by Simon Brown
Dejanus nodded. “It may be hard to recognize any remains, Your Majesty. Thrown against those rocks, and what with the sharks and other creatures… well…”
“Nonetheless,” Areava insisted, “I want it done. Is there any word from the captains of the other two ships?”
Dejanus looked dejected. “They lost the Seaspray, Your Majesty. She went too far out to sea. There was a fog, some shoals…” His voice trailed off.
Areava nodded stiffly, turned on her heel and left, not waiting to see Dejanus salute her. Olio followed her.
“I had hoped it would all be over by this morning,” Areava said dully.
“It m-m-may b-b-be all over. I don’t think anyone could survive b-b-being thrown into the sea so close to the rocks near those cliffs.”
“And what of the conspiracy?” the queen wondered aloud. “Without Lynan or one of the others, we may never know who else was involved.”
“And it may never m-m-matter. If Lynan and Kumul were both involved in B-B-Berayma’s death, then they were almost certainly the ringleaders. Who else could have been? And without them, any other conspirators aren’t likely to b-b-be a threat.”
“If Lynan and Kumul were involved? You still doubt it?”
Olio shrugged. “The evidence against them is overwhelming, I admit, but it is entirely circumstantial. Think, sister: if the conspiracy was set against you or m-m-me as well as B-B-Berayma, do you think either of us would be here now to talk about it? Poor B-B-Berayma was the target, not the whole royal family. And if that is the case, what profit did Lynan gain from the king’s m-m-murder?”
Areava nodded. “Perhaps he argued with Berayma on the night.”
She stopped suddenly and looked up, wide-eyed.
“What’s wrong?” Olio asked.
Areava had just remembered her conversation with Lynan on the south gallery only a few hours before Berayma’s murder. She had consciously tried to suggest to Lynan that Berayma supported her approach. What if Lynan had confronted Berayma about it that night? What if in anger and frustration and confusion Lynan had lashed out, killing Berayma?
It was my fault, she told herself, then shook her head fiercely. No. If Lynan went that far, it was his own base nature, not my words, that drove him.
Olio looked on, bemused, wondering why her expression was so bleak one second and then so angry the next. “Sister?”
“Perhaps he argued with Berayma on the night,” Areava repeated.
They resumed walking. After a moment Areava continued, “We may never know. Of most concern to me is the loss of the Key of Union.” She looked down at the two keys that now hung around her own neck. “I do not know what power the Keys hold, but I fear that the loss of even one Key will weaken them.”
There was the sound of footsteps running behind them. Areava looked over her shoulder to see Harman scurrying after them, his writing implements and pads tucked under one arm.
“So soon, old friend?” Areava called out to him.
“The business of the kingdom waits for no man or woman, your Majesty,” Harman replied, catching up with them. “Not even the queen herself.”
“Tell me, was it always like this for my mother?”
“Always, Your Majesty.”
“How did she live so long?”
Harman smiled slightly. “I think she actually grew to enjoy it.”
“That is something I will never do, I think,” Areava said wistfully.
“Give it time,” Olio said in her ear. “You are more like our m-m-mother than you think.”
Dejanus left his office in high spirits. When he passed a patrol of the Royal Guards that forgot to salute him as constable, he merely reminded them of their duty. They will learn, he told himself.
Captain Rykor, whether he knew it or not, had lifted from Dejanus’ mind his greatest fear: that Lynan would be captured alive. Exactly how much the young prince knew of Dejanus and Orkid’s part in Berayma’s murder he did not know, but his predecessor Kumul was certainly clever enough to have figured out most of it, and was sure to have told Lynan. Now that both Lynan and Kumul were dead, however, Dejanus was secure in his new position.
At last I am safe, he thought.
Ever since Orkid had discovered his betrayal of Grenda Lear during the Slaver War, Dejanus had lived in fear of being exposed to Usharna, but from the moment he had pierced Berayma’s throat with Lynan’s dagger he had as much against Orkid as the chancellor had against him.
