The Charnel Prince

by Greg Keyes

  “That was quite a surprise the other day,” he said. “I commend you—I didn’t think you had the resources to even know I was coming.”

  “Did you kill my daughters?” Muriele demanded. “I’ve no doubt about William.”

  “Well, I can’t be two places at once, can I?” Robert challenged reasonably.

  “No. But you can arrange for others to do your evil work. I imagine you wanted to kill William with your own hand.”

  He laughed. “You know me so well, Muriele. Yes, so I did want that satisfaction, and you know? It was harder than I thought it would be. William was—well, he was right brave there at the end. A credit to our name. Of course, if he hadn’t been such an utter buffoon, it would never have happened. Even you have to admit, my dear, that he wasn’t much of a king.”

  “He was a better king than you will ever be, and a far better man, you septic dement.”

  He sighed. “As to your daughters, I didn’t order that, though I knew it would happen. William killed them, really, when he legitimized them to take the throne.”

  “The praifec was behind it?”

  Robert wagged a finger. “Ah, no, that would be telling you more than you need to know. Anyway, the truth is so much larger than you can imagine. I don’t wish to tax your powers of comprehension. Though, again, you are more canny than I thought you were.” He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Here’s the thing. I need you to put an end to any hopes you might have of a countercoup. There really are problems facing us that require a united front. I know you’re a bit angry at me right now, but you’re a practical woman—”

  “Really?” Muriele interrupted. “You think I’m a bit angry with you? Robert, you’ve lost what little sense you ever had. I would far sooner die than cooperate with you in the least fashion.”

  “Yes, you see? That’s what I was talking about. You’re angry. That’s why I’m so disappointed Charles isn’t here—then I would have a life dearer to you than your own to hold in balance. As it is, I must appeal to reason.”

  “Lesbeth,” Muriele snapped. “Why did you kill Lesbeth? She could never have been queen.”

  His face pinkened. “Surely you know why,” he said.

  “How can you expect me to even begin to understand someone who would kill his own sister?”

  “No one loved Lesbeth more than I,” Robert asserted, starting to look truly angry. “No one. But some things can’t be forgiven; some slights can’t be taken back.”

  “What slights?”

  “That you know!” Robert shouted, bounding to his feet. “Everyone knew! It was beyond belief.”

  “Pretend that I do not,” Muriele said through gritted teeth.

  He looked at her as if she were the one who had lost her mind. “You will really feign that you don’t know?”

  “I so feign,” Muriele said.

  “She—she didn’t ask my permission to marry,” he growled, his voice rising steadily in volume. “She asked William, oh yes, but she did not ask me.” The last word reported from his lips like a cauldron exploding.

  Frost seemed to settle on Muriele’s spine. “You’re quite mad, you know,” she whispered, suddenly terrified, not so much of Robert as at things that must be in his head.

  Some unidentifiable emotion worked across his face, and then he vented a bitter snicker. “Who wouldn’t be?” he muttered. “But enough of that. Why do you continue to distract me with these questions? The Craftsmen are camped outside the city and refuse to see me. Why?”

  “Perhaps they don’t recognize the legitimacy of your claim, my lord.”

  “Well, then, they’re going to die, which is a pity, because they will doubtless take many of the landwaerden forces with them. It’s just going to make people like you less, you know, and weaken us as a nation that much more.”

  “You would set pikemen against knights? That is despicable.”

  “They forfeit their knighthood in opposing the Crown,” Robert said. “I’m not going to wait for them to move against me. There are already reports that they are gathering their own footforces.”

  “And of course, there is Liery,” Muriele said. “They will hardly stand still for what you’ve done.”

  Robert shook his head. “I’ve made it clear to the Hansan ambassador that we will not object if their fleet sails against Liery.”

  “The covenant between Crotheny and Liery is sacred,” Muriele said. “You cannot break that.”

  “You broke it when you took a Lierish guard and used it against the landwaerden,” he retorted.

