by John Conroe
“Do you, Lord DelaCrotia? Really?” she asked, brows raised. “Because it seems like you don’t. In fact, I get the distinct impression that you somehow are misinterpreting this entire series of events. Let me set you straight.”
“Now, Brona,” my father said, instantly causing everyone around him to take a step away and earning himself the undivided attention of Erser, Kiven, and every guard. “I mean, Your Majesty,” he started to correct, but Brona held up one hand, palm out.
“Let’s see, Rucian. Your second son has turned traitor and become a Tainted agent of the Paul. That dishonor might by itself be enough for me, as acting queen, to name your title and lands forfeit. In fact, there might even be an edict already signed by my father to that effect but held in abeyance somewhere around here at my request,” Brona said. “However, the actions of your third son continue to far outweigh the damage done by Tallen. I could enumerate them all, but some are so secret that if I told you, I might have to have you killed. Therefore, in the interests of your family, perhaps you might avoid adding any weight to the side of dishonor?” she asked him.
My father was furious and embarrassed. I knew the visual signs well. A major part of his personal approach to manipulation focused upon turning the perceptions of his audience against the object of his ire. Brona had deftly cut his legs out from under him before he could do so. All he could do was nod and keep his mouth shut.
“For those of you who were not in the castle tonight, upon the good doctor’s treatment, Neil Slinch reacted by personally stabbing the king and sending Raven assassins to kill me. It seems I was better guarded than my father, no doubt because I was not suffering from toxin-induced psychosis and had had the good sense to send for my Shadows. The assassins died, some Ravens barricaded themselves here in the throne room and were driven out by my forces, while Slinch and allies attempted escape, and the rest you know,” she said with a wave at me and Jella.
“But why, Your Majesty?” Lord Grantell asked.
“Because he was already owned by another country before he ever came back to Montshire,” Lady Kardian said in her gruff voice.
Brona smiled and leaned back on the throne, waving for Lady Kardian to continue. She looked every inch the queen.
“King Helat and Slinch roomed together in the Royal Academy when we were all much younger,” Lady Kardian began. “After graduation, Slinch went on something of a journey of self-discovery. Traveled about Nengled but ended up in Berkette. Neil is from a merchant family, one with solid success, enough to buy his way into the Academy. King Helat’s father, old King Sarn, wanted his son to know the common people, hence his selection as a roommate. I was part of your father’s class, Your Majesty, and we had known each other our whole lives, so I was often around when Neil and Helat held their famous group discourses. They covered almost every topic imaginable, but I distinctly remember Neil ranting about the inherent societal injustice of the kingdom’s system. He was much enamored of Berkette’s Republic, weren’t you, Neil?” she asked, looking at the drooling, kneeling Slinch. “Thought Montshire should be remade into Berkette’s mirror image, where a successful man could buy his way into power. When King Sarn passed on and Helat ascended the throne, Neil appeared for the coronation and wormed his way into a top job.”
Brona did not appear surprised to my eyes, which meant she’d likely already spoken with Lady Kardian about just this topic.
“And Berkette would have seen an opportunity to seed the new king’s council with their own spy, one who might ultimately act on the idea of another republic,” Lord Sampson suggested.
“Thus reinforcing one of the first lessons my father taught me,” Brona said. “The countries allied with Montshire do so out of their self-interest, not ours. But all of this is conjecture at this point. We will need to question our new castle guest here, as well as find and remove any remaining double agents. Captain DelaCrotia.” She turned to me.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“You will see Dr. Eltienne about your wound and if he pronounces you okay, you will clean up, eat something, and then return to my side. The Shadows will lead the efforts to clear our house and as usual, you will lead them. Clear?”
“Crystal, Your Majesty,” I said, bowing to my queen. When I stood upright and turned to leave, I caught Rose’s eye and while she kept her expression blank, she did give me a little nod.
Chapter 40
We buried Drew’s ashes in Haven’s military cemetery, giving him full honors. In recent years, funerals of Shadows killed on duty had been lightly attended, mostly just Shadows and some Ranged Recon folks, family, and the staff of the Knife and Needle. Brona always attended, every single time, just as she did now.
But before she had been Princess Brona. Now she was attending as Queen Brona, and that meant that the entire royal council was there, as was the full RRS contingent and many of the higher-ranking infantry and cavalry officers. My mother, my sister, her husband Jonathon, Sissa Newberry, Welton, and Brent were all seated among the Shadows as we took our turns speaking, remembering, and grieving. Drew’s mother and sister, Tina, were his only family and were seated next to the queen.
Soshi and Cort both told funny stories that showed Drew in his best light. Hemppe, who rarely spoke at all, read through Drew’s list of military accomplishments and decorations during his active duty with the RRS. Trell sang a song he had written just for Drew, somehow combining respect and sorrow with flashes of humor. At these things, I always speak last, following Brona’s final words, again as usual. Her speech this time was anything but usual.
“I’ve known Drew Holden for a very long time,” she started. “For those of you perhaps unaware, my interest in the Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron began when a childhood friend of mine expressed his interest in serving the kingdom with these special operators.” She waved at the Squadron before she glanced my way with an arch expression, earning a laugh from many of those present.