He stopped for a moment, frowning. And what of the deal with Orkid? For helping with the assassination of Berayma, the chancellor had promised to ensure he was made constable… and yet… and yet Orkid’s expression had seemed particularly displeased when Areava had announced Dejanus’ elevation at the first meeting of the executive council.
The constable shook his head. There was nothing the chancellor could do. If Dejanus was brought down, then Orkid would come down with him. And now that Lynan and Kumul were dead, no one except the pair of them knew the whole truth about Berayma’s death.
He breathed a sigh of relief, and for the first time in his life knew he no longer had to look over his shoulder to the past. Only the future mattered now.
Amemun held up his glass to the light, admiring the color of the fine red Storian wine. He sipped it carefully, enjoying its full body and woody aroma.
“We have nothing like this back home,” he said.
Orkid offered his friend a smile and drank from his own glass. “Trade is one of the things we will improve. Usharna was loath to surrender the crown’s monopoly on luxury goods such as wine; it added so much to her revenue. I could never make her understand how reducing restrictions would increase the flow of commerce and so increase her revenue in the long term.”
“She was shortsighted, then.”
Orkid shook his head. “In some ways perhaps. She could be hidebound, with monopolies for example, but in other things she was remarkably progressive. After all, she made me chancellor, the first citizen of the kingdom not from Kendra itself to hold such high office.”
“To our benefit,” Amemun said without irony.
“To the benefit of Grenda Lear as a whole,” Orkid pointed out without pride.
“As your brother, the noble Marin, foresaw all those decades ago when you were first sent to Usharna’s court.”
Orkid nodded. “Aye. Farseeing, indeed.”
“What of our co-conspirator? Do you think he will cause you trouble?”
Orkid shrugged. “I had hoped to tie Dejanus to me even more closely, but Areava announced his promotion without consulting me. From her point of view it was the right thing to do, but regrettably it happened before I could suggest it to her myself. Dejanus is not the most brilliant man I’ve ever met, but he’s not stupid. Knowing that I was working on his behalf would have confirmed our relationship.”
“But you have a hold on him anyway. His secret past is enough to ensure his obedience, surely?”
“Perhaps. But don’t forget Dejanus now has a hold on me as well. We are like two great bears with their mouths around each other’s throat.”
“So how do you intend to proceed to the second part of the plan?” Amemun asked.
“Sendarus has been doing most of the work unwittingly for us, but it may require a little prompting on our part. The people will soon be demanding Areava provide an heir, especially after the events of the last few days. And fortunately for Aman, King Marin’s son is available.”
“And if the queen marries him, a day will come when the kingdom will be ruled by someone with the blood of both Kendra and Aman.” Amemun grinned into his glass. “A pity your brother had no daughter. Then Berayma could have lived.”
Orkid shook his head. “No. His closeness to the Twenty Houses meant he would never have married outside of them. Areava was our only chance.”
“And what of Olio, and that Harnan fellow?”
“I thought I knew Olio. He was always such an inoffensive boy, lurking timidly in the background, but I di
d not give enough credit to the relationship between him and his sister. She has needed his strength since Berayma’s death, and he has provided it without hesitation. I must work on him, bring him around, make him trust me as much as his sister does. And Harnan is so devoted to his duties he does not always see what is going on around him. He and I have always worked well together. I see no reason for that to change.”
Amemun pursed his lips. “There is one other matter Marin has asked me to report on. The Keys of Power. I do not think he was aware they were to be divided between the heirs. You should have warned him.”
Orkid grunted. “I had hoped to convince Usharna not to proceed with her plan, and for a long time thought I was succeeding. Given another day or two, I might have won her around, but…”
“But now they are apart. They have lost their power. If Areava and Sendarus have issue, we will want the Keys brought together again.”
