Lords of Deception

by Christopher C Fuchs

  “I will not marry Arthan.”

  “Consider this, then. Who is next in line if your father dies, either in battle or from his depression?”

  “One of the twins, Uncle Erath or Uncle Asteroth.”

  “They will either kill each other for the crown, tearing Donovan apart, or let Brugarn claim it if they get their war with Rugenhav and win the lands they think they’ll win.”

  “But there’s also Avalane and Henrey.”

  “Your sister’s husband has the blood sickness. He wouldn’t rule long, if at all. Who would have the crown, then, since a queen would break Donovard tradition by ruling alone?”

  “I suppose Uncle Brugarn…”

  “Correct. Also consider that Brugarn would attempt to take you as his wife in order to strengthen his claim regardless of his route to the throne. You know that no one wants your father’s crown more than Brugarn, and no one wants to be free of the crown more than your father. Brugarn is dangerously close to having whatever he wants, even with Erech on the throne.”

  “How would marrying Arthan stop any of this, Mother?”

  “At the least, you wouldn’t belong to Brugarn. At best, the Valients’ past royalty would be rekindled with the marriage, strengthening the House of Avaleau while helping to block your father’s brothers.”

  “But won’t they still have superior claims?”

  “The kings of Donovan still need the support of the lord ministers, lower nobles, and the Messengian Church to rule. Most will never be coerced into supporting Brugarn. One of the twins could be more palatable initially as king, but they would eventually commit the kingdom to perpetual war. However, if you wed Arthan, the elites would be more likely to support your joint claim over theirs.”

  Milisend looked down at her hands as the queen took longer sips. This was what she hated about royal life: every privilege, every luxury, but no freedom to take her own path. She thought of Regaume and knew what he would say. But the notion that she had a higher duty to the kingdom gnawed at her. And the notion of wedding Brugarn was worse. It made her understand why her mother drank popaver with such regularity.

  “How much have you arranged, Mother?”

  “Your father is ambivalent. Brugarn knows nothing of my ideas, of course. Arthan will arrive in Eglamour soon to give the king his oath. I will look for ways to press your father to speak to Arthan about this arrangement.”

  “May I have more time to consid— to get used to the idea?”

  “Time runs short, Mili. Prepare your heart for this necessity, for all of our sakes.”

  ---

  Milisend walked alone back to her chambers. She was not surprised when a castle guard approached her.

  “Princess, do you require an escort?”

  “You’re going to have to stop entering the palace like this,” she whispered. “One day they will see through your disguise. You don’t walk like a soldier.”

  “I see through your disguise of happy royalty,” Regaume said with a smile.

  She turned to him when they were out of view. “I am royalty. Duty and responsibility are my burdens.” She didn’t mean to be so stern, but the conversation with her mother had shaken her.

  “I meant I know your heart, Mili…Where is this coming from? Did Marielle tell Andrilenne about your new black slippers?”

  “You must call her the queen…” Milisend could not bring herself to tell him about her mother’s plans. He would be heartbroken. But surely he knew this would eventually happen. It was her lot, after all. “I’m sorry, I just…I need to be alone tonight.”

  “All right…”

  She fought the tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry…”

  Regaume reached his hand out to her, but she turned and hurried to her chambers.

  34. ARTHAN

  Eglamour, Toulon Ministry

  Flowertide, 3034

  “There it is,” Reimvick said as they crested a hill. “Eglamour!”

  Arthan could see the sprawling city of white marble down in the valley before them, straddling the Toulon River. Everyone knew the tales of its founding as the greatest city of Pemonia, back when the famed Frontier Corps pushed the colonial borders deep into the unexplored forests of the New World. But that did not stop Reimvick from talking about it.

  “There, see the king’s palace? And over there, the outer districts that creep up the slopes of the foothills? The rows of violet and crimson flags of the Avaleaus. Magnificent.”

  “Yes, it is…” Arthan said. After a long journey listening to Reimvick’s incessant gossip and storytelling, Arthan was looking forward to the city for other reasons.

