The Scrivener's Tale

by Fiona McIntosh

  Florentyna found the strength to growl through gritted teeth. ‘Let him kill me, stranger, but make sure you do not let him keep his life.’

  Florentyna could see dark spots floating in front of her eyes. She was sure she saw the stranger nod, watched him drop his sword and reach behind him.

  Her last conscious thought was that the grip around her throat had loosened and she had the feeling she heard a guttural yell as she fell into darkness.

  When Florentyna regained consciousness, men were bent over her and she felt her eyelids flutter open and met the concerned expression of a thin boy.

  ‘The queen is recovered,’ he murmured and she lost his innocent face to the row of monks who suddenly crowded in over her.

  She was still disoriented, then it all came flooding in: the sharp daylight, the tang of blood on the wind and the realisation that she hadn’t died this day.

  ‘Majesty,’ came a voice she recognised as Father Hoolyn’s.

  ‘What happened to me?’ she asked, trying to sit up.

  ‘Take it slowly, majesty,’ someone cautioned.

  ‘You passed out, luckily, my queen,’ Hoolyn said.

  ‘And as you slumped, the stranger’s blade found its mark,’ another voice said. ‘Extraordinary. You were so fortunate, your majesty.’

  She blinked, not fully understanding. ‘Help me up, please.’

  Florentyna felt strong arms beneath hers and she was returned gently to her feet, feeling slightly unsteady but glad to be upright and in control of herself again. Rittylworth monks, in their distinctive tan robes, immediately began to bow to their sovereign. Florentyna barely noticed, for she was looking for one man in particular, and there he was, standing off to the left away from everyone fussing around her. Before she could address him properly her attention became unhappily and helplessly riveted nearby to where he stood … four bodies were neatly placed in a row, well away from where she’d fallen.

  Their heads and torsos were covered with spare cassocks. Florentyna was instantly nauseated to recognise the feet of Dowager Saria, and the intense emotion occasioned by her stepmother’s, Brom’s and Felyx’s deaths overtook her once again. She swallowed to steady herself.

  She thought on her father’s advice that people would wait on her word: ‘Pause, breathe, compose, before you speak steadily, calmly and with confidence. That’s how you win trust,’ he had counselled. ‘That’s why men will follow you.’

  Well, she needed only one to follow her now.

  ‘Your majesty,’ he said, bowing, as she approached.

  ‘I don’t know how you did this,’ she said, glancing at Hubbard’s corpse, ‘but thank you.’

  ‘Cassien killed him with a throwing blade,’ the boy she’d seen earlier said enthusiastically, stepping forward. ‘I’m Hamelyn, Queen Florentyna,’ he added, with a perfectly executed bow. ‘A friend of his.’

  She regarded the boy with a faint smile: ‘Greetings, Hamelyn.’ Then she turned to his friend. ‘You threw a blade that accurately at the man holding me in front of him?’ she asked, incredulous. ‘You were standing over there. That’s an impossible throw, surely.’

  ‘Maybe I was lucky, majesty,’ the man replied, his tone modest.

  ‘I admit that I saw it occur, my queen,’ Hoolyn confirmed, ‘and the accuracy of Master Cassien’s throw directly into the eye of your attacker was like nothing I can imagine witnessing again, nor would I want to see such violence. He was dead before he hit the ground. Even so, I would be lying before Shar if I didn’t say I was glad that this stranger happened upon you and dealt with the attackers, but the dowager … and your man, Brom …’ He trailed off, looking mystified by the row of corpses.

  Florentyna held out a hand. ‘Cassien, is it?’

  He looked at her gravely through dark blue eyes set in a symmetrical face of spare but nonetheless neat, proportionate features. His nose seemed to be in perfect concert with his mouth, leading to clearly defined lips that were generous but not thick. His hair looked freshly combed, his chin was shaved and he was wearing quality attire. It was his hands that caught her attention and made her linger; some fingers were misshapen, as though they’d been broken. And of course his piercing gaze, once she engaged it again, arrested her, held her hostage. Now that she was close enough to stare deeply into his eyes, she saw pain buried behind the calm they projected.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered.

