After the Dragon

by Wendy Palmer

  So. Lithia could not give Dalton's land to either northern lord or southern lord, and so divided it evenly between two of them and let them watch each other. It was not badly done.

  Lithia did not pause. ‘But this adds substantially to your duties, Viga, and therefore Ghaun will take over Livania's spy network.'

  Viga jerked in his seat and