“Drew graduated Despair with my friend and served on his team all throughout the Seventy Day War. His service to the crown and kingdom has been without reservation, without blemish, and without complaint… at least to me. His teammates might have differing opinions,” she said, getting another chuckle.
“To me, he always exemplified a modern kingdom warrior. Diligent, highly skilled in every aspect of his chosen career, ruthless in defense of his country, yet compassionate and honorable in his conduct toward those he protected. He once reported to me on the results of a classified mission. His team split apart for solo egress from the area of operations and during his own exfiltration, he chanced upon a mud-stuck wagon, loaded with root vegetables, headed for market, driven by a woman and her very young daughter. He stopped and helped them free their cart before proceeding upon his way. They weren’t even citizens of this country. I asked him what on earth he was thinking, to risk himself, a valuable asset of Montshire, to risk his capture, on two people he didn’t know and would likely never see again.
“He said, Your Highness, my oath specifically says to protect and serve to the best of my ability. Those ladies were trying to get their final harvest to market, to earn the money they would need to see them through the winter. I had the ability to serve them, thereby protecting their survival. My oath leaves it up to me for deciding the best way to honor it. My mission was complete and I was just a few t-spans from the border. I only endangered myself. I pressed him further. Drew, I said, you didn’t even know them.
“Princess, they were somebody’s mother and maybe somebody’s sister. Just because I am a soldier of a foreign land doesn’t mean I shouldn’t extend aid to innocent civilians. I have been extensively trained, conditioned, and empowered to make decisions and take risks in the execution of my oaths. Until such time as I am relieved from my position of responsibility, I will do so as best I know how.” She looked directly at Drew’s mother and sister and held their tear-filled gazes for a moment. “And then he stood before me and before his commanding officer, ready for
criticism, ready to accept whatever the consequence of his actions, his honor complete and reconciled within himself. That was Drew Holden, the very personification of what a Montshire soldier should aspire to. Many of you are also soldiers; some of you seek to follow his path. Pay attention to his example because his is the example that I pay attention to.”
Every soldier and most of the men and women in the audience were sitting up straighter when she finished, almost at attention.
She carefully lifted the hem of her black dress and gracefully reclaimed her seat, reaching out to hold Drew’s mother’s hand. Now it was my turn.
“I have to ask myself why I ever thought it was a good idea to follow Her Majesty’s speech,” I said ruefully, crumpling up my notes and stuffing them in a pocket. The whole crowd laughed, breaking the excellent tension Brona had built. “What our queen didn’t include in her story was that I, as his commanding officer, was the one standing beside her when she asked him to explain himself. And what she also somehow forgot to mention was that immediately upon his final comment, she turned to me and said, Well, Captain, I certainly hope you take all of that into account before you assign punishment, and then she left.”
More laughter. “And to forestall any more questions on the matter, I did immediately give him a punishment detail—I sent him home to wait on his mother and sister for a full week.”
Mrs. Holden was able to give me a little smile at that, although Drew’s sister Tina was sobbing too hard to look up.
“Drew Holden was a member of my graduating class from Despair, as are Soshi and Cort over there,” I said, waving a hand at where they sat with Rose, Brin, Corell, Terry, Trell, Kassa, and Jella. “Despair is aptly named, as it is a forge of will and fortitude. It is a place of misery where you are forced to reach deep inside yourself, to dig up the willpower to slog onward, and even more, the ability to put your trust into the hands of your fellow aspirants. Without that trust, without that blind reliance, even the hardiest soldier fails. Despair taught me that I could put my own trust into the hands of my fellow graduates, as well as my fellow Squadron members. Drew Holden was one of the men and women who taught me that lesson. He never broke trust—not with me, not with his teammates, not with his kingdom, and not with his queen. I had intended to tell story after story, but that’s been well done already, by people better at it than me. Instead I will just say this: Drew died defending his kingdom from the most egregious breach of trust I can think of. He died taking action to make a difference, and his actions saved multiple lives. He died not because of a lack of preparation or skill, but simply because the fates of war picked him. And because of his actions, the people responsible for these acts of treason, for this breach of trust, have been brought to justice and held accountable. He died at the top of his game, in the thick of the action, standing against those who would harm what he held most dear, and facing death head on. We should all be so lucky when our time comes.”
Chapter 41
I lay on my back, hands behind my head, studying the view overhead. I had never seen it before, and it was completely fascinating. A canopy of dark blue velvet, speckled with bits of silver thread, each placed in a tiny cross. The total effect was a recreation of the Nengled night sky, complete with constellations like that of the Huntress, the Mother Bear and her Cub, the Ladle, and the Golden Bow. I was pretty sure that the silver thread was real silver, extruded into wire so fine, it could be sewn into fabric.
“You are awfully quiet,” my companion said.
“I’ve never slept in a queen’s bed before,” I replied.
“Not true. Remember when we were little and we snuck into my mother’s room in the summer palace? We fell asleep on her big bed.”
“I have only vague memories of that, and it’s completely not the same. Perhaps I should have said, I have never before slept with a queen upon her bed.”
