I hovered near the door, Birnan beside me. The queen consorts had been granted leave to return to their rooms when the kings left the hall, but not before the High King thanked Lady Lida. He sent Hal to the Steward, to offer whatever aid he might give. The princes and I had been directed to follow the kings. Birnan’s wretchedness had only deepened. I touched his arm. He gave me an ashen look.
The High King spoke before the under-kings had determined who should address him. “Under-kings of Bruster, shall we take counsel?”
Neither responded, their eyes flicking towards we others in the room.
“Only the kings hold counsel,” the High King acknowledged their reluctance. “But this is not a typical counsel. Any more than today was a typical court.” His gaze moved as he spoke. “Yvein must be here to answer for her betrayal. She must be guarded by those whose ears may hear our discussion. Were your Prince here, Otho, I would welcome him.”
King Otho’s face darkened. Disgruntlement and dissent were not unique to the high nobility. He had lords who might be overly tempted if both he and his eldest son were gone from Solud.
“Birnan and Maudlin are here,” the King continued, “because there are questions only they can answer. They will participate solely when asked.” His gaze lingered on me for a meaningful moment. “Under-kings of Bruster, shall we take counsel?”
Both King Petrus and King Otho looked at us once more, clearly still troubled by our presence but assenting to the need. All three lowered themselves into their seats at the same moment, but how that coordination occurred I could not have said.
The High King steepled his fingers. “Raise your concerns, under-kings.”
“What was Yvein talking about?” King Otho asked.
“Ah,” the King nodded. I suspected he was considering the import of beginning there rather than with Verun’s uprising, Yvein’s sentencing, what to do about Verun’s death, or even their outrage at Kimbur’s appointment. In Bruster, suspicion trumped all.
The King went to one of the cabinets and removed a curling sheet of parchment. The Saradenian letter. He handed it to King Otho. The King of Solud looked at it, then passed it to King Petrus. Neither could read, but I supposed that the King thought handling the letter, feeling its weight and seeing its colors, would help the under-kings accept it. “This went to Vere.”
“What does it say?” King Petrus passed the sheet back to the King. He read it aloud.
“This?” Disbelief thickened King Otho’s voice. “Yvein frights us with this? It can’t be real.”
“So the Pedagno thought, and did not send it to us. Maudlin recognized its authenticity and brought it. She arrived this morning.”
“What makes her believe it is real?” King Petrus demanded, one hand gripping his other elbow as if he wanted to cross his arms defiantly but managed to check the impulse. Mostly.
“Maudlin?”
I approached to stand before them, between the empty seat of Verun and King Otho’s. “It is real,” I said. “Logan, Elbany, and Ragonne received such letters also. Months ago.” I described the coming of the ship to Rothbury, the arrival of the letter, the messengers from Logan and Ragonne.
“It can’t be real,” King Otho repeated, pulling fervently at his graying beard. “There is no ‘Saradena’.” His eyes narrowed, as if wondering whether I might be the cause of this fraud, and why.
“A ruse, surely,” King Petrus rested his chin on his fisted fingers, his other hand still clutching his elbow. “Most likely Ragonne, to obscure their attack.”
The under-kings looked at me with impatience, the High King with interest, and I realized my father meant me to argue the case to the under-kings. Cunning. They must be persuaded that the Saradenian threat was real. But much of my father’s success as High King derived from his evenhandedness in adjudicating squabbles among the clustered islands. He would not force a grudging acceptance of the letter if persuasion could be made to work.
“That would be a stratagem both subtle and clever,” I conceded. “Have you always considered Philip of Ragonne to be so?”
King Petrus’ lips twitched in nearly-concealed amusement. “No. But his nephew is so reputed.”
“Orlo of Kolon brought the letter to Elbany, as I said,” I replied. “He saw the ship himself.”
“Or so he claimed,” King Petrus said, taking his hand from beneath his chin long enough to sweep his hand down in a negating gesture.
“There was a strange ship in Elbany,” I said. “And in Logan. And Ragonne. Many people saw them. “
King Petrus’ eyes rolled up impatiently. “Our own stolen boats, disguised.”