  “But don’t let the sight fool you, young Arthan,” Reimvick continued. “The white city has an underlying rot centered in the palace itself. Leadership is lacking, the treasury is a place of cobwebs, and usurpers lurk in every hall and corridor like adders. You can almost smell the rot from here.”

  Prior to descending into the valley, Reimvick dispatched a messenger to announce their approach. Word soon came back that the royal court was assembled and expecting them. Upon entering the city gates they made straight for the palace, passing by the Valient estate at Clonmel where his servants were waiting for him in front of the great oaken doors. He waved, looking forward to the respite he knew would be waiting for him there.

  The grand gates of the palace grounds were already open. The trumpets of a dozen heralds sounded their coming. Reimvick and Arthan dismounted, and their retinues gathered behind them as everyone prepared to parade into the great hall.

  “I dislike all this ceremony,” Arthan whispered to Serdot.

  “It won’t be too cheerful. I’ve just learned that the king only learned of Gottfried’s death this morning.”

  “How could you possibly know that? We’ve only just arrived.”

  “I spoke to one of my contacts while everyone was lining up. Things are not good here in the capital, my lord.”

  Arthan sighed as they waited. A moment later a blue-robed man approached with several of the king’s Crownblades behind him. His face was familiar but Arthan could not remember his name.

  “Welcome, Lord Valient and Lord Reimvick,” said the man. “I am Waldemar, the steward of the palace and deputy alderman of Eglamour. Our king’s hospitality awaits you. Please, follow me.”

  The trumpets sounded again as everyone followed Waldemar toward the great doors. The palace’s white marble facade and columns were carved with scenes from the settling of the New World and the subsequent founding of Donovan as an independent kingdom. Many of the scenes were decorated with bright-shining electrum. The great doors were also inset with electrum and precious stones.

  Arthan recognized the cavernous interior when they stepped inside. All manner of animals, birds, fish, and plants were carved from marble or cast from polished electrum and set upon the massive columns. The violet and crimson carpet led down the cathedral-like grand hall, and fountains studded the side wings. If the treasury was truly broken, he thought, selling the decorations of the palace alone would surely pay off a portion of the royal debt.

  Arthan could see the throne ahead was crowded with courtiers despite the large space. He tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, chin high. The courtiers bowed respectfully as the two lords passed by. He felt unworthy of lord ministership in the presence of all these people unknown to him. He tried to think of Maillard and the respect he had always garnered wherever he went. He knew it had been hard earned. Would they ever respect him in the same way?

  He tried to calm his mind as they approached the dais. The king looked haggard and sleepless. Erech’s golden beard had faded, and his mustache was drawn in a frown. He was hunched well before his time, not sitting proudly as he once had. To his left was Queen Andrilenne, her eyes distant and glassy. Brugarn, Chaultion, Meltres, and others Arthan did not recognize were clustered on the king’s right.

  Waldemar stopped and bowed. “Your Majesty,
may I present Lord Arthan Valient of Delavon and Count of Bram, heir to his father Lord Maillard Valient. And his brother Bardil Valient.” They bowed their heads. “And may I present Lord Edmond Reimvick of Wallevet, heir to his brother Lord Raymond Reimvick.” Reimvick bowed in turn.

  “Come forth, young Valient,” muttered the king.

  Arthan stepped forward while Bardil and Livonier guided his servants carrying the chests of gold. They opened the chests to show his tribute as Arthan knelt before the king. He drew his sword and lay the blade across his palm, ceremoniously offering it to Erech. He noticed Erech’s sword at his side. It was the famous Rhunegeld, the ancient symbol of Donovan’s first king.

  “I know this young face,” Erech said. “Eldest son of the most honorable and loyal Maillard…I have grieved for the loss of your father. Few burdens surpass what he willingly shouldered time and again, unto death. Do you freely wish to inherit such duties as may be placed upon you?”

  Arthan had not expected Erech to speak so coherently. He did notice a small light in the king’s eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty. It would be my life’s honor.”

