by M C Dwyer
Staring down at the pile of silver and blue, Nepenthe wondered if the lack of sleep had turned his brain. Or possibly Edmun’s. What was he thinking, dressing him up as an Aileron?
He sighed and shut the door. Regardless, he was expected in the throne room in fifteen minutes. That might be just long enough to make himself presentable if he ran the entire way.
Fifteen minutes later found him dressed in his new finery and standing awkwardly before the double doors of the throne room. The guardsmen in palace blues flung the doors open, revealing a long carpet lined with all the Ailerons currently in court. He looked down the double row and spotted many faces he knew. Rhian winked at him before resuming a stoic expression, and Mae gave him an encouraging smile.
The doors closed behind him with a bang that made him jump, and then a stentorian voice echoed through the hall.
“I call Nepenthe before the king and his Ailerons.”
Nepenthe tried not to flinch but wasn’t entirely successful, and started up the carpeted path that seemed to stretch on forever. An eternity later, he found himself staring up at a kingly figure on a throne. He seemed very remote and out of reach, and Nepenthe had a strange fancy that he was receding even as he watched. But then he looked closer and saw the tired circles under his eyes that suggested Edmun hadn’t slept at all last night, and suddenly he was Tad again and Nepenthe was calm.
“Nepenthe, for your services for the throne of Alain and on the recommendation of the Ailerons, I am pleased to bestow on you the title of Aileron of Alain. Do you accept this service?”
How could he not? Biting his lip, he nodded.
“Is there anyone here who would oppose this appointment?” Edmun asked, looking out over the Ailerons.
Nepenthe felt his hand creeping up and couldn’t bring himself to stop it.
Edmun’s eyes came back to Nepenthe and rested on him with amusement. “You would oppose your own appointment?” There were whispers and faint laughter at this.
“You can’t really be serious,” Nepenthe said faintly, his voice barely projecting as far as the throne.
“I’m very serious,” he said. “Can you give me some good reason why you should not be an Aileron? Are you underage?”
Nepenthe bit his lip. “I’m eighteen, I think.”
“Then, are you sworn in service to some other king?”
Shaking his head, Nepenthe said, “I may have been once, but he is dead.” If nothing else, his recurrent nightmare told him that much.
“On what grounds, then, do you oppose your appointment?”
“On the grounds that I do not deserve it. I am nothing special.”
Edmun stood, flicking his fur-edged robe behind him and descending the few stairs. He captured Nepenthe’s hand and bowed over it. “Allow me to disagree,” he said. “I assert that you are special, whether or not you can see it.” His voice dropped to whisper. “Can you bring yourself to trust me once more?”
Nepenthe shivered slightly. “I—yes. Yes, I will.”
“I ask once more,” Edmun said, his voice raised, “is there anyone here who would oppose this appointment?”
No one spoke, and Nepenthe did not move.
“Do you, Nepenthe, swear to serve your king, protect the weak, and uphold justice?”
He looked up and met Edmun’s eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I swear.”
Edmun smiled. “I also swear to repay loyalty with just reward, and oath-breaking with death. Thus are you named Nepenthe, Aileron of Alain.”
There was a cheer from the Ailerons, and Nepenthe flushed. Drinian approached with a silver sword in his hands, which he passed to Edmun. Edmun in turn presented it to Nepenthe.
As Nepenthe slowly wrapped his hands around it, that tight, achy feeling returned to his chest. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry, and so did neither. He stood numbly as many of the Ailerons came and clapped him on the back and congratulated him. The Ailerons dispersed, and Edmun approached Nepenthe once more.
“Court will begin shortly. They’ll bring in Marid and the guardsmen; we’re fairly certain none of the princess’ other servants are in on it. You’ll give your testimony, and then we’ll hear from the guards and Marid.”
“Is this a trial?” Nepenthe asked.
