“Michael,” his Father said, “You’re a bright young man. You could have found another wench to warm your bed. Why would you choose her? Are you in love with her?”
Michael was caught off guard by this question.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never been in love. I don’t know what it would feel like.”
“If that’s your answer,” Alexander said, “Then your answer is no. And if that’s the case, I can only think of one reason you chose her.”
“Me too,” Michael said, “So that you would stay away from her.”
A dead silence filled the room. Michael had never spelled his plan out, to himself or anyone. It dawned on him that in his attempt to stop his Father from being an asshole, he had possibly done worse.
“What makes you think I’ll stay away from her?” Alexander asked.
“Because whatever else you were to her,” Michael said, “You were less of a man than I was.”
“I’ll draw a sword on you, son,” Alexander said, but his uncertainty undermined his rage. “I’ll fight you.”
“Over her?” Michael said. “Over Vivian, who neither of us love?”
“You know I’ll just find another girl,” Alexander said. “You know I would have anyway. Vivian was getting a bit old for my taste. I can find another young girl who would enjoy living on the shore for a few years.”
“Perhaps,” Michael said, “But I’ll just stop you again.”
“You think you’ll be able to seduce all the women I find?”
“Maybe not,” Michael said. “But I can find other ways.”
“Why do you hate me, Michael?”
Well, now it was out there. Michael would never have said it out loud, but he did hate his father. He hated him something fierce. And Alexander knew it too. But it should never have been said out loud. It should have gone to both of their graves.
“I don’t…” Michael tried, but his voice faded.
“Just answer the damned question!” Alexander said, his rage storming through his voice.
Michael gave it a good thought. He knew it was true. And he knew why. But even his desire to crush his father’s spirit wasn’t as strong as his compassion. He wanted to word it well.
“Because you’re the Count of Deliem,” Michael said. “On our continent, you are one of the twelve most powerful people under the King. You are a leader of men. They will follow your banner. They will die at your orders. You are a leader among men, and you have to act like it. You have to lead by example. You have to behave in the way you would want your subjects to behave. Honorably. And what does it say if you behave this way toward some people, but not to the woman you promised yourself to?”
“I was betrothed to your mother by my parents,” Alexander said. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“But you do love her,” Michael said.
“Yes,” Alexander said. “Very much.”
“So it doesn’t matter. This is about your word, as a man. You promised to be hers, forever. And if you don’t love her, or if you don’t want to, we can figure it out. I’ve studied these laws. I know how to nullify a marriage. Is that what you want?”
“No.” Alexander was now very solemn. He was still angry at his son in a fierce way. But suddenly, he was also proud.
“Then be a man,” Michael said. “Don’t make a fool of your wife.”
“Lorraine is no fool,” Alexander said.
“I know,” Michael said. After a moment of silence, he left the room.
That was as close as either of them would get to reconciliation. They still dined together, and they still spoke in a civil tongue in formal occasions. But they would never be alone in the same room again, not for the next six years, leading up to the carriage ride that killed both Alexander and Lorraine Deliem.
Chapter 37: The Cage of Grimsor
Duncan, Landora, and Nuria returned to the campsite. About halfway there, Nuria awoke, though she was still fatigued. Landora continued to carry her. When she learned that Noble was dead, she was quiet. They were all quiet.
There were still plenty of hours in the day when they dug up their equipment. They salvaged what they could and packed their site, leaving behind roughly one-fourth of their stuff. Duncan insisted that they all rested for an hour, if only to catch their breath. Nuria curled up in her blanket and fell asleep.
Landora sat against the drift, staring east, while Duncan sat beside her, facing west. They wouldn’t allow themselves to be ambushed again. But Landora was uneasy, and Duncan could tell.
“He died to save me,” she said.
“Did you doubt he would?”
“Not for a moment,” Landora confessed. “But I can’t be sure I would have done the same for him.”
“You would have,” Duncan assured her.
“You don’t know me that well.”
“I don’t think you would be capable of it,” Duncan said. “If Nuria was in trouble, you would save her?”
“Of course.”
“And if I were in trouble, you would save me?”
Landora finally turned to Duncan. Was there a question behind the question? Or was this just a mental exercise for him?
The truth was Duncan was just having a friendly debate. But he turned back to her, and their eyes met. Only inches away, cold, sad, pumped full of fatigue and adrenaline. So they kissed. Because that’s what people do in those situations.
Which is of course when Nuria woke. She watched the two pull away from each other, their lips sticking together for just a second as the frost melted. She knew she should say something, but she felt as though she could get away with a moment of eavesdropping before she was really doing anything wrong.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Duncan said.
“You’re a lip-reader, too?” Landora quipped. They smiled, but only for a second, as the sadness of their plight washed over them again.
“Then I believe,” Duncan said, “That you would be incapable of letting Noble die if you had a chance to save him. I don’t think you could have such a cold heart.”
And their heads lulled in again, their lips pursing...
Nuria made a conspicuous yawn, stretching herself out. Duncan and Landora snapped back to watching the horizon.