“You forget, Amemun, that Lynan was wearing one of the Keys. They can never be together again. Their power is broken.”
Amemun’s face clouded. “This is dark news.”
“The individual Keys hold some energy, I’m sure. They may work still, though not as effectively as in the past. Other rulers have survived without such tokens. So will Areava’s heirs.”
“Other rulers haven’t had such a large kingdom to administer,” Amemun pointed out. “And power or no, they still have an influence over the people. We must work to unite the surviving Keys.”
Orkid held up his hand. “Patience! There is more than enough for us to deal with at the moment. The Keys can wait.”
Amemun nodded reluctantly. “I hope Marin sees it the same way.”
“He will forget all about the Keys when Sendarus and Areava are engaged,” Orkid said.
“Oh, aye, there’s no doubt about that.” Amemun raised his glass. “For Aman!”
“For Grenda Lear,” Orkid replied.
Olio left the palace as surreptitiously as possible, not wishing to be seen by his sister or any member of the Royal Guards. Under present circumstances they would have insisted on providing him with an escort, but Olio needed time alone, time to think, time away from the palace itself and everything it represented.
He wandered for a while along the wide avenues of the higher, richer districts, but gravity and inclination slowly drew him down into the old city, the heart of Kendra. He was dressed plainly, and the Key of Healing was hidden beneath his jerkin. In the crowded streets no one looked closely enough to identify him.
Olio reveled in the anonymity. No one fawned over him, no one expected him to respond to a salute or greeting. He was no more than a citizen of the city, and this meant more to him than his official rank. Like Areava, he believed heart and soul in the kingdom, in the good it had achieved, in its civilizing influence and the peace it had brought its many millions of inhabitants. But he was also aware of how much more it could achieve, given the will and determination. Around him were signs of poverty: people living in the streets, poor sanitation, children laboring away at a hundred different crafts from cobbling to sail-making. He walked carefully along rises and curbs to avoid stepping in human and animal excrement.
In time, he found himself in a short alley darkened by the leaning roofs of the old timber houses that lined it. Garbage and filth clogged the worn, shallow drains on either side of the cobbled paving. Two children dressed in little more than rags ran past him, squealing with laughter as they went. An old man sat in a doorway, trying to mend a tattered shirt with a bone needle and coarse twine.
Olio paused. He looked up and around, counting the houses. Twelve along one side, eleven on the other. He wondered how many families lived in each. One or two, maybe more? Say three to six members for each family. In a space no longer than fifty paces or wider than thirty, there probably lived between a hundred and two hundred people, many of them children, and many of them would not live long enough to reach adulthood.
This is also Kendra, Olio thought. This is also the kingdom.
He started to walk on when he caught sight of a familiar cloak. Its round owner was just stepping out of one of the old houses the prince had been considering.
“Well, well,” Olio said loudly, “M-M-Magicker P-P-Prelate Edaytor Fanhow.”
The prelate turned, obviously not expecting to meet anyone who knew him. His expression showed twice as much surprise when he recognized the prince. He bowed uncertainly, still not quite believing his eyes.
“Your Highness! What are you doing down here?” He looked around curiously. “And where is your escort?”
“I am walking, sir, taking in the sights. And as for escort, why, I have n-n-none.”
“No escort?” Edaytor scurried to the prince’s side, and took his arm. “Then, your Highness, stay close by me. I will see that you come to no harm.”
Olio laughed lightly. “Why should any harm come to m-m-me?” He looked up and down the alley. “I see no thieves or scoundrels. We are quite safe, I think. At any rate, you yourself have no escort.”
“They know me around here, Prince. They know I carry nothing on my person worth stealing except my cloak, and no one would buy that from a thief, for it is generally believed to protected by magic.”
“And how comes it that the m-m-magicker p-p-prelate is so well known in this desperate slum?”
Edaytor’s expression became guarded. “My duties carry me to every part of the city, your Highness.”
