The Scrivener's Tale

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘How I wish you were one of them!’ Darcelle snapped and turned on her heel.

  Florentyna also turned away, leaned her weight on the banister rail and drew a deep, steadying breath. Cassien felt momentarily helpless. His inclination was to hold her, but he resisted.

  ‘I’ve managed to turn the only member of my family left to me entirely against me,’ she growled. ‘I know you and Burrage are thinking it — and I’m fighting it — but perhaps Darcelle was behind the attack at Rittylworth. There was real venom in her attack just now. She wishes me dead.’

  He could hear how angry she still was and as he reached for the right words to reply a young woman skittered up.

  ‘Your majesty,’ she warbled. He could see she had been crying now and her eyes were still moist and red.

  Florentyna straightened, breathing deeply. She turned, composed. ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’ve found Chancellor Burrage.’

  ‘Thank Shar’s mercy,’ she said, relief obvious in the slump of her shoulders. ‘Now, I can —’

  ‘He’s dead, your majesty,’ the woman cut across the queen’s words, forgetting herself.

  Florentyna sucked in a breath and this time Cassien did step forward with helping hand.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he demanded of the servant.

  ‘His body is already stiffening,’ she said.

  Her words brought a fresh gasp from Florentyna. ‘This can’t be happening. I must see for myself.’

  Before he could stop her, the queen was running.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  King Tamas frowned. He had been given a suite of chambers in one of the wings of Stoneheart that clustered around a charming courtyard dedicated to herbs. From where he was now sitting, it looked to him like a work of art, a living sculpture in green. He was enchanted by the well-tended and clearly constantly replenished garden, for even the hedrill looked young, with tender leaves. At home the hedrill in the kitchen herb gardens turned woody within a season.

  He found it intriguing that this palace, known for its imposing mass and dull, dark stone, was innately feminine at its heart. It was a lovely discovery, given that his own capital was pale and beautiful, often compared to a nymph. He was thoroughly enjoying some quiet time, made all the more pleasant by the fact that he had banished the ever-present retinue of servants and counsellors from his side.

  So now he sat in the thaw sun of a Morgravian morning and inhaled the scent from the herbs; together they formed a new fragrance, with wafts of rosemary and shirl twisting around hedrill and thyme, jessamy and mint. He looked at the small posy of colourful flowers he’d picked and wondered why herbs were not used more often in the more lavish floral displays around Cipres.

  He’d grown up learning about herbs and food, having spent a lot of his days lurking around the Ciprean palace kitchens. His closest friend in those childhood years had been Lacey, one of the scullery maids, so pretty she made most others appear dull. And despite her natural radiance she seemed to possess a limitless grasp on all things practical and worldly — from finding herbs in the garden to knowing how to bring out a bruise quickly. Lacey could run as fast as Tamas, sling a punch as quickly and take a black eye without more than a whimper. Whenever he could slip away from weapons and fighting drills, or horse training, or the dreaded academic studies, they were together. She was the first girl to kiss him and the last one he had truly loved. At ten summers his parents had thought it time he leave behind his childhood friends, especially those not of the same social standing, and he was removed to live in Tallinor.

  When he returned fourteen moons later, Lacey was gone from the palace and he had no doubt his mother had made sure it happened. His father expected him to make his own way while he, something of an adventurer and learned man, travelled constantly on long voyages, leaving much of the raising of the three boys to their mother. The queen was a powerful figure, possessing a drive and ambition that their quieter father fed off. His mother essentially ran the realm while the king disappeared on his adventures. One couldn’t criticise the king too loudly, since his travels yielded advances in so many areas of knowledge that Cipres, despite its size, seemed to be at the forefront of everything from farming methods to education, as well as creating new industries in varied fields such as perfume and fruit preserving; and in developing its famed blue paint, toolook — with a lustre like no other — and also a pure and iridescent green known as ferge. These became so eye-poppingly expensive that the Crown had to take control of production as people killed each other for the right to collect the raw material.