  “Your oath, then,” Brugarn said.

  Arthan inhaled deeply, recalling the sacred words of his family. “I, heir of the House of Valient, which was born in the Crusade of Pemonia, do swear fealty to Erech, King of Donovan, pledging my sword, my vassals, and my resources in loyalty to you, my king. In my life, or by my death, I shall serve, as God wills. Honora thering Valienta Crusadis.”

  “Then rise,” Erech said, “lord minister of Delavon.”

  Brugarn reluctantly addressed the crowd. “In the tradition of our fathers, you may hereby recognize the new member of the Lord Ministers Council, a first noble of the king.”

  The court applauded to recognize Arthan, then he waited as the same ceremony was repeated with Reimvick. When this was done, Waldemar turned to the courtiers.

  “Let us feast in celebration!”

  It was the grandest meal Arthan had ever attended, but it was more for the enjoyment of Brugarn and his ilk than for anyone else. Arthan guessed that his chests of gold had been anticipated but wondered for how long the lavish spending could continue. He also noticed that Erech simply watched and ate little. The light in his eyes faded, as if he was being swept in and out of a foggy dream.

  “My lord,” Serdot whispered in Arthan’s ear. “The steward wishes to have a word with you.” Serdot pointed him to where Waldemar had been sitting near the king. “He waits for you in the side hall, near the ivy fountain.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Talk. These high officers of the royal court like to talk. Shall I accompany you?”

  “No, thank you, Serdot. I will meet him alone first.”

  Arthan excused himself as the courtiers refilled their wine cups. Arthan noticed Reimvick’s cautious glance as he stood from the table, certain that Reimvick hoped to glean good gossip from Arthan later.

  Arthan found Waldemar pacing around one of the fountains by the light of a torch sconce. They were well out of earshot of the feast.

  “I am glad to have lived to see the day when you take your father’s place as the king’s vassal,” Waldemar said, “despite the unfortunate circumstances, of course. Maillard was the elder lord minister, you know. Not by age, but by wisdom.”

  “Thank you, lord steward. I remember Father speaking highly of you as well.”

  “Maillard leaves a great hole that I and others hope you will grow to fill. That is why I wanted to speak with you privately from the beginning, before any of the others. I hope you will count me among your friends…”

  “Of course…” Arthan said. He searched Waldemar’s eyes for malice, but the old man seemed genuine, though anxious.

  “Let me tell you that many others here will pander to your power, but they pander only for themselves. Unlike the old days, when kings were kings and nobles were nothing, the lord ministers are the power behind the throne. Or at least they should be. One lord minister, Duke Brugarn, the king’s youngest brother, rules out of balance with the rest, as you’ve undoubtedly heard.”

  “I have,” Arthan said, understanding that Waldemar was trying to gauge where he stood.

  “You must know, Lord Valient, that your father had been a unifier among the ministers. Brugarn had slowly chipped away at Maillard’s influence within the Lord Ministers Council. Now that Maillard is gone, Brugarn’s influence is unbounded. The wolves are circling the vulnerable sheep, my lord.”

  “What are you asking of me, Waldemar?”

  “None of the other ministers admit as much, but some wonder if you’re willing and capable of doing as Maillard would have done. Before Brugarn ascends.”

  Waldemar looked down and shook his head before continuing. “Court politics is always about the power and favors one can gain for oneself. But these are especially trying times. I wanted you to know about the respected position your father held in the minister council, which I mediate as steward. And I wanted you to know the hope of some of us that you’ll aspire to fill his shoes, for the good of Donovan. Alas, you’ve officially been lord minister for less than a day, but in time I think you’ll appreciate what’s been said.”

  “I do, and I thank you,” Arthan said. “But don’t you fear the wrath of Brugarn if he discovers you’re against him?”

  “Of course we do. But we tell ourselves there must be plenty of Maillard’s bold diplomacy and influence in you. Undoubtedly a burden during these times, as the king said, and your enemies will be many. But you’re not alone.”