  “That’s utter nonsense,” Muriele said.

  He shrugged and stood. “In any event, if I were you, I would not look to help from Liery.”

  “Nor can we look to their help when Hansa attacks us,” Muriele said. “We can’t be divided from them. Robert, this is insane.”

  “You keep using words like that,” he said. “I wonder if you really know what they mean.” He waved his hands, as if to fan her words out the window. “Look, look, you can prevent this, Muriele. Call back the Craftsmen, bring back Charles. I remain as sovereign with you by my side, and all will be happy.”

  “Are you actually suggesting that I marry my husband’s murderer?”

  “For the good of the nation, yes. It is the most elegant solution possible, I’m sure you agree.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the window casement.

  “Robert,” Muriele said, “I’m sorely tempted to do exactly as you suggest in order to get the chance to drive a knife through your heart while you’re sleeping, but I could never keep up the charade for that long.” She crossed her arms, too. “How does this sound? You relinquish the throne, send your guard away, and disband the landwaerden army. I will bring Charles and the Craftsmen back, and then we will hang you. Does that suit you as elegant enough?”

  Robert quirked a smile and walked toward the bed. “Muriele, Muriele. Time has not blunted your tongue or your beauty. Your face is as lovely as ever. Of course, they say the face goes last, that age works from the toes up. I’ve a mind to discover if that is true.” He grabbed the cover and yanked it from the bed.

  “Robert, do not dare,” she commanded.

  “Oh, I should think I shall,” he said, reaching for her breast. She put up her hands to stop him but he clamped her wrists in fingers like steel bands and pushed her roughly back. Very deliberately he flung one leg over her and pulled the other up until he was straddling her, then lowered himself until his body crushed against hers and his face hovered two hands above. Never taking his gaze from hers, he let go one of her hands and reached with the other down between her legs and began hiking up her nightgown. He planted one knee between her thighs and began prying them apart.

  He seemed to grow heavier, pinning her to the bed, and his face was now so near hers, it was distorted, the face of a stranger. She remembered Robert as an infant, as a little boy, in the court, but she couldn’t make any connection between that and what was happening to her, this thing with his hand in her privates. She felt her limbs go limp as he started to undo the fastenings of his breeches, and rolled her head to the side so she could not see his face. His hands moved on her like giant spiders, and he smelled like carrion, just as Berrye said.

  She let her gaze slip along Robert and past him and saw Berrye creeping toward Robert’s back, something held tightly in one hand. Muriele shook her head and mouthed the word no.

  Then, lazily, feeling as if she had all the time in the world, she reached for the hilt of Robert’s knife, drew it, and stabbed it into his side. It went in easily. She’d always imagined it would be something like cutting into a pumpkin, stabbing someone, but it wasn’t like that at all.

  Robert jerked, grunted, and sat up on her, and then she drove the blade into his heart. He fell back with a moan, and she squirmed from beneath him, still holding the knife. She was just starting to shake when Alis was suddenly there, supporting her, murmuring reassurances.

  Robert picked himself up off
the floor, his breath coming in harsh wheezes.

  “First the husband, then the wife,” he gasped. “I’m beginning to hate this family.”

  There wasn’t any blood, Muriele noticed—or at least not very much. Something was oozing from Robert’s wounds like syrup, but it wasn’t red. She looked at the knife, still in her hand. It was coated with a sticky, clearish resin.

  She flinched as Robert staggered across the room, but he seemed to ignore her and slouched once more into the armchair.

  “It does still hurt, though,” he said absently. “I wondered about that.” He glanced up at her. “I suppose we won’t marry after all.”

  “Robert, what have you done?” Muriele whispered.

  Robert glanced down at the wound in his chest. “This? I didn’t do this, love. I was minding my own business, dying—William managed to stab me, you know, against all reason. And then I did die, I think, and now—well, I’m as you see.” He wagged a finger at her. “You did this, naughty girl. The Kept told me so.”