“Well,” Nuria said, making a point of rubbing her eyes and sitting up, giving the others time to not look so guilty, “I feel much better now.”
“Good,” Duncan said.
“Good,” Landora agreed.
“We should do something,” Nuria said, “For Sir Noble.”
“I agree,” Duncan said. “But it will have to wait until we get back to Rone. We need to focus on our mission, and we can’t have a proper ceremony out here anyway.”
“We should get back on the road,” Landora said.
“We’ll stay on the path as much as we can so the snow doesn’t slow us down too much. We can still get a solid five or six hours of marching in before sunset.”
With that, the trio gathered their belongings, bundled up, and headed north.
---
The sun was setting once again when Landora faltered.
“Are you alright?” Duncan leapt to her side. Nuria noticed how quickly he moved to hold her up. Had he ever been so desperate?
“I’ll be fine,” Landora said, steadying herself. “But we are close.”
“How close?”
“I sensed it very suddenly, and it’s really strong,” she said. “Much closer than I expected.”
“It’s getting dark,” Duncan said, “We should wait until morning.”
“Morning or midnight, it won’t matter,” Landora said. “This place is haunted in its soul. We should keep moving.”
It was less than twenty minutes later that they came to a wall in the ice. It loomed over them, taller than Red Oaks. A flat, sheer barrier. With a single cave entrance.
“This is it,” Landora announced.
“I can feel it now, too,” Nuria said.
“Ca
n we enter?” Duncan asked.
“Yes,” Landora said. “Even you can. But it will be dangerous.”
“Now you tell me,” Duncan said, striding into the cave. Landora and Nuria followed as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Chapter 38: Absolution
Landos woke up in his own bed.
For the last three nights, he had slept in his own quarters instead of the Queen’s. In theory, it was because of the Peace Festival. Hard enough trying to hide an affair with the Queen under normal circumstances, it would be a nightmare trying to keep it a secret while the Turin delegation was there. But Landos feared it was something more. He feared losing Sarah. He feared that she was now a stranger to him, a sinking feeling made all the worse by having loved her so much.
Fortunately, the Baron Dubon von Wrims had become his close friend and confidant. Landos would never be able to tell Dubon everything, but it helped to talk to him. Not as much as it would have helped to hold Sarah in his embrace, but you had to take what you could get.
Landos had only just clasped his Chain of Office around his neck when a cut of parchment slid under the door.
That was strange. Messengers always knocked. If it was important enough that it couldn’t wait until open court, it was important enough to wake up the Magistrate. Why would somebody leave a message so subtly?
Landos unfolded the fine parchment to find a simple note: “I know what you did.” That was easy enough to digest. It was the signature that really got him. “King Michael Rone IV.”
That was a joke. Obviously. A joke in very poor taste. A message from beyond the grave. Somebody was trying to scare him. Except...
Landos ran to his bookshelf, opening an old wooden box. Small keepsakes cluttered the small coffer, mementos from across the years of his life. He dug up the oldest piece of paper. The first note Michael had ever written to Landos. Before he was King Michael, or even Count Michael, when he was just Master Michael, and he wanted Landos to check in on Lady Vivian.
He held the newest message against the oldest message. The handwriting was the same. The same hand had written both notes.
So what was happening here? Perhaps Michael had written this note just before he died, and somebody was holding onto it for the last six years? No, that seemed unlikely. The note was signed “King Michael,” which was his title for only hours before his death. And in those hours, he had fought a dragon, consummated his marriage with Sarah, and died in the Battle of Hartstone. Why would he bother writing this note?
Landos found himself wandering down the hall, holding the parchment in both hands in front of him, like a cipher. Like a diving rod, leading him to the truth. His feet led him down the stairs and into the Hall of Saint Michael, once again without even thinking about it.
And he stood before the Statue. With its blazing green eyes staring down at him. Had he been summoned down here? Had the spirit of Michael brought him to the basement to confront his demon?
“What do you want?” Landos called up to the Statue. “What?”
He paced like a caged wolf, pacing back and forth in front of the cold, stone fixture.
“I can’t fix it,” Landos said. “It’s too late for me to fix it. I can only hold together what we have left.”
Still the Statue said nothing. Was it judging him? The eyes glinted as a few determined rays of sunlight fought their way down the stairs.
“What should I have done, Michael?” Landos said, “Sorry, Your Majesty...” But then he heard the contempt in his own voice, and bowed his head. “Sorry. Sorry. You were the King. You deserved the Kingdom. And I would give almost anything if you could live once more.”
Landos stepped forward, confronting the stoic slab of stone.
“But you didn’t deserve her. I know it’s hard to hear, but your rank and title, the blood that runs in your veins, none of these things give you domain over love. I loved her. She loved me. Queen Sarah is the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. Or will ever meet. And I was in love with her. And I’m still in love with her. And it didn’t matter that my best friend was also in love with her.”
Landos fell to his knees, his voice cracking as he continued his confession to the silent idol.