  ‘Of where, may I ask?’

  ‘Of nowhere in particular, your majesty. I was born in Morgravia but I have spent a lot of time living in and around the Great Forest.’

  ‘In the forest? Whatever for?’

  ‘Why not? One can learn a lot when one lives in peace.’

  ‘You sound like a philosopher, not a fighter.’

  ‘That’s because I am not a fighter, your majesty, although I was sent to protect you … by a friend.’

  Florentyna felt her pulse quicken at his words. She was suddenly sure she could guess who that friend might be. ‘Father Hoolyn, perhaps we could shift these bodies. Dowager Saria must be laid out alone, please.’ She immediately thought of Darcelle. ‘My sister will …’ She heard her voice catching but cleared her throat. ‘My sister will wish to pay her respects.’

  ‘Of course,’ Hoolyn answered and began organising his Brothers.

  ‘Walk back with me, would you?’ she said to Cassien.

  He nodded, fell in step.

  ‘Had I not lost consciousness and slipped from that man’s arms, you might well have killed me with that blade throw.’

  ‘Someone else might have, but not me.’ The claim was spoken so earnestly that she couldn’t help feeling vaguely charmed, rather than offended, by his arrogant words.

  ‘You are clearly confident of your skills, Master Cassien.’

  ‘They are the only aspects of the world I can control, I’m afraid, my queen. The rest is all extremely unpredictable.’ He smiled and this time she saw the crinkling around his eyes, the light of humour flaring within them.

  ‘How did you know we were in trouble?’

  ‘We were coming to Rittylworth from the north. And we had a good vantage point.’ He shrugged. ‘We saw everything unfolding.’

  ‘Did you know I was here?’

  ‘No. I saw people in trouble. We guessed you were not monks. It all looked wrong … even to Hamelyn. When you drew closer we could hear clearly.’

  ‘I see. You said you were sent to protect me. How did you know to help?’

  ‘I didn’t know anything other than I was helping three people under attack. When I discovered it was you, your majesty, I was as shocked as anyone might be.’

  Florentyna nodded. ‘Were you on your way to Pearlis?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She was aware of the boy trailing them. ‘Hamelyn too?’

  ‘No … and yes.’

  ‘How is that possible?’

  ‘No, he was not sent at the time that I was. Yes, he has deliberately joined forces with me to ensure your safety.’

  Florentyna shook her head and regarded him. ‘You have me intrigued, Master Cassien.’

  They’d reached the monastery and Florentyna knew they would not be left alone to talk until she’d extricated herself from the monks. Nevertheless, there was a burning question demanding to be asked. ‘We don’t have time right now for you to answer all of my questions but there is one I feel might explain plenty.’

  ‘I will answer whatever you ask of me, your majesty.’

  ‘Tell me then if a man by the name of Fynch sent you to me.’

  He didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes, he did.’

  It felt as though a flock of birds had just lifted off in her chest at his admission. Fynch. He was certainly determined.

  ‘He believes the Crown is under grave threat.’

  ‘So I gather,’ she said softly.

  ‘Have you heard of the Brotherhood, your majesty?’

  She blinked, stunned. Those words were rarely uttered outside of Stoneheart. ‘Yes, o
f course, but I have no reason to —’

  ‘Forgive me,’ he murmured, looking over his shoulder, ‘but time is short. I am of the Brotherhood. Master Fynch believes there is a sinister force at work.’

  She could tell he was choosing his words with care, speaking obliquely. Florentyna opted to be direct. ‘I don’t believe in demons, Master Cassien.’

  ‘Neither did I, your majesty, until I met Master Fynch … or Hamelyn here. There is more to say but now is not the moment,’ he said, noting that a fresh party of soldiers was waiting for them as they returned to the monastery’s cloisters.

  Florentyna remembered Burrage’s promise to have more men waiting to escort her back to Stoneheart. She wished now with all her heart that she’d let him send an entire unit with her to Rittylworth and then perhaps Felyx and Brom, and even Saria, would still be alive.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll permit me to accompany you on your return to Pearlis?’ Cassien suggested. ‘We can continue our conversation when you’re safely back in familiar and secure surrounds.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She watched him bow his dark head and turn away but already she missed his quiet, strong presence.