  And then the plague had come. It was believed to have arrived with the flotilla of ships that had sailed his father back to Cipres in Tamas’s eighteenth summer. The king’s gift to Cipres included far more than the silver pearls, a raft of new medicines and a beverage called dinch.

  None of the medicines he’d acquired could touch the disease, which had travelled with the insects that made their way off the ship on the backs of the rats they infested, as well as in the hair and beards of the men who then carried them into homes, taverns, even the palace.

  People had begun to die at a chaotic, tragic rate. Each day yielded a hundred more corpses. Royalty was not immune. The ‘Venturer’ plague, as it became known, claimed the lives of his mother and both brothers; he was spared, although he never understood why.

  His sensitive father had died not long after from what was officially recorded as a fall. Tamas suspected, however, that King Wurt could not bear the guilt and had thrown himself from the cliffs.

  Despite the depth of his grief, Tamas had risen to the challenge of taking charge of the realm. Cipres was small but advanced, and Tamas knew that he must work to the kingdom’s strengths to lift it out of grief. Education was the key and Lacey was his motivation; he could only imagine what she might have achieved if she’d had the benefit of his teachers to complement her ability to absorb information and extend her practical skills. Maybe their love could have been kindled rather than destroyed. Tamas implemented a new system to teach the young to read, to write, to calculate in their heads — no matter their family’s position in society.

  Cipres had been right in its forward-thinking approach and, as a result, even its farms used methods that were ahead of their time, and yields from smallholdings soon tripled the grain harvests achieved by much larger pastures in neighbouring lands.

  The young king had also travelled to every town, village and hamlet to comfort, offer support and generally see to the wellbeing of his people. He opened up the palace coffers to give aid to those in serious need — to families who’d lost their livelihood, to children who’d lost parents, to convents and monasteries that were taking care of the sick, lonely, needy, heartbroken. He built three new centres of medicine, strategically placed up and down the realm so their restoratives and knowledge were accessible to most people within a few days’ ride. And he built another wing to the learning academy specifically for physics. His schools — perhaps his greatest achievement and modelled on those of Cailech, when he was a young king in the Razors — were established in every major town over a certain size. He implemented a new system of rewards to families whose children achieved seven full cycles of consistent attendance at school — summer to summer. Cipres now had a new generation of educated farmers, smiths, bakers, millers.

  Change was catching up with Tamas too; he was reaching the end of his fourth decade. He was nearly thirty-nine summers, more than twenty of them given to a feverish commitment to the Ciprean cause. In doing so he’d overlooked the most important aspect of what it is to be the sovereign: he’d neglected to take a queen, to give the Crown heirs, to give his people what they probably needed most … the future that children alone could provide.

  As if in answer to his realisation, Princess Darcelle had arrived in his life like a breath of fresh, golden promise, brought to him under sail for a gathering of monarchs, but he was sure she was actually delivered to him by benevolent gods. He’d been charmed by h
er on sight for her beauty, but he appreciated her far more for her strength.

  He’d since learned that there were sides to Darcelle’s personality he had to overlook. She was wealthy beyond most royals’ dreams and was addicted to having only the best; she took power for granted, revelling in the attention it won her, and she liked to use it to manipulate people. Darcelle was used to getting her way as the highly indulged youngest royal of Morgravia.

  Thinking strategically, he was convinced she would make a fabulous Queen of Cipres. She was young and could bear him children for many years; a special bonus was that she was surprisingly politically astute, despite her delight in frippery, as he liked to call it. If he could use her manipulative skills for the benefit of furthering the Ciprean good, all the better. And if she were used to getting her way then he should put her in charge of some of his duties where her charm, beauty and skills could persuade people to support the Crown, where perhaps they might be criticising it.

  What surprised him most about Darcelle was her affection for him and his sense that it was genuine. He had always believed the better-looking Ciprean princes had perished with the plague. His serious, handsome elder brother would have made a fine king, while the dashing younger brother would have charmed everyone into doing anything he asked of them. Tamas smiled at their memory — even so many years later, he missed them.