“I do not think so,” I said. “But I did not see the ship.” I smothered irritation at the flash of triumph in his eyes. “The letter demonstrates its credibility on its own.”
“I do not read,” King Petrus’ tone betrayed the typical noble disdain. “You can claim that letter says anything.”
“Not the words themselves.” I took the parchment sheet from my father and went to King Petrus. “The blue ink. Look.”
He glanced at the letter, his hand tucked suspiciously under his chin once more. “Yes?” King Otho stroked his graying beard and leaned to look as well.
“There are nearly a thousand volumes in the library of Vere, and more than thirty scholars who tend them. Not one of those books contains that blue, and not a man of them could make it.”
His hostility gave way to bafflement. “You expect me to ignore the known threat of Ragonne in favor of this... Saradena...because of...ink?”
“Ragonne prepares against Saradena. Not Bruster,” I said. “King Philip told me he will not wait for a fleet of invading ships to appear on his horizon. In the spring, he sails east.”
King Petrus’s head wagged knowingly. “If Philip’s aim is Bruster, using this ruse to cover his purpose, he would say just such a thing.”
“Of course,” I said. “But he allowed me to search his books. Grudgingly. But what I found confirms the truth of the letter.” I told them, as I had told my father and Utor earlier that interminable day, what I found in Ragonne and in Vere.
“Enough.” King Otho slapped both hands on the arms of his chair. “Petrus, I understand your reluctance. But you must see that to persist in it would be both unreasonable and unwise.” The eyes he turned upon me were not friendly. “I wondered whether this might be a ruse coined rather in Reud than Ragonne.” He left the rest unstated: a ploy of the High King’s, to seize all Bruster, replacing the under-kings with his own sons, aided by his daughter. The whisper Verun had spread before them.
“Trust is a tender plant,” the High King murmured, pressing the tips of his steepled fingers together. “Slow growing, and easily bruised.”
The room was so quiet my own quickened breathing seemed a shout echoing from the walls.
“I do not renounce all suspicion,” King Otho said finally. “But it would be more foolish to assume this letter is a fraud.” Now his eyes, while not kindly, were at least not hostile. “Like Philip, I would not care to wait until there are ships in sight before making ready.”
King Petrus let his breath out in a soundless sigh. “Neither do I abandon my concerns. But Otho is correct. We must suppose this letter to be true, until we know, not merely suspect, that it is not.”
The High King nodded, no hint in his face that his under-kings had just affirmed their belief that he would plot to murder them and their families. “Later, we will determine how to proceed in this matter.” His eyes slid towards Yvein, and the under-kings’ followed. “What shall we do with this traitor?”
“She has colluded against the High King—” King Otho began.
“Not just the High King,” I interrupted. “Verun conspired with the Pedagno’s Clerk, Magistre Ulton—”
“Lies!” Yvein shouted. “Everyone knows the dry-wombed are mad. My sister-son—”
“Be silent!” snapped King Petrus.
I stared. The relations of nobility were a ta
ngled web, and I’d missed this strand. Magistre Ulton was Yvein’s nephew as well as Verun’s cousin? He must be the child of a much older sister. But if that were so...perhaps it was not Verun who had plotted with Magistre Ulton, but Yvein. She might even have persuaded her husband to rebel.
“You have admitted your collusion with Magistre Ulton.” The King’s composure did not hide the flash in his eyes. “He sent you a copy of Saradena’s letter.” His gaze returned to his under-kings. “Their complicity is undeniable. Ulton, Verun, and Yvein all knew of this danger. None spoke of it to any of us.”
The under-kings nodded slowly, their clouded looks betraying a sense of watching a horse gallop past they thought they were to mount. The High King looked at me. “You suspect Ulton’s final move against the Pedagno was coordinated with Verun’s uprising?”
“Yes, my lord.” I bowed my head. “We should assume Ulton now controls Vere. Pedagno Poll had no Birnan to watch his back.” Because I left. But how could I have done otherwise? “We may be surprised. The Pedagno may yet live. But I doubt it.”