“Not as such,” Edmun said, rubbing his temples. “They’re not citizens of Alain, so they don’t ultimately fall under my authority. This is to present what we’ve discovered to Princess Ingrid, and it will be her decision as to what happens next. The most likely scenario is that they’ll be sent back to Iona to face punishment there.” He broke off to yawn. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep last night.”
“I didn’t think you had,” Nepenthe agreed. “Did you at least eat breakfast?”
Edmun laughed. “No. Did you?”
Nepenthe shrugged. “I only had fifteen minutes to change and get down here, so no.”
“Well, go grab a bite to eat and then go to the princess. It’ll be better if she’s prepared for court by someone she trusts. I’d go, but I don’t think she likes me much.”
With a mischievous grin, Nepenthe said, “I believe her words were ‘grumpy and old.’”
Groaning, Edmun turned Nepenthe towards the door. “Go, Shadow. Court will begin at third bell.”
Nepenthe left, his mind mulling over the situation of the princess. What would she decide? Was she still planning to refuse the marriage? He found that the answer mattered a great deal, now that he knew that Edmun was Tad. Or Tad was Edmun. It was confusing. Regardless, he didn’t want Edmun trapped in a loveless political marriage, especially with someone like Ingrid. Their personalities were bound to clash endlessly. Furthermore, the mere thought of Edmun married made Nepenthe feel uncomfortable somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. He sighed and turned his steps to the kitchen.
The unshakeable cook merely grunted at his new finery and reminded him she wasn’t there to serve him. Nepenthe grinned at this return to normalcy and helped himself to a pastry and an apple, then took himself off to the princess’ quarters.
That interview went less well, and involved a fair amount of tears and shouting, both on Ingrid’s part. By the end of the discussion, she was prepared to believe Nepenthe and willing to listen to King Edmun’s advice, but not, she warned, to go so far as to marry him.
“No one is asking that, your highness,” Nepenthe said, relief mixing with irritation as he repeated it for what felt like the thousandth time. “In fact, this is a prime opportunity to get out of it—no one will expect a wedding to work when your servants were plotting to kill you and frame Alain.”
At this, Ingrid’s eyes lit up, and Nepenthe hoped he hadn’t just started a war.
“We need to go to court so you can hear the testimonies,” he said. “Wear something regal.”
“I have just the thing,” Ingrid said, and scampered off to her room to change.
Nepenthe shook his head and ate his apple while he waited.
Chapter 21
By the time they returned to the throne room, this time with a contingent of Ailerons standing as guards, the double doors were standing open and the hall was filled with nobles. As before, Ailerons lined the carpeted walkway, providing a space for Princess Ingrid to approach the dais.
King Edmun stood at her approach, and she swept a low curtsy. He bowed in return, then gestured to an ornate chair that had been added to the dais. Nepenthe lent her his arm up the stairs, then took up a position next to her seat, mirroring the position of Barth on the other side of the king. The king sat as well, which seemed to be a signal to begin.
Drinian stepped forward carrying a long staff capped in iron on both ends. He lifted this up and brought it down on the stone floor with a boom. On the right hand side of the hall, a smaller door opened, and several guards entered, leading the shackled, surly guardsmen and a frightened-looking Marid, followed by the ambassador who was not in chains but flanked by guards. They came to a halt before the dais.
“You stand here accused
of treachery of the highest order,” King Edmun said, his voice echoing down the hall. “To whit, attempted assassination of a royal princess.” He looked sternly at the four who stood before him. “Before we hear the testimony, do any of you have anything to say?”
The guards stood firm, and though Marid shifted her feet, she also said nothing. Sir Thom looked especially pained, his sour-lemon face twisting in what might have been anger.
The king nodded. “Princess Ingrid, do you have any questions before we begin the hearing?”
Ingrid stood up and addressed the court. She was, as Nepenthe had noticed, well schooled in her position. If she was nervous, it didn't show in the slightest. She looked out over the hall and said in a calm, clear voice, “I will withhold judgment until I hear the testimony of the witnesses.” There was the briefest of hesitations before she asked, “May I know when this plot first came to light?”