  “So it was you in my room, that night.”

  “Of course,” he confessed, wiping his brow. “It’s so strange that I didn’t know about the passages. That’s how you got Charles out, isn’t it?”

  Muriele didn’t answer. She dropped the knife and clung to Alis.

  “You two seem very friendly,” Robert noticed. “Alis, were your attentions to me fraudulent? I mean, I knew they were, but I supposed they came from a desire to resume your place as a palace whore.”

  “Please leave her alone, Robert,” Alis said. “If you want someone, take me.”

  “Oh, no, the mood has quite left me,” Robert said. He rolled his head back. “Let’s see,” he mumbled. “There was something else I was going to tell you, what was it?” He scratched his chin. “Right. That affair you planned at the Candle Grove—that was a good idea. I’m going ahead with it. And since it was your idea, I’m arranging for you to be present. Consider it an apology.”

  He pushed himself up. “I’d better get this seen to,” he said, “and then decide whether I must kill the physician.” He bowed. “I bid you ladies good morning.”

  Then he left.

  When he was gone, Muriele began to shudder.

  “Sit,” Alis said.

  “No,” she gasped. “No, not in that chair. Not on the bed, never—never again.”

  “Well, come into my room, then. I’ll make some tea. Come on.”

  “Thank you, Alis,” she said.

  She let the girl lead her into her apartment, and sat on the bed. Alis went to the little stove there and began to kindle it.

  “What is he, Alis?” Muriele asked. “What exactly have I made?”

  Alis stopped and turned halfway, then went back to her work with the stove. “In the coven,” she began, “we studied the rumors of a creature like this. But in all our histories, it is only once recorded that the law of death was broken—by the Black Jester. He made himself as Robert is, deathless and yet not truly alive. But once the law of death has been broken, it is a simpler matter to make others. One of the Black Jester’s titles was Mhwr. Those he created were called the Mhwrmakhy. In the Chronicles of the Old North Kingdom, the Black Jester was called the Nau, and his servants the nauschalken.”

  “Those last are easier to wrap my tongue around,” Muriele admitted.

  She still felt his hands on her, his weight pressing down . . .

  “Wait,” she said, in an effort to keep her mind elsewhere. “If the Black Jester broke the law of death, how could I have broken it again?”

  “It was repaired, at great cost,” Alis said.

  “But it can be repaired,” Muriele said hopefully.

  “We no longer know how,” she replied. “Those who did it perished in the doing.”

  Muriele bowed her head, despair filling her up. “Then I deserved—”

  Alis took three quick steps from the stove and slapped her, hard. Muriele looked up at her in utter astonishment, the sting still on her cheek.

  “No,” Alis said. “Do not say it. Never say that, and do not think it.” She knelt and took Muriele’s hand, and there were tears in her eyes.

  Muriele ached to cry, but could not find her own tears. Instead she curled up in the bed, closed her eyes, and searched behind them for a forgetful sleep.

  Leoff answered the light rap at his door and found Areana there, looking puzzled and quite pretty in a dark blue gown.

  “You sent for me, Cavaor Ackenzal?” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. “Please call me Leoff.”

  She smiled nervously. “As you wish, Leoff.”

  “Please, come in, have a seat.” He noticed an older woman in the hall beyond her. “And you, lady, if you please.”

  Areana looked chagrined. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just—I’ve never been in the palace, and it’s all so—well, I’m nervous, as you can see. This is my governess, Jen Unilsdauter. I thought it appropriate . . .” She trailed off, as if unsure of what she meant to say, or worried she’d already said the wrong thing.

  “You are most welcome, Lady Jen,” Leoff told her. “Most especially if you can speak for Areana’s parents.”

  “I’m no lady, young man,” she replied, “but I appreciate a compliment.”

  “Please, sit, both of you.”

  When they had, he returned his gaze to Areana, who was blushing.