  Arthan could not help but be wary. He did not expect to find allies in the king’s court, ruled as it was by Brugarn. And although Waldemar seemed genuine, he looked forward to Serdot’s assessment. Arthan wished Maillard had brought him to Eglamour more often, to teach Arthan how to weigh the words and deeds of powerful people. He realized in that moment that he feared being deceived.

  Waldemar stepped closer and dropped to the lowest whisper. “The king has lost himself to shadow, usurped by those closest to him. Everyone can see it. Some say he’s utterly unfit to be king. This is treachery, of course. But our kingdom faces new perils all around. When the quake comes, can such a man continue to stand?”

  Reimvick’s words echoed in Arthan’s mind. They will test and isolate you if you let them. He could not help but feel as if he was being baited. Waldemar was simply being too open with him. Dangerously open for the chief royal servant. Waldemar was either desperate for an ally to fill the void left by Maillard, or Waldemar was sent by Brugarn to test Arthan.

  When Arthan’s answer did not come, Waldemar took a step back. “I’m sure I’ve said too much. Before you return to Delavon you must attend the Lord Ministers Council. It will be Brugarn’s first opportunity to test you. Remember, your enemies may be many, but you’re not without allies.”

  “Thank you,” Arthan said. Waldemar did not return to the feast but walked into the dark.

  “What did he want?” Reimvick asked when Arthan returned to his seat.

  Arthan glanced at Serdot, who twitched his head as if to say don’t tell him.

  “Just news from Delavon and condolences for Father,” Arthan said.

  “Waldemar is a collector of gossip,” Reimvick said, “like me. But I don’t trust him. As the king’s man, he’s effectively Brugarn’s man.”

  “I suppose that is beyond me,” Arthan said before taking a long drink of wine.

  Reimvick stopped chewing. “No it isn’t. You’ll need to learn who is who in this court, beyond the primary usurpers I named on the road. This place is a snake pit, perhaps more so than when Maillard was last here. You’ll need to learn where the traps are, perhaps better than your father did.”

  Arthan nodded but kept eating.

  As the courtiers’ bellies filled and the wine fogged each head, the king retired early to his bedchamber. Eager to go to Clonmel, Arthan said his farewells.

  Riding through t
he white-paved streets, Arthan’s head was heavy with proffered advice and foolishness. It was difficult to tell everything apart. He pondered Reimvick’s words about his destiny and Serdot’s similar words from before. Then there was Waldemar’s anxious and pushy talk.

  “How can I tell friend from foe, Serdot?” he asked as he readied for bed. “The chaos of a battlefield is easier to navigate than the royal court.”

  “I do not trust Waldemar,” Serdot answered. “Brugarn would have every reason to corrupt the steward. However, as master of the palace, Waldemar is someone you must keep close at hand. Don’t let him think you distrust him.”

  “What about Reimvick? His advice seems sound, but I half wish we hadn’t traveled together. His gossipy concerns are endless, yet he spoke to me of destiny as if he had looked into a witch’s well.”

  “Your father had much respect for both men. But they did not gain power merely by being respected.”

  “Father also respected our neighbor to the north, Lord Sigbert of Barres Ministry.”

  “Sigbert is headstrong. His temper is a liability.”

  “Then who can be trusted, Serdot? How is life at court possible without trusting someone at some time?”

  “None of them can be fully trusted, my lord. You must be cautious and discerning, aware that their loyalties and whims will constantly shift. And Reimvick was right: you’ll have to learn the court well, better than Maillard. I will help you.”

  “At least Reimvick and I were confirmed together. Which reminds me, I did not see anyone from Leauvenna at court. Has the king not decided on a new lord minister?”

  “Gottfried and his wife had no children, so his heir for lord ministership remains uncertain. The queen’s mind has been shaded with popaver since our arrival, and the king is said to go in and out of bitter depression. Frankly, my lord, I was surprised that Erech conducted the confirmation ceremony as well as he did, and that Brugarn largely let it be.”

  “When is the Lord Ministers’ Council meeting?”