The Charnel Prince

by Greg Keyes

  “Surely you understand, Majesty, that this goes well beyond determining who will sit the throne of Crotheny a year hence. A great evil has risen in the world, one we do not understand, but one which we cannot ignore.

  “You’ve read the latest reports from Duke Artwair, in the east? Half his men have been slain by what can only be described as hordes of naked madmen, by demons and monsters the likes of which the world has not seen since the Warlock Wars. Whole towns have been destroyed, and the east empties out. Eslen is near to bursting from the refugees, and we are still losing ground.

  “But it isn’t just on the frontiers—Broogh was in the heart of Newland, and destroyed by an unholy creature none of us suspected remained in the world. Now is the time for nations to unite, not for them to be divided. You must stand together against this dark rising of the tide, not fight amongst yourselves as it drowns you. That is what I am offering you—not merely the chance to save this earthly throne, but to make it possible for us all to combat the real foe—together.”

  “Under the leadership of z’Irbina.”

  Hespero fingered his beard. “The reason we do not take sides in the secular conflicts of nations, Majesty, is because we have a higher calling. Virgenya Dare cleansed our world of the first evil, of the Skasloi. And yet it seems that no matter how well and deeply evil is defeated, it always returns, in a different guise. It is the Church which took up Virgenya Dare’s mantle and her mission. When the Black Jester rose, it was through the leadership of the Church that he was thrown down in defeat.”

  “Yes. And then the Church ruled most of the known world for six hundred years.”

  “It was a golden age,” Hespero said, frowning at her tone. “The most perfect peace and prosperity Everon has ever known.”

  “You wish a return to that?”

  “We could do worse, but I am suggesting no such outcome. What I am saying is that we must be unified, and not through war or conquest. We need a cleansing, a resacaratum, that will prepare us for the great test to come. The resacaratum has already begun, Majesty, within the Church itself, but it must—it will—go further than that.”

  “You’re asking me to let an army march through my gates and occupy my country without a fight.”

  “By holy mandate, Majesty. To bring the peace and justice Crotheny so desperately needs.”

  “What if I refuse?” Muriele asked.

  Hespero’s face seemed to wither a little. “Then you deal us all a mortal blow,” he said. “But we will be unified—we will fight this evil somehow. I am suggesting the best course of action, but not the only one.”

  “Suggest another,” she challenged.

  He shook his head, and his eyes glinted strangely. “It should not come to that. Please, Majesty—will you at least consider my words?”

  “Of course, Praifec,” she said. “They are wise words, and these are large matters, and I am tired. We will speak of this again soon. Be prepared to tell me in more specifics how your plan would be implemented.”

  “I pray the saints send you their best judgment, Majesty.” He bowed and left, leaving Muriele with the distinct impression that she had been threatened.

  Hespero seemed sincere, and he was correct—something terrible was happening in the world, and he probably knew more about it than she did. The Church’s intention might be entirely pure, and it was entirely possible that Hespero was right, that allowing sacred troops in her city would be the best for everyone.

  But she saw what the praifec had carefully hinted at, as well. Whatever the Church’s ultimate motives and intentions, they needed a tool to accomplish them. A nation. If Crotheny would not be that nation, only Hansa remained.

  She was still considering that when they brought in Alis Berrye, who was still wearing the dressing gown Muriele had last seen her in.

  “Majesty,” the girl murmured, bowing. She stood uncomfortably as Muriele appraised her. She was a pretty thing—there was no way around that, even with the dark circles under her sapphire eyes and her curly hair in absolute disarray.

  “She has been searched?” she asked the man-at-arms.

  “Yes, Majesty. She has no weapons.”

  “You searched her hair?”

  “Ah—no, Majesty. But I shall.”

  He proceeded to do just that. Berrye took it with a tiny smile on her face.

  “Do I seem so dangerous to you, Majesty?” she asked.

  Muriele didn’t answer, but nodded toward the man-at-arms. “Please leave us, sir,” she said.