  TWENTY

  Burrage regarded the man. ‘It is very unusual that we should grant such an audience; I’m sure you understand,’ he said carefully. The handsome fellow had been respectful, though, and earnest.

  The man nodded. ‘I do understand, of course. But the people of Robissun Marth are keen to present King Tamas and Princess Darcelle with an early marriage gift. Briavel is having its difficulties with Morgravia right now. A show of our respect for Princess Darcelle and the new bond with the Isles of Cipres,’ he shrugged, ‘could go a long way. And you cannot fault me for wanting to make new ties and friendships with the people of Cipres, Master Burrage.’

  ‘Given that you are such a highly regarded merchant, no, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. You can lay the trail for our merchants in the future,’ Burrage replied.

  ‘That’s magnanimous of you, sir. Especially as my dealings have normally been eastward.’

  ‘Indeed. Although I’m surprised you have not presented yourself at court previously.’

  His visitor placed a hand on his chest in a gesture of remorse. ‘It has been remiss of me, Chancellor Burrage. The truth is, even my own neighbours barely see me, sir. I am what many might term reclusive. Too many moons spent on ships crossing oceans to faraway lands perhaps. Whatever it is, I value my privacy. I have not had reason to present at court because much of what I am buying and selling is done with other merchants and conducted through my factors.’

  ‘An exception for a royal wedding, though,’ Burrage suggested, with a wry smile.

  ‘Yes, sir. This is an occasion that insisted even Layne Tentrell air his best cloak and make a special visit with a token of the huge respect I hold for the Crown of Morgravia.’

  Burrage watched the merchant sip the apple tea that had been set out not long after they’d sat down in this salon reserved for the commercial dealings of the palace, far from the living quarters of the royals. He didn’t have a taste for the new concoction that had taken the people of Morgravia in its grip in recent times. He himself had taken a pot of minted tea, which he always found agreeable. He inhaled its menthol bouquet now.

  ‘And you wish to present this gift at your expense on behalf of your town?’

  ‘Correct again, sir.’ Tentrell gave a charming smile. ‘I am arguably the wealthiest person of the region — I hope that doesn’t sound boastful? I am merely being objective. It is my pleasure to represent the people and show our care for the princess. We can only hope the queen finds someone equally suitable soon.’

  ‘Most generous … most generous indeed,’ Burrage said, clearing his throat uneasily at the mention of Florentyna’s oft-discussed spinsterhood. ‘As you can imagine, this is an incredibly busy time. Her royal highness, Darcelle, is in fact preparing to meet the King of Cipres and —’

  ‘Why, yes, of course,’ Tentrell said, apology on his face interrupting the chancellor. ‘We noted all the preparations and bunting along the roads. His arrival must be imminent.’

  Burrage nodded.

  ‘How exciting. Perhaps I might be allowed to meet both of their highnesses on behalf of the west of the realm?’

  It wasn’t lost on Burrage how his guest kept increasing the reach of his influence. However, he didn’t find him anything other than charming and knew that Florentyna — like her ancestor, Valentyna — was a genuine ‘queen of the people’. Florentyna would be pleased to think that King Tamas met some ordinary folk of Morgravia, accepted their well wishes in person and so helped Darcelle to understand that being royal wasn’t always about privilege and power.

  Tentrell waited patiently while the chancellor gave consideration to his request.

  ‘There is a gathering of civil dignitaries tomorrow evening. Even the mayor of your parish is expected to —’

  ‘Oh, no, no,’ Tentrell said, putting down his cup. ‘I wouldn’t consider it my place to be at such a gathering.’

  Burrage frowned. ‘But —’

  ‘No, Master Burrage. That is for the dignitaries and I would feel entirely out of place. Is there a situation that is less formal perhaps?’

  Burrage was surprised. He had thought Tentrell would leap at the opportunity to meet with the very dignitaries he was now shunning, albeit graciously. ‘I shall have to consider that, Master Tentrell. We haven’t finalised all of the arrangements yet.’