Edmun nodded his head in her direction. “Approximately one week ago, as you will hear from the testimony of the witnesses.”
“And has the ambassador been implicated in this plot?”
“Not directly. It is currently unclear what his role in events was.”
“Very well,” she responded. “Let us begin.” She took her seat once more.
“I call forth the stableboy Alric,” the king said, and Alric slipped from the front row.
Nepenthe looked up in surprise. He hadn’t even seen him there.
Alric was wide eyed but, as ever, equal to the task, even of speaking in front of the entire court of nobles.
“Alric,” said Edmun, “please tell me what you heard.”
“I was working in one of the stalls when the two guards walked by. One of them said, ‘This is more trouble than it’s worth,’ and the other one said, ‘We’ll be paid well enough when she’s dead.’”
There were murmurs and the sound of shifting feet from the assembled nobles.
“Thank you, Alric. Princess, have you any questions for Alric?”
“What day was this?”
Alric bobbed a bow at the princess. “The day you came to the stables with Nepenthe, your highness, and rode Sugar in the training yard.”
The princess turned very faintly pink, but nodded. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Alric.”
With a somewhat cheeky grin that the guards couldn’t see, Alric bowed again and stepped back into the audience.
“Sir Nepenthe, Aileron of Alain,” King Edmun said, causing Nepenthe to flinch. He wasn’t used to his title.
Stepping forward, he bowed. “Your majesty,” he said, the formality sitting strangely on his lips. The king seemed very remote again, sitting stern and steadfast on his throne. As he looked at Nepenthe, though, his gaze seemed to soften slightly.
“Tell the court what you heard last night.”
As best as he could remember, he recounted the words that had passed between the two guardsmen in that dark hallway. At the mention of the Butcher of Brae, there were uneasy mutterings from the crowd. They turned to gasps and calls of outrage when Nepenthe came to the poison.
The guards remained stiff and unyielding during Nepenthe’s testimony, but Marid let out a wail and covered her face with her hands. Sir Thom’s sour-lemon expression had settled into shock and outrage, which seemed a fairly good indicator that he hadn’t known about the plot.
“Thank you, Sir Nepenthe,” the king said. “Princess, any questions for Nepenthe?”
The princess was looking at Nepenthe with something like hero worship in her eyes, and Nepenthe shifted uncomfortably. “No, your majesty.”
Edmun nodded at Nepenthe, who stepped back to his post next to the princess’ chair. He turned to the four people standing before him. “Have you any response to these claims?”
“If I may speak, your majesty?” Sir Thom said. Edmun nodded. “I had no knowledge of this plot, but if it is true, I ask that you not let it sour relations between Iona and Alain. King Bram would never have countenanced such a plot, especially one that would result in the death of his only daughter.”
King Edmun inclined his head. “If my suspicions are correct, my dear ambassador, I suspect we’ll have to look a little further afield for a place to lay the blame.” He turned to the guards and servant. “Will none of you speak to defend yourselves?”
The guards were still obdurate, but Marid spoke up. “I didn’t want to, your majesty! They threatened to kill me if I didn’t do what they said, so I had no choice!”
The reddish-haired guard, who was nearest to her, sneered. “You were paid the same as we were, woman; no one had to threaten you.”
The other guard hissed, “Shut up, fools.”
King Edmun waited patiently, but nothing further was said. “Your highness, do you have anything you would wish to ask these three?”
The princess’ brow was furrowed in thought. “Why? Why would you do this? What possible gain would there be from killing me and pinning it on one of Alain’s knights?”
After a brief pause in which none of the prisoners volunteered an answer, King Edmun said, “I would imagine the gain would be certain war between Iona and Alain. If you were killed and one of my handpicked men or women was blamed, war would be nearly unavoidable. And if we were fighting, it would be very easy for someone else to move against us.”
“Ah!” the princess said. “You are referring to the eastern clans.”
The king inclined his head and said, “Sir Barth, Aileron of Alain.”