  When the door was closed behind him, Muriele settled into an armchair.

  “Lady Berrye,” she said. “Much has happened in the past few bells. Doubtless you have heard some of the rumors.”

  “Some, Majesty,” she allowed.

  “Someone tried to kill me last night.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Thank you. I know you’ve never wished me anything but the best of health.”

  Berrye looked puzzled. “I never have, Majesty. I have always admired you and wished you well.”

  “Even when you were in bed with my husband?”

  “Of course.”

  “But it never occurred to you that it might bother me?”

  Berrye shrugged. “That was a matter between you and His Majesty. If it bothered you, he was the one to tell. Unless I was the only one of his mistresses you took exception to.”

  “You are too bold, perhaps,” Muriele said, “especially now, when you don’t enjoy his protection.”

  “I have no one’s protection, Majesty,” Berrye said. “I am most acutely aware of that.”

  Something was wrong here, Muriele realized. Wasn’t anything the way she thought it was?

  “You are too bold,” she repeated. “Where is the simpering, nervous girl who used to cower when I entered the room?”

  Again, Berrye smiled faintly. “She died with William.”

  “You will refer to my late husband as his Majesty or as the king or not at all, Lady Berrye.”

  “Very well,” she said easily.

  “Enough of this,” Muriele said. “My time is precious. You wrote to me claiming that I was in danger. Within a few bells of that correspondence, there was an attempt on my life. If you want that head of yours to stay where it is, you’ll explain to me—this moment—precisely what you know.”

  If Berrye was surprised that Muriele knew she had left the note, she didn’t show it. She stood straight, without any fidgeting, and met Muriele’s gaze squarely. “I will tell you everything I know, Majesty, but I believe my letter also mentioned my own need for protection.”

  “At this moment, you need protection from me. And the only thing that will save you is the truth.”

  Berrye acknowledged that with a small nod of her head.

  “Do you know why His Majesty was on the headland of Aenah that day?” she asked Muriele.

  “You’re going to tell me you know?”

  “Prince Robert came to the king, in the Warhearth. He had been gone for some time, on a secret embassy to Saltmark. When he returned, he brought something with him—the severed finger of Princess Lesbeth.”

  “Lesbeth.” Lesbeth was William’s younger sister, Robert’s twin. She had long been missing.

  “Prince Robert claimed that Lesbeth’s betrothed—Cheiso of Safnia—had betrayed her into the hands of the Duke of Austrobaurg, who was holding her hostage.”

  “For what ransom?”

  “Saltmark, you remember, was pursuing a war against the Sorrow Isles. The ransom was that His Majesty arrange to secretly aid them in that war.”

  Muriele crossed her arms. “The Sorrows are a Lierish protectorate and thus under our protection, as well. He could not do that.”

  “His Majesty could and did,” Berrye said. “You must know how much he loved Lesbeth.”

  “Everyone loved Lesbeth. But to aid our enemies in a war against our friends—William was rarely that poor in judgment.”

  “Prince Robert pushed
him into it—he was very convincing, especially since he had Lesbeth’s finger as proof. Ships from Crotheny, under assumed banners, attacked and sank twenty Sorrovian ships. His Majesty went to Aenah to collect the princess Lesbeth, and there he was betrayed.”

  “By whom? Austrobaurg was killed, as well.” But a terrible sense was emerging, now. Perhaps the Lierish arrows that had slain her husband’s guard had not been artificially planted after all. Perhaps it really had been the retribution of some Lierish lord who knew what William had done.

  And if that were true, did Fail de Liery know? Had this entire attempt on her life been designed to lead her directly into his hands?

  “I have a guess as to who the betrayer was,” Berrye said, “but no certain proof.”

  “Well?”

  The girl paced a few steps, hands clasped behind her back. Then she turned to face Muriele again. “Did you know that Ambria Gramme had another lover?” she asked.

  Muriele snorted. “Whom didn’t she spread her legs for—that’s the question.”