“There is no theurgia hall here.”
Edaytor said nothing, but tried to guide Olio out of the alley. The prince pretended to go along, but stopped suddenly when they came to the house Edaytor had appeared from.
“Definitely no theurgia hall.”
Even as he spoke, the door to the house opened and an old woman came out carrying an empty basket. She saw the prelate, came over quickly and kissed his hand, then scurried off in the opposite direction.
“Who was that?” Olio asked mildly.
“I… I don’t know her name,” Edaytor admitted.
“She certainly seemed to know you.”
“Only in the last hour. Her son was a student magicker in the Theurgia of Fire. He died last week in an accident at the armory foundry. She had no money coming in at all, so I gave her some coins.”
Olio absorbed this information, but said nothing. Edaytor misinterpreted the silence, and blurted, “But I used my own money, your Highness, no theurgia funds.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that.” Olio patted Edaytor’s hand still resting protectively on his arm. “One day, P-P-Prelate, I think you and I should sit down and have a long talk.”
“About what?”
“Why, sir, about the kingdom.”
Left alone in her bedroom, her ladies-in-waiting gone at last, Areava slumped in a chair. She was exhausted and wide-awake all at the same time. The sheer emotional and physical load of the last few days pressed down on her like a heavy weight, but a thousand thoughts were racing through her brain, all competing for her attention. Details about the Twenty Houses and their allies, Orkid’s list of possible traitors, the missing corpses of her youngest brother and his co-conspirators, the hiring and billeting of mercenaries, the impatient demands of the trade guilds for their protective tariffs to be kept in place, the impatient demands of merchants for the tariffs to be lifted, the invitation list for the coronation… The urgent, the sublime, the foolish, and the unnecessary all combined, and it was all new to her.
She had no way of knowing how to cope with the sudden flood of details and facts overwhelming her, and which was added to every morning by Orkid with his heavy solemnity and bearded, brooding face. Olio and Harnan helped where they could, but Olio was as new to administration as she was and Harnan had his duties as private secretary to keep him busy without having to answer all her foolish questions. She found herself constantly being given information she did not want to know about, applications she did not want to read, appeals she did not want to judge, and blandishments she did
not want to hear.
She stood up angrily. The night was still warm—the last hurrah of summer before autumn’s cold sou’westerlies began and brought with them the icy winds up from the lands of snow far south of Theare—but she still felt the need to stoke up the fire; anything to help fill up the vacant space in her room. And the vacant spaces in her life left by the deaths of her mother and brother.
She lay on her bed and closed her eyes in an attempt to find sleep, but it was futile. Restless, she left her room, startling the two guards on post at her door. Ignoring their concerned expressions as they trailed behind her, she soon reached the south gallery. She headed over to the balcony and stopped short. There was a figure on the balcony, looking out over the city and the waters beyond. For a terrible moment she thought it was the ghost of Lynan come back to haunt her at the very place they had last spoken. The figure turned, and Areava recognized the tall and slender profile of Prince Sendarus. Her breath gushed out in relief.
“Your Majesty!” Sendarus exclaimed, and bowed deeply. “I did not know you were there!”
“I have just arrived. I am sorry to have disturbed you. I came to get away from my rooms.”
“I understand. You wish to be alone. I will leave now.”
“What were you looking for?” she asked.
“Your Majesty?”
“Can you see Aman from there? Are you homesick?”
Sendarus laughed lightly. “No, it is too dark for that, and I am not homesick.”
“I thought you might miss your father.”
“I did at first. But I have found my attention quite diverted.”
“The city has that effect on people seeing it for the first time.”
“That is not what I meant,” he said seriously.
Areava joined him at the balcony and felt a breeze on her face. She closed her eyes and pretended she was not queen and that her mother still reigned, and that all was right with the world.
Sendarus watched her carefully, watched her hair blown by the breeze, watched a small pulse in the curve of her throat, but said nothing.