“Michael... Please forgive me. It started when we thought you were dead. But it became more than that. Even when you were away, uniting the Kingdom, we spent the nights in sin. Oh, Michael…”
Landos groveled at the pedestal, a breakdown six years in the making.
“I love her so much,” he went on. “And I loved you, too. And I couldn’t make things right while you were alive. And I haven’t been able to make things right since you died. Please forgive me. I fathered a child with her, before you even went to your marital bed with her. I slept with her, and we made a child. William is a strong boy. My son. My son!
“I wish you had lived. I wish you had lived and could have punished us. But you died, and the Kingdom needed an heir. We lied in your name. We lied to keep the Kingdom together. We had to Michael. We had to.”
The emerald eyes of the statue made no move and said nothing. Landos wept, sobs wracking his body. And that’s when he noticed something was missing. The depiction of the Battle of Hartstone had been replaced by something else entirely. When had that happened?
Landos wiped his eyes, hefting himself to his feet. He staggered over to the new painting. But it wasn’t a new painting. It was an old painting. And Landos recognized it. A Fenrow. A family portrait done in a style popular some twenty years ago. This one was the Deliem family.
There was Alexander and Lorraine, Michael’s parents. There was a young Michael, his younger sisters, Lord Vye, Julia and her brothers. And in the periphery, the servants. Including...him.
And Landos hadn’t realized it until he saw it now, but the Prince looked exactly like him. Anybody else who saw this painting would have to at least entertain the possibility that Prince William was Landos’ son.
Landos looked over his shoulder. Nobody was around. He could hide the evidence before anybody else saw. He stretched his arms out, grasping the frame and lifting it off its mount...
Only to find a hollow wall behind it. And in the hollow wall, Emily Brimford, James Avonshire, and the rest of the Council stood in the silence and the darkness. Had they been there the whole time?
“Magistrate,” Emily said, “We are placing you under arrest for treason.”
“What?” he said, “You can’t.”
“We heard everything,” James said. “And we’ve seen the painting.”
“We received a note,” Emily said, “From King Michael. It asked that the Council stand behind this wall in silence until you arrived.”
“How... Who sent the notes?”
“We don’t know,” Emily said, “But we’ll have to sort that out after your arrest.”
Emily and the Council stepped out to grab Landos, but he spun back, leapt onto the pedestal, and grabbed the sword out of the Statue’s hand.
“Landos, put that down,” James said. “It’s not a real sword.”
“Yes it is. The Baron said it was.”
“Don’t make this harder for yourself,” Emily pleaded. “We all heard you. We all saw the painting. And we have your written confession.”
“What?” Landos said. swinging his sword at the Council, keeping them at bay.
“A letter in your handwriting,” James said. “Confessing to all the same sins you just revealed.” He held out the incriminating note. It was the letter he had written in the Baron’s room. The one he thought he had burned.
“That’s a forgery,” Landos insisted.
“Enough lies!” James insisted back.
“You can’t do this to me! The Kingdom is in danger. Countess Vye is dead! We need to think of the best interests of the Kingdom. I need to stay free so I can protect the Kingdom.”
“You’re not protecting the Kingdom,” Emily insisted. “You’re protecting your son. Surrender before you hurt somebody.”
“No
!” Landos shouted, leaping from the Statue and bounding up the stairs...
---
Landos barreled frantically through the Castle. Every time he passed a Guard, he told them to alternatively detain the Council in the Hall of Saint Michael, or to gather the Queen and the Prince and bring them to the stables. He could fix this. He just needed a few moments to gather himself.
Landos fled into the north stairwell. He couldn’t go to his chambers. They would be looking for him there. Eight members of the Council. Well-respected witnesses. If they all repeated the news that the Prince was a bastard, the Kingdom was doomed. The Turin would attack, knowing once again that the Rone didn’t have a leader.
He would have to have the Council killed. Nobody would believe eight accidents, so he would just have to make it look like the Turin did it. Yes, it would undermine the Peace they were working on, but Landos had to think about the safety of the Kingdom. The death of the Council would be a rallying cry. And they could invade the Turinheld, and finally serve them justice for killing King Michael and so many others.
Landos reached his destination. He scrambled into the chambers of the Baron Dubon von Wrims without knocking and slammed the door behind him. He lowered the latch. He just needed to catch his breath before he instigated his plan. He scrambled over to the desk to find some parchment. He needed to start writing out orders...
“Good morning, Landos,” said a voice behind him. Landos spun to see the Baron von Wrims standing at the fireplace. But something was wrong...
“What happened to your voice?” Landos asked. The Baron’s accent was different. It no longer had the comedic northern affectation. It was a crisp, southern inflection. This man had been educated.
“What about my voice?” Dubon said. He tugged at his beard, and the hair started coming off. Landos backed away, the sword slipping from his hands.
“Who the hell are you?”
“The Baron Dubon von Wrims...” Dubon started, as though that was his answer. But then he continued, “...was devastated at the loss of his wife and children. He wandered the seas, far and wide, trying to find comfort. But there is no comfort when your family is dead. Murdered in an unjust war.”
A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals) Page 18