  Berrye shook her head. “This was a very secret lover. A very important one.”

  “Do not tire me, Lady Berrye. Who was he?”

  A small look of triumph spread across Berrye’s face. “Prince Robert,” she said.

  Muriele took a moment to absorb that fact. After the initial shock, she realized that it wasn’t really that surprising. Robert had always wanted what William possessed. He had even tried to seduce Muriele a time or two.

  “What of it?”

  “Prince Robert convinced His Majesty to pay the ransom. Prince Robert set the time and the place for both His Majesty and Austrobaurg to meet. Only the prince knew all the details.”

  “You believe Robert betrayed William to his death?”

  “I believe it.”

  “Despite the fact that Robert was also killed in the ambush?”

  Berrye blinked. “Robert was never found, Majesty.”

  “They only found part of William,” Muriele said. “He was thrown into the sea. Presumably Robert . . .” She trailed off. Why had she so easily assumed Robert was dead? Because everyone else had?

  “What has this to do with Gramme?” she demanded.

  “I recently heard her speak of the prince as if she knew he was still alive. She intimated that she had seen him.”

  “She said this to you?”

  “No,” Berrye admitted, “but I heard it, nevertheless. And I think she knows it.”

  “You’ve made it your business to hear a great many things, it would seem,” Muriele noticed.

  “Yes, Majesty, I have.”

  “And how did you hear all of this?”

  “I think you know, Majesty,” Berrye said, pushing her disorderly curls away from her face, finally showing a bit of real nervousness. “The same way you knew who had left you the note.”

  “So. William knew about the passages.”

  To her surprise, Berrye laughed, a terse little giggle. “His Majesty? No, he knew nothing of them.”

  Muriele frowned. “Then how did you—?” It hit her then. “You’re coven trained.”

  Berrye nodded infinitesimally.

  Muriele sat back, trying to reform her picture of the girl, wondering if there was anything at all solid in her life.

  “Did Erren know?” she asked, her voice sounding weak to her own ears.

  “I do not think so, Majesty. We were not of the same order.”

  A chill tightened Muriele’s spine. “There is only the order of Cer.” But Erren herself had voiced the opinion that there were other, illicit orders.

  “There is another,” Berrye confirmed.

  “And they sent you here.”

  “Yes, Majesty. To keep my eyes and ears open, to stay near the king.”

  Now it was Muriele’s turn to laugh, though somewhat bitterly. “That you did most admirably well. Aren’t you supposed to be celibate?”

  Berrye looked down, shyly, and for the first time since the conversation had begun looked no older than her nineteen years. “My order has no such restrictions,” she murmured.

  “I see. And why come to me now with this knowledge?”

  Berrye looked back up. Her eyes were round and threatening tears. “Because, Your Majesty, they are all dead—all my sisters. I am orphaned. And I believe their murderers were the same as those who killed William, Fastia, Elseny, and Lesbeth.”

  Muriele felt a sudden rush of sympathy, and her own grief threatened to surface, but she crushed it away. She would have time for that later, and she had already allowed herself to appear too weak in front of Berrye. Instead, she concentrated on the facts.

  “Lesbeth? So Austrobaurg killed her?”

  “I believe Austrobaurg never even saw her,” Berrye said. “I think she died here, in Eslen.”

  “Then where did Robert get her finger?”

  “From the author of all of this, of course. From the one who designed this entire tragedy.”

  “Gramme?”

  “Or Robert. Or the both of them. I cannot say for sure.”

  “Robert loved Lesbeth better than anyone.”

  “Yes,” Berrye said. “With a terrible love. I think an unnatural love that she did not share.”

  Muriele felt a sick twisting in her belly, and her mouth went dry. “And where is Robert now?”

  “I don’t know. But I think Ambria Gramme does.”

  “And where is she?”

  “At her estates, preparing a fete of some sort.”

  “I’ve heard nothing of this,” Muriele said.