I heard a gasp. Murrow’s knife was at Yvein’s throat. “What else?”
She arched her back, eyeing him, trying to push away from the knife. He tightened his grip, the blade glinting. She gasped again as he drew the edge across the side of her neck, making a shallow cut.
“Lord!” King Otho protested.
The High King did not move. “I doubt she will tell us willingly, Otho.”
“But—” In his struggles with his fractious nobles, King Otho had undoubtedly had both men and women encouraged to tell what they knew, but probably not in his presence, and it was certainly not to his taste. Nor to that of any man in the room, from their drawn, unguarded faces. Which was well for Bruster. Only the cruel or the foolish relished the pain of others—worse, to inflict it himself—and woe to the kingdom led by such a man.
“What more need we know?” King Petrus said. “Her treachery is evident. Let us pronounce sentence.”
“If there is more to be known,” the High King said, “we would do well to have it.” He looked at Murrow. He was weighing, I knew, the benefit of possessing what details—or perhaps more than details—might be learned against what could be lost. I was certain the King suspected Yvein had thread yet upon her spool. There were risks to Bruster in allowing her silence. But as Murrow held his knife at Yvein’s neck, he had glanced no less than four times at Utor’s still form. There was danger—to Murrow, to Bruster—in allowing the new Prince to put his foot upon this path, at this moment.
“As you say, Petrus, her guilt is abundant,” the King said at last. He stood. “Bring her forward, Murrow.”
“Hear me, Yvein of Verun,” our father said formally. “You have betrayed your sworn lord, conspiring to overthrow the High King of Bruster. You will see the sun rise on the coming day but you will not see it set. One hour after dawn, an account of your treachery will be made, and you will be beheaded before the people of Reud.” He paused. “I grant you the same mercy given Verun. Your body will be burned, not hung from the walls of the Black Keep.” He turned. “Under-kings?”
“I assent,” King Otho said.
King Petrus nodded curtly. “The sentence is just.”
Fear and wrath filled Yvein’s face, but she kept quiet.
“Remove her,” the King said. “We have more to discuss.”
Chapter XI
The door closed behind Murrow and Cedrick, each holding his knife and one of Yvein’s arms, her wrists bound behind her. They would take her to the dungeons to await the morning. I wondered if I should leave too but Birnan was still present, and I did not ask. They might, after all, say yes.
The High King sat once more. King Petrus looked at the others. “What shall we do about Verun? Who should we name to rule?”
“Not Murrow,” the High King said at once. “He is now Prince.”
“Eldon must remain Prince of Solud,” King Otho said. “My other sons are too young. Solud would be ungovernable without a Prince at hand.” He grimaced. “Too many lords with grown sons of their own.”
His son bore an Elbish name, I noted. It honored Lady Wealdin but something solidly Brusterian would have been better policy. The boy’s otherland name would only deepen his lords’ discontent.
“My only remaining son is a child,” King Petrus said, old grief and newer cheer mingled in his voice. “What of Cedrick?”
“I am hesitant to choose Cedrick.” The High King spread his hands. “Would that not appear to confirm Verun’s claim that I meant to replace you with my own sons?”
“But to raise someone not from the royalty will encourage more trouble.” King Petrus tapped his sword hilt. “My lords are not—quite—as ambitious as Otho’s. But they will be, if a man of like status becomes king.”
“Birnan,” King Otho said, the tip of his braid swinging out as he turned to look hard at my brother. Birnan went another shade grayer under his scrutiny.
King Petrus waved a hand. “Birnan presents the same problem as Cedrick.”
“No,” King Otho said, his gaze still on my youngest brother. “Birnan saved the High King. An entire hall of Brusterian nobles saw. He can be given Verun as reward for his actions.”
“What say you, Petrus?” the High King folded one hand over the other, his elbows on the arms of his chair.
“We cannot raise someone from below the royalty,” King Petrus said firmly. He paused, lips pursing as he considered. “Otho is right. Birnan is the best choice. He quelled the uprising. To give him Verun is justified. More importantly, justifiable.”