“Ah, and now that you have, how does it rate?” she asked. I rolled on my side and studied her face. She was leaning on one elbow, the sheets falling away from her naked skin in a way that required all my willpower to hold her gaze. One delicate brow was slightly raised, telling me that my answer was important.
“Other than the interesting overhead, it was exactly the same as sleeping with a crown princess. If you set aside the fact that royal guards are stationed outside the door and we don’t have to sneak through secret tunnels and passageways.”
“A crown princess?”
“Well, maybe I should say the crown princess.”
“Perhaps you should at that,” she warned with a smile.
Despite my levity, her question had held enormous importance to her. Brona is always on guard for changes in herself, with me as her principal tripwire. Since the first moment we met, I knew she was different from anyone else, and I was either too honest or too stupid to not tell her about it. Brona does not carry the same internal compass of right and wrong as most others do. Her father has the same trait, as do many other people of power and importance—an almost complete lack of empathy or regard for everyone around them. She just takes it to greater extremes.
All those many years ago, I had told her about it in great detail, using the brutal honesty of children. And she listened. I think perhaps her mother had tried to talk to her about it, but there are always barriers to communication between parents and children. But another child, one who was unafraid of her, caught her curiosity. She had demanded to know more, for me to point out examples, for me to explain how I could tell how others were feeling by observation and by the mental exercise of placing myself in their position. And so we have continued on over the years. Does she and can she care for others, truly? I think so, but only a very, very few. I firmly believe that she misses her mother. I also firmly believe that she holds me in a regard that may actually be truly love, just as I believe that her father really only loves just her. But most people, she is not attached to, not truly. She meant every word about Drew at the funeral, but I doubt she will miss him for a second. But she tries very hard to understand how most of us feel and she doesn’t want to become or be seen as bad or evil. Thus, I am ever her stormglass.
“Do you already miss him?” she asked, as if reading my thoughts, the way Oscar might.
“It’s too new. I haven’t truly processed that he won’t be at the Knife and Needle tomorrow. It’ll be when his absence is obvious that I will likely feel the pain,” I said. “When do you miss your mother?”
She rolled to her back and looked up at the canopy. “At odd times. Like when I am uncertain of my appearance or when I’m working in her gardens. Is that… right?”
“Yes, very much so. Are you worried about your father?”
“No,” she said, puzzled.
“If he doesn’t recover, if he… passes, will you miss him?”
“No. I will hear his voice in my head, as I already do, when I am working through a problem. But I have not been able to approach him for help for several years, so that will not change. I just won’t see him anymore,” she said with a shrug. “And he won’t recover.”
“What? How do you know?”
She rolled back to me, a tiny furrow between her bright eyes. “Because he has become what Warcans must guard against.”
I took a second to process that. “He’s become too self-centered?”
“Yes. He has made an increasing number of very bad mistakes lately, all of which were directly connected to his own desires rather than what was good for the kingdom.”
I thought about that some more, a tiny tickle of doubt forming at the back of my mind. “He was under the influence of sand striker venom and Slinch’s whispers.”
“Just recently. Dr. Eltienne believes it was only within the last month or so. He was already making very poor choices before that. Trusting his Ravens, getting jealous of my Shadows, ignoring the threat of the Paul, trusting Mandrigo and Berkette too much. And Savid, he thoroughly mistreated you,” she said.
“But Slinch’s attack came before y
ou could do anything, right?”
“Not exactly,” she said, very matter-of-fact. “Which reminds me, thank you for all of the new prisoners you brought me.”
“Ah, you are welcome, but how does that remind you?”
“Because of Mr. Kazilionum. I asked him to Impress a quill pen of mine with a feeling of complete, intense panic. Then I left it on the corner of my desk. Neil has always stolen my quills. Thinks I don’t realize that it was him. Some sort of Raven game. He stole it, about the time I had the doctor examine Father. So Slinch’s panic and his attacks were partially tripped by the quill. I knew he was up to something, and when he convinced Father to imprison you, that was the last draw. Or perhaps I should say, the last feather,” she said with a little laugh. “Anyway, I sent Welton to Hemppe and called my Shadows to the castle. Oh, and don’t think you’re getting Rose back, either. She’s a delight. Smart, quiet, observes everything, memory like a hunter’s trap, and deadly fierce with those blades.”
“So… you deliberately triggered Slinch?”
“Absolutely. I wasn’t sure of what he would do, but I wasn’t completely surprised when he attacked us.”
“But your father was vulnerable?”
“Yes. By his own hand and word. He imprisoned Brent, reduced his guards, turned his back to Slinch. Poor decisions, every one of them.”
“And he won’t recover?”
“Of course not. We have a major security breach by Berkette, our single seaport was in serious jeopardy till you fixed it and also removed the corruption that Father overlooked—another error on his part. We have both a threat and opportunity with the Nuks up north and he would definitely botch that, and there is still the matter of Sylvania and the Paul looming over our heads. Savid, think if the Paul infects more of our citizens with the same strain of Taint he used on Ash.”
“But how do you know… for sure… that your father wouldn’t make good decisions?” I asked, watching her carefully.