  “It was not widely advertised in Eslen.”

  “Then who attends it?”

  “That I did not discover either,” Berrye confessed.

  Muriele sat back, her head whirling. She closed her eyes, hoping things would settle, but it was too much.

  “If you have lied to me,” she said at last, “you will not die quickly.”

  “I have not lied to you, Majesty,” Berrye said. Her eyes were clear again, and her voice strong.

  “Let us hope not,” Muriele said. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “There is a good deal,” Berrye said. “I can tell you which members of the Comven favor you and which do not. I can tell you who Gramme has on her side. And I can tell you she is planning to move against you soon.”

  “Have I cause to doubt Sir Fail and his men?”

  “None that I know of.”

  Muriele sat up. “Lady Berrye, will you declare an oath to take me as your personal liege, swearing by whatever saints you swear by?”

  “If you will protect me in turn, Majesty.”

  Muriele smiled. “You must know that I can barely protect myself.”

  “You have more power than you know,” Berrye told her. “You just haven’t learned how to use it. I can help you. I was trained for it.”

  “You would be my new Erren?” Muriele asked bitterly. “My new coven-trained bodyguard?”

  “I would do that, Majesty. I swear it by the saints I swear by.” She touched her forehead and breast with her thumb.

  Muriele sighed. “I would be a great fool to trust you,” she said.

  “If I were already in your employ, I would tell you exactly that,” Berrye said. “You have no reason to trust me. But I’m asking you to. You need me, and I need you. My entire order was slaughtered, women I loved. And believe me or not, but I cared for His Majesty. He was not a good king, but he was, for all his faults, a good man, and there are few such in the world. I would see those who brought him down go screaming to Mefitis, begging her mercy. And there is one more thing.”

  “What is that?” Muriele asked.

  “Do not ask me to explain this. It is the one thing I cannot explain.”

  “Go on.”

  “Your daughter, Anne. She must live, and she must be queen.”

  A long shock ran through Muriele, starting at her feet and working up to the crown of her head.

  “What do you know of Anne?�
�� she demanded.

  “That she is alive. That she was at Saint Cer. That the sisters of the coven Saint Cer, like those of my own order, were all murdered.”

  “But Anne escaped?”

  “I have no proof, but I feel it in my heart. I see it in my dreams. But she has many enemies.”

  Muriele stared at the girl, wondering how she could have ever believed her to be the empty-headed pretty thing she had pretended to be. Even Erren had been fooled, which was remarkable. Alis Berrye was a very dangerous woman. She could also be a very useful ally.

  Muriele rose and summoned the footman. “Give the lady Berrye an escort and instruct them to take her to her apartment, where she will retrieve her personal effects. Settle her in the small apartment down the hall. And please tell Sir Fail that I request his presence.”

  “You won’t regret this, Majesty,” Berrye said.

  “See that I don’t. Go along now, Lady Berrye.”

  She watched the girl go and then returned to her chair, ticking her finger against the wooden arm, waiting for Sir Fail.

  It was time to pay a visit to her husband’s other mistress. But she had another call to make first. One she had been avoiding.

  She went to her dresser, and though she had made her decision, she hesitated before the small coffer, thinking of the Him, deep beneath the castle, where no light ever shone. His voice of silk and nightmare. She had not spoken to the Kept since that day she discovered the key in William’s study, after his death.

  But she had questions for him now. With no more faltering, she opened the wooden box.

  The key was not there.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Observations on Diverse Things Such as Being Dead

  BY STEPHEN DARIGE

  I had to learn to hear again once before. It was after I walked the faneway of Decmanis. Each stop along the way took something from me—the sensation in my hand first, then my hearing, then my sight—until there was nothing left of me but a body, not even a mind. Somehow I finished the path, and it all came back to me, but different, better.

  That’s how it is to be dead. I heard a lot at first, but it made no sense. It was just noise, like the wailing of ghosts in the halls of the damned. Then the noises began to make sense, and eventually to become familiar.