The High King caught my eye and I realized from the glint in his, that winked and went out like a cloud-covered star, the discussion had gone precisely as he’d wished.
“Birnan, come forward.”
Misery unrelieved on his face, Birnan knelt before the High King.
“Birnan, prince royal of Bruster, you have been called to the throne of Verun by the kings of Bruster. Do you accept this charge?”
His unhappiness was so complete he was shaking. “Lord, the kings honor me. But I am unworthy.”
“Unworthy?” King Otho’s eyebrows rose. “You saved your king!”
Birnan’s head bowed. “I saw Verun draw. At the same moment, a man appeared at Utor’s back with a knife. Utor...” he paused to steady his voice, “or Murrow, perhaps, could have thrown with one hand, and taken Verun with his sword in the other. I—I wasn’t fast enough. Verun was so close. I was afraid I would not hit him with a killing strike if I tried to throw at the same time.” His head sunk lower. “I am sorry. Give Verun to Cedrick.”
The High King placed both hands on Birnan’s head. “Son. You could not choose your duty. It simply was.” He put one hand under Birnan’s chin, turning his face up. “I say this, I who mourn Utor as my firstborn and Prince.” He looked up. “Otho? Petrus? How do you judge?”
“Birnan was the High King’s back-guard,” King Petrus said promptly. “To risk protecting the King in an attempt to save the Prince would have been negligent.”
“I concur.” King Otho’s voice was milder, edged with pity. “Birnan.” He waited until the younger man turned towards him. “You could not have done differently. However much you wish it.”
The High King leaned forward, his head close to Birnan’s. “You must hear me, son. You feel you should have done more. I do as well.”
And I. My eyes burned with weeping I could not yet allow. If I’d paid greater heed to the servers, listened to my instincts telling me something was wrong the first time the man had bumped me, Utor would yet live.
“But we must somehow bear things as they are.” The King stood, grasping Birnan’s hands and pulling him up. “What you must bear is that you will be king of Verun.” He led him to the empty chair. “Birnan, prince royal of Bruster,” he repeated, “you are called by the under-kings of Bruster to a new duty: to be king of Verun. Do you accept this charge?”
Birnan was still pale, but his v
oice had settled. “I submit to the kings’ decision.”
“Sit, then.” The High King stepped back. “Under-kings. The king of Verun.”
“Verun.” King Petrus and King Otho dipped their heads in respect to King Birnan.
“Presence is power, Birnan.” The High King returned to his seat. “I recommend you leave with all speed.”
“Indeed.” King Otho shook his head, his beard following the motion with a slight lag. “Verun has always been difficult. Keeping order after this...” He made a harsh, slashing gesture, accompanied by an obviously-vile Brusterian word—so vile even I did not know it.
The High King’s eyebrows rose, but he did not contradict him. “You may want to consult with Dunstan and choose a troop of men to accompany you. Unquestionably loyal, the best fighters, with no family ties to Verun. Hopefully, some who have direct experience with you. Loyalty to Bruster and the High King is good. Loyalty to you personally is better.”
Birnan was nodding. “Yes. There are several I have sparred with. But Dunstan may not want to part with them.”
“He will give you whomever you request,” the High King said. “One king’s gift to another.” Despite the night’s wretchedness, he smiled at his son as he said it.
“Have my commander choose three men from our retinue,” King Petrus said.
“You will need every sword you can bring,” King Otho said darkly. “Speak to my commander too.”
“That is well.” The High King said. “Birnan will arrive with our combined forces at his back. That will signal this is a lawful replacement, not a coup.”
“I see I have much to do.” The new King of Verun rose. “If I may, my lords...?”
King Petrus laughed. “You are king, Birnan. You come and go at no one’s pleasure but your own. But we are in counsel.”
“Oh!” King Birnan looked as if he meant to sit again, guiltily.
King Otho yawned. “Are we finished? There are a few hours left until dawn. I would like to spend them sleeping.”
I stared. Sleep? After this night? I could not imagine it. The High King’s gaze slid toward Utor’s body, and I knew my father would not be sleeping either.
Homegoing (The Tall Ships of Saradena Book 1) Page 42