Sir Barth stepped forward, and Nepenthe was suddenly struck by the similarity between him and the two guards, though Barth wore no beard. “Your majesty,” he said, and turned to address the court. “These two men may have hired themselves to the king of Iona, but they are easterners, like myself.” He pointed at the one with red hair. “That man’s beard proclaims him to belong to clan Severen, and the other is bound by marriage to their sister clan.”
Nepenthe stared at the beards of the two men. They were intricately braided and beaded, but he’d had no idea there was any meaning behind it.
“We are mere mercenaries,” the redhead bit out, “cast off from our clans.”
Barth shook his head. “If that were the case, your highness, their beards would have been shorn before they left. He motioned to his own clean-shaven face with a somewhat melancholy look in his eyes.
“Thank you, Sir Barth,” Edmun said softly, and Barth stepped back. “Princess, it would seem to me that our two countries have nearly been the victim of a plot from the eastern clans. It is not the intention of this court to pass judgment or sentencing; it is against your own royal person that the crime was intended, so it must be in your own courts that their fate is decided.”
Princess Ingrid stood and swept a deep curtsy. “Iona is deep in your debt, King Edmun. I will return home and see that these three receive justice. As for our ambassador—”
“If I might suggest, your highness,” Sir Thom interrupted, bowing deeply, “I will remain here under house arrest while you return home and discover the extent of this plot.”
The princess looked hesitantly at Edmun who gave a slight nod. She breathed out in relief. “Very well. Remain here as a pledge of the goodwill between Iona and Alain. As for our betrothal, your majesty,” here she curtsied deeply, “I think it is wisest if we do not pursue it at this time. Should it be proved that these events were a plot on the part of the eastern clans, I promise that Alain will have whatever aid Iona can offer.”
King Edmun stood and bowed in response, a somewhat wry smile playing about his lips. “It shall be as you desire, your highness. Allow me to send a contingent of soldiers with you as an escort, as your own guards are not available.” He gestured behind him. “Sir Barth and a company of Ailerons will accompany you as well to see you safely home and to ensure these three arrive intact.”
The princess curtsied again, which seemed to be the signal for the company to disperse. The guards took the three prisoners back through the side door, though the a
mbassador was allowed to stay behind to confer with the princess. Nepenthe stood in the background and watched as the nobles turned to each other and discussed the events, some gesticulating wildly and others nearly shouting in their anger at the eastern clans.
In the hubbub, the princess followed the ambassador out the side door, leaving Nepenthe behind on the dais with the king. Edmun sat back on his throne with a deep breath that might have been a sigh and smothered a yawn behind his hand. He glanced up at Drinian, still standing at attention with the staff in hand, and Drinian beat it against the floor once more. The room quieted quickly.
“My friends, we have no proof yet about the interference of the eastern clans. Once we know, we will take appropriate action against them. In the meantime, I wish to thank those of you who extended your stay in court in order to greet the princess. Please, feel free to return to your manors and lands to see to your duties, and I will welcome all of you back in six weeks’ time for the Midsummer Ball.”
At this, a cheer went up from the some of the nobles, followed by good-natured laughter and an overwhelming sense of relief that could be felt throughout the room. The nobles exited, and Nepenthe turned to the king.
“Did I do alright?” he asked.
Edmun smiled. “You did fine. I’m quite pleased with all of my Ailerons, today.” He looked past Nepenthe and grinned. “And my stableboys, too. Well done, sir.”
Alric had crept up close behind Nepenthe and stood flushing under the king’s praise. “Thank you, your majesty. I wish I could have done more.” He elbowed Nepenthe in the ribs. “You said I wasn’t to spy on them,” he hissed. “What do you call what you were doing?”
“Walking down the hall, minding my own business,” Nepenthe retorted. “It’s hardly my fault if assassins want to plot right in front of me.”
The king and Drinian laughed, then Drinian put a hand on Alric’s neck and steered him toward the door. “I think there’re some stalls that need cleaning, boy,” he said, and followed him out.