  He was not so naïve he didn’t appreciate that Darcelle’s fondness for him was partly fuelled by the crown he would place on her head at the same time as he put his ring on her finger. This didn’t matter to him — or so he’d convinced himself — as long as she cared enough for him that they might be good friends, good partners, a good royal team. The Cipreans were demanding a royal family, some even questioning his leanings. Did he love Darcelle? He didn’t know. Apart from Lacey and one other — a child he had no right to love from afar — he’d never felt anything for any woman other than lust, and he could do so much worse than beautiful Darcelle. Besides, there was no question that to marry Darcelle and link Cipres to Morgravia and the great empire that stretched beyond her boundaries would be a dream come true in every respect.

  As if she knew he’d been thinking about her, the double doors into the courtyard burst open and the weeping bride-to-be flung herself into his arms. Tamas waited, knowing the tears would dry and she would explain herself. He was right and realised he would have to get used to this theatrical behaviour from now on. Not every girl had Lacey’s attitude.

  Tamas listened, filtering her scorn through his own more balanced view. The drama, it seemed, was that Queen Florentyna had cancelled all festivities relating to the engagement. True, the news of so many curious deaths was deeply troubling and brought memories of the plague that had hit Cipres. He made a mental note to do a head count of his soldiers. He didn’t believe anyone from his retinue within the palace had suffered.

  Darcelle calmed. ‘I could sail with you today and we could elope.’

  He stroked her hair, which looked and felt like it was spun from golden silk. ‘You don’t mean that —’

  ‘I do, Tamas, I —’

  ‘Stop, my love. Give an older man some credit,’ he jested. ‘You would always live to regret such a decision, and besides, why cheat your people of their rightful celebrations?’

  ‘I’m not! She is!’

  ‘She has good reason … certainly I can see it from Florentyna’s point of view. If this was Cipres, I too would put this matter ahead of celebrations. She is entirely within her rights to pursue what is killing her people.’

  ‘Putting off our events will not raise the dead.’ He gave her a look of mild admonishment at such a heartless comment and Darcelle shrugged. ‘Tamas, I’m furious!’

  ‘I can see that and I understand it.’

  ‘She’s so angered me. Talking to me like I’m a servant.’

  ‘A servant of the Crown, perhaps?’

  She slapped him — not hard, but not playfully either. ‘You know exactly what I mean. I deserve more respect. I’m not a child, but she still treats me as one. Florentyna should censure her haughty attitude. What’s more, she attacked me publicly. It was humiliating.’

  ‘Would you like me to talk with her?’

  ‘She’s being unreasonable — her usual obstinate and superior self!’

  She hadn’t said nay to him having a word with Florentyna. ‘It was only a picnic … a feast or two,’ he reasoned, shrugging deeply to make her smile. ‘On the journey of life, it’s not that important.’

  But Darcelle was not amused. ‘You’re not understanding, are you, my love? It’s not the celebrations to which I refer. She has effectively cancelled the marriage.’

  Tamas’s humour left him. He blinked at her while the words sunk in. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Darcelle became more animated the moment she sensed his confusion. ‘No, I didn’t think you had. Listen to me, Tamas. You and your Ciprean contingent will likely be told to climb aboard your ships and sail home. She brooks no discussion on when or where any wedding will take place — if at all. She’s claiming she’s too busy with matters of state, but is too short-sighted to take care of something that’s going to do more for Morgravia in the wearing of one small golden ring than she might achieve in a lifetime.’ Darcelle gave a bitter smirk. ‘She’s never been comfortable with me marrying before she does. Let’s face it, I don’t see a tower of marriage betrothals on her desk. If Florentyna’s not careful, our children are all she’ll have to pass her precious crown on to.’

  ‘That would suit me,’ Tamas thought, not realising he’d expressed it aloud.

