the thuds on the other side of the door meant. He had demonstrated his own training in a quick dodge when he opened the door. The unchecked knife had struck the back of a chair in Cedrick and Murrow’s room. None of us ever confessed the source of the gouge, although our father had asked.
A knock sounded. “Enter,” I called. A boy’s head poked in. A fosterling in the household, most likely. “Lady, it is time to come down. I’ve woken your companion.”
I brushed unseen dust from my skirt and followed him.
***
The Steward managed entrances and seating for formal occasions, and my sudden appearance was apparently a source of consternation to him. Since my disgrace, I could not be seated at the King’s table but that would not be overt in this instance. Because of the Counsel, none of the under-kings’ consorts or children would be there. He determined to seat me, and Hal, as my guest, with them and the princes, but bring us into the hall first to avoid insulting the under-kings, who would certainly hold their lawful consorts higher status than a cast-off princess.
A different, older fosterling escorted us into the hall when Gustor announced us. We were seated along the inner length of the side table at the dais’ right hand, physical placement mirroring our processional one. Noble, but not as high as the consorts.
For a moment, there was a pause in which silence hung in the hall like mist, then a horn sounded, announcing the entrance of the queen consorts. A rustling followed as those already seated rose. Tradition, which prevented many quarrels in Bruster, dictated the queen consorts, then the under-kings, would enter the hall in order of the size of their islands. The king of Bruster, the largest of the clustered islands, who was by the same ancient understanding High King of all Bruster—a tradition not always honored—came into the hall last, in the position of greatest honor.
“Lady Wealdin, Queen Consort of Solud.” I heard Gustor’s announcement before I could catch a glimpse of the lady. But at last she came into view, escorted as we had been by one of the High King’s fosterlings, but of a commensurately higher rank. He brought her to her place directly across the table from us, and she dismissed him with a gracious nod. She smiled pleasantly enough in greeting to me and looked at Hal with curiosity, which a moment later she remembered to conceal.
I’d met all of the queen consorts but had not seen any of them since before my marriage. Lady Wealdin was Elbish by birth, the sister of Lord Garland, who was Lady Elsbeth’s father. If I’d not known they were relations, I could have guessed it. Gray had begun to touch Lady Wealdin’s chestnut hair but the color itself was the same as Lady’s Elsbeth’s, the shape of their faces identical. Unusual among the nobility, Lady Wealdin was of an age with her husband. She seemed now past child-bearing but I remembered Solud had been provided with enough princes. Four, unless any had died during my absence.
“Lady Yvein, Queen Consort of Verun.” The Steward’s voice, rich and sonorous, flooded the hall once more. I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. For a man, like his father, who spoke as little as possible, he did not lack ability.
Lady Yvein’s ritually higher status was reflected in her placement at the table. She was brought to the second best seat, the honor of the dais end of the table but the lesser of the two end positions. To see the entertainment that would take place before the dais in the space between the side tables, she would have to turn in her chair. She would already have known her position and the traditional order that dictated it, but her face conveyed nothing but disdain. She was either as unskilled at a noble’s impassivity as I was, or she simply did not bother to hide her scorn.
She dismissed her escort with a toss of her head, sending her braid, plaited in the fashion of the Verune royal family, arcing out. I was not sorry there was an empty seat between us, although I felt a moment of pity for whichever of my brothers was slated to sit in it. Murrow, unless Gustor knew something that I didn’t about the precedence traditions.
“Lady Lida, Queen Consort of Eban.”
This was not the name I expected, nor one I knew. King Petrus’ wife must have died. I’d not heard this news, did not know whether it had occurred during my time at Vere, when the isolation of study had kept me ignorant of many happenings, or while I was in Elbany, when I could have chosen to inquire about Bruster but had not. I did recall hearing when I returned from Ferrant that King Petrus’ only son had died. Had his remarriage yet provided him the partial consolation of an heir?
The new queen consort was escorted to the open seat at the top of the table. She nodded to Lady Yvein, directly across from her, and appeared unruffled by the slight dip of the head she received in return. It was nearly discourteous, and I wondered again at Lady Yvein’s behavior.
Lady Lida turned to greet Lady Wealdin. My attention moved back to Lady Lida. She was young, perhaps as much as a decade younger than I, which would make her twenty years younger than her husband, but that was not uncommon among the nobles, particularly kings. If she were Brusterian, she was unusual, with her sunshine hair and pale blue eyes. More likely she was Valenian. She turned her head, catching my gaze, and nodded a greeting, which I returned with deliberately better grace than Lady Yvein. The new queen consort of Eban was lovely, I decided, but there was wit and comprehension there that cautioned against assuming she had been chosen for her decorative value alone.
There was a pause again, longer now. The trumpet sounded, more elaborately. The kings were coming.
Chapter VI
The under-kings came first, in the same order of precedence as their queen consorts, escorted by the High King’s younger princes rather than fosterlings.
“King Otho of Solud,” Gustor called.
The under-king stepped into the hall, escorted by a prince radiating such solemnity I was stunned to recognize, after a heartbeat, my brother Cedrick. He was usually...
I caught myself. Had been. My knowledge of my brothers was six years old. More honestly, twelve. I’d remained in Bruster only a few months after returning from Ferrant, and could hardly be said to have given them any thoughtful consideration during that time. Utor had not changed greatly but he’d been twenty-one, his ways and mind more fully grown than the younger princes. I was seventeen when I became Francis’ bride. Now twenty nine, I scarcely resembled the princess who’d sailed from Reud. Cedrick’s mischievousness might well have given way to adulthood, or at least been temp
ered by it.
“King Verun of Verun.” Gustor’s voice turned my attention once more to the hall. King Verun walked beside the High King’s second son. Murrow bowed low to the under-king as he left him at his place on the dais, but like his wife, King Verun seemed to feel the honor accorded him was insufficient, and returned a slight nod. Murrow joined Cedrick, standing by the wall; after the kings were seated, the princes would be dismissed to their own places.
I tried not to stare, but the resemblance between King Verun and Magistre Ulton was arresting, as striking in its variation as its similarity. Both men bore the features of Verune nobility I’d noted in Magistre Ulton, but if they had been standing before me as strangers, I would have taken Magistre Ulton for the king and King Verun for the clerk. King Verun seemed dull compared to his cousin’s keen-edged ambition.
Gustor announced King Petrus of Eban, whose traditional position gave him the honor of being accompanied by the Prince. Utor bowed lower even than Murrow had. I recalled Utor had spent some of his fosterling time in Eban. The extra homage told me, and the hall, that he liked and respected King Petrus.
Instead of joining our brothers, Utor continued down the dais to stand before his own seat. The High King’s place was in the center of the table, with Eban to his right and Verun to his left. Beside Eban was Solud, and to Verun’s left, the Prince. Only the High King had the right of having his heir on the dais. I suspected this particular tradition had emerged simply to balance the table. But there was undeniable advantage in having the Prince on display, particularly when he was as obviously competent as Utor for the role destined for him.
Quiet filled the room as Gustor waited, letting anticipation mount before signaling the horns, a sustained call that might as easily have been followed by the cries of warriors plunging towards their enemies as the step of the High King into his hall. All heads turned to the doorway, and bowed. Despite the mass of people, the hall was so still I could hear the sound of the High King’s footfalls.
Homegoing (The Tall Ships of Saradena Book 1) Page 38