  “Leoff,” she began, “I—that is too say—”

  He got it then. “Oh, no, you misunderstand, I think,” he hurriedly assured her. “I didn’t ask you here for—not that I don’t find you charming . . .” He trailed off. “This is getting worse and worse, isn’t it?” He sighed.

  “Well, it’s certainly becoming more and more confusing,” Areana agreed.

  “It’s this, you see,” Leoff said, patting the score on his worktable. “This is why I’ve asked you here. You’ve heard about the performance to be given at the Candle Grove?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Everyone has. I am very much looking forward to it.”

  “Well, that’s good,” he said. “That’s very good.” He hoped he hadn’t insulted her.

  “And?” she queried. Leoff realized he hadn’t actually explained.

  “Right,” he said. “I would like you to sing the lead role.”

  Her eyes widened improbably large. “Me?”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Or at least audition for it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I was struck by your singing voice at Lady Gramme’s. It’s not only lovely, but precisely the voice I’m looking for for this performance. I think you’ll understand when you’ve read the part.”

  “The part?” she said, frowning in puzzlement.

  “Yes, yes—it’s a new sort of thing, somewhat like a lustspell but a bit more—um, elevated.”

  “I should hope so,” the governess huffed.

  “Oh, hush, Jen,” Areana said. “You enjoy the lustspells as much as I do. We only pretend to disdain them, remember?”

  “Yes, but a girl of your position—”

  “Hear me out,” Leoff said, “Please. It’s the story of Lihta, from Broogh. You know the tale?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You would sing the part of Lihta.”

  “You mean act it,” Areana corrected.

  “No, no, look here,” he said, showing her the music. “You can read, can’t you?”

  “She reads very well,” the governess asserted.

  As Areana looked over the pages he saw comprehension begin to dawn.

  “You see?” he said.

  She looked at him doubtfully. “It’s my Newland accent you want, isn’t it?”

  “In part,” he conceded. “And I also believe that if this play is going to be for the people of Newland and Eslen, one of you should be in it. But you have to understand, I would never compromise my music for such a whim. You have a sort of—of—innocent boldness that any other singer
would have to feign. In you it is pure.”

  Areana blushed again, more deeply this time. “Now I really don’t know what to say,” she said.

  “Well, here, let’s try a bit of it,” he suggested.

  “All right.”

  He chose Lihta’s first air, which she sang beautifully, and then the trickier bit he called a spellsing, a sort of cross between talking and singing. Well before she was done, he knew his instincts had been correct.

  “It’s lovely,” she said.

  “When sung with such a voice, it cannot help but be,” Leoff told her. “I truly hope you will consider the part.”

  “If you really think me suitable, I would be honored,” she gushed.

  “You are as perfectly suitable as can be,” Leoff said, beaming. Then he coughed, and composed his features more seriously. “But I need to tell you something rather important. It may change your mind.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Praifec Hespero has expressly forbidden the performance of this as written. When we defy him, he will be angry. I think I shall bear the brunt of his displeasure, and will certainly take all responsibility, but there is some danger to everyone involved, you included.”

  “Why should the praifec disapprove?” Areana demanded. “There is nothing unholy here, surely?”

  “Not in the least, I assure you.”

  “Then—”

  “The praifec is a man of the saints,” the governess suddenly interjected. “We certainly cannot go against his word.”

  “But it doesn’t seem reasonable—,” Areana began.

  “Areana, no,” her governess warned. “You shouldn’t get mixed up in this.”

  Areana faced Leoff. “Why do you take this risk?” she asked. “Why do you ask me to?”

  “Because it will be magnificent,” he said softly. “I know in my heart it is right, and I will not be deterred. I told you I would never compromise my music, and I never will, not when I know I have created something worth hearing.”

  Areana continued to stare at him, biting a little at her lip. Then she lowered her eyes.

  “Jen is right,” she said. “I believe you, Leoff. I believe in you. But I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”