  ‘And me,’ Darcelle echoed. ‘She can’t take this away from us.’

  Tamas felt on shaky ground for the first time. It had not occurred to him that his happiness could be taken away on Queen Florentyna’s whim. Still, he tempered his mood; even in their brief conversation he’d found the queen to be level-headed and charming, and surprisingly beautiful, despite her sister’s claims of plainness. ‘Let’s not jump to any wrong conclusions, my love. I promise you,’ he said, taking her hands and kissing them gently, ‘nothing will stop me making you my queen.’

  She nestled herself into his arms and kissed him hard. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I want it more than anything.’

  ‘Be patient then. Let me talk with Florentyna.’ As she opened her mouth to interject, he placed his fingertips to her lips. ‘Sovereign to sovereign,’ he said, with a knowing smile. ‘Be still for a while. Wait here for me. I’ve sent my people away, so I could have some peace. You will not be disturbed, although guards will be posted outside. Listen to the song of birds, the hum of busy bees and enjoy the sunshine. I shall be back shortly with good news. You will have your ring, your crown, your very own realm — that I promise you.’

  Darcelle embraced him, and he felt her trust in him. He would not let her down.

  Florentyna stared, ashen-faced, at the body of Burrage. He had died on his balcony. It was only on the second search that people had discovered the chancellor slumped outside the windows of his chamber, and had laid him out on his bed.

  He looked younger, now that his expression was no longer pulled into its permanent frown of worry.

  ‘… As though his heart just gave out, your majesty. Same as the others. Master Clem, who helped me to move him to the bed, took the liberty of closing his eyes,’ a servant prattled.

  ‘Thank you, Fay,’ the queen said. Florentyna dabbed at a helpless tear and sniffed. ‘Forgive me. He will be missed. I wish I understood what has happened to us. Struck down like this; no sign of disease or struggle.’ She noticed Cassien, who had been standing silently by the door observing. ‘Leave us, please,’ she ordered and the three other people in the room gladly departed.

  Cassien presumed she wished the door closed and obliged. He waited.

  ‘Is this the demon’s work?’ she mused unhappily. ‘Is this how he plans to hurt the Crown? Is he going to pick us all off one by one?’

  ‘No, your
majesty. This is not the work of a demon,’ he answered truthfully.

  ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘I know.’

  He said it with such quiet force that she took a step away to scrutinise him. ‘Then what is this? Disease? Do I have to cordon off Stoneheart?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘And you know this for sure as well?’ she said. Her tone was bitter, rather than mocking.

  ‘Your majesty, it will not occur again.’ He didn’t believe Florentyna would ever trust him if she knew he had caused this through carelessness. ‘I trust my instincts implicitly. I’m asking you to do the same. What has happened here is not an attack in any traditional sense.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ she demanded in such an agonised voice that he felt her pain.

  ‘An aberration,’ he offered.

  She stared at him in stunned disbelief. ‘Oh, that’s going to sound convincing when I have to stand before my people to reassure them.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ he said. ‘Follow the plan to contain it. No-one on the outside of Stoneheart need know. Burrage died of a heart attack, some of old age, the rest of poison from the filligo greens cooked last night and not boiled long enough to take away their toxicity.’

  Now she looked at him in undisguised horror. ‘Lie?’ she said baldly.

  ‘Not entirely a lie if you don’t know what the truth is.’

  She folded her arms and the set of her mouth told him that his reasoning was not going to wash.

  He sighed. ‘Offer an explanation to appease the worry and prevent panic. Gather up your staff, hunt down anyone who is aware of the deaths and find out if they only know about isolated ones. If so, let it be. Anyone aware of multiple deaths, counsel them. Do it directly. They will be in awe that the queen is addressing them. Assure them you will find out what caused this, but that you need their silence until you do. Appeal to them, your majesty … tell them their quiet tongues will prevent panic and more deaths, and that’s exactly what you’re facing if word begins to get out.’