  Tentrell reached for his cup and politely drained the contents. He stood. ‘That was delicious and most kind of you, Master Burrage. I have taken up enough of your valuable time. Thank you for seeing me and perhaps you might let me know once you’ve had an opportunity to consider the possibilities.’ He offered a neat, blunt-fingered hand. ‘You’ve been most gracious. I’m staying at the Fatted Goose and look forward to hearing.’

  Burrage allowed Tentrell to clasp his hand warmly. He smiled when Tentrell smiled and nodded when the man was ushered from the salon and, all the while, couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being expertly manipulated. The merchant had been searched by the soldiers and he’d laughed at them, saying that he had never carried a weapon in his years of travelling foreign lands, so he would hardly be bringing one into Stoneheart.

  What he had brought, however, was an extraordinary jewel for Darcelle. Burrage had viewed it when Tentrell had removed it briefly from a velvet pouch. He recalled how the merchant had referred to it, very casually.

  ‘It’s called the Star of Percheron,’ Tentrell had explained. ‘This jewel was once presented by the seventeenth zar of Percheron to his second favourite. Her name was Sheeva and she only ever clad herself in pink garments. The zar had this stone cut for her on the day she gave him his second and most beloved son. The boy went on to become zar, I gather. Anyway, can you see the tiny hole that was bored through it?’ Burrage nodded, entranced by the luminous quality of the gem. ‘It is reported that from the day she received this precious gift from her husband, the young wife — who was incredibly beautiful, I’m assured — wore this jewel strung around her small waist attached to a golden chain …’ Tentrell held his finger in the air, ‘… and nothing else but a pale pink, gauzy wrap that she would wear loose upon her shoulders.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  Tentrell had shrugged. ‘Ever. She never left the harem, so her naked, bejewelled body offended no-one but the older, jealous women and the envious odalisques, desperate to be chosen as wives. Her nudity is legend and she has been sung about, written about, painted and sculpted by many an artist. This,’ Tentrell had said, holding the jewel to the light so it threw bright spangles around the room, ‘was her signature.’

  Burrage was not going to ask how he’d come by such a dazzling prize. ‘And you wish to give this to Princess Darcelle?’

  ‘Who else but a princess and new bride should wear such a magnificent jewel on her wedding night for her king?’ Tentr
ell had asked.

  Burrage had stared at the glittering, teardrop-shaped gem. ‘Indeed. Her majesty is going to be speechless at your generosity, Master Tentrell.’

  Burrage knew Darcelle would want that stone more than anything. He had to make it possible for her to have it as a show of good will between her and her sister’s authority. He must find a way for Layne Tentrell to be given the opportunity to present it as he’d asked.

  Florentyna had wanted to invite the man called Cassien and his young friend, Hamelyn, to travel with her party, but she’d noticed his reluctance to mix with the soldiers and the suggestion had died in her throat. She had learned about the Brotherhood as a young girl, certainly before her first blood; that’s how seriously her father regarded this fraternity. He had never told Darcelle, though; that secret was not hers to know. The sovereign shared the knowledge of the Brotherhood with his or her heir and their closest, most trusted aide, so this was a special secret between king, chancellor and princess royal. Because she’d learned of their existence so young she’d always thought of the Brotherhood in rather romantic terms, imagining courtly men with shiny armour and daydreaming of them dying for her surrounded by sighs, wistful gazes and heroic actions. The reality was cruel and ugly. There was grunting, the smell of fear and tang of sweat, the shrillness of metal meeting metal, the cry of the wounded, and the impossibly bright colour of fresh blood. She had firsthand experience now.

  To her knowledge, the Brotherhood was not involved in any Crown-appointed tasks here or abroad at the present time — no spying, no assassinations required, not even stirring up trouble abroad or embedding themselves politically within other realms. The Brotherhood was under no instructions from the Crown as far as she was concerned.

  A few moons after her father’s death Burrage had needed to go through his paperwork and a special, rarely opened file of papers was brought before her.

  ‘This is the correspondence between your father and the Brotherhood during his reign,’ he’d explained as he put the vellum-bound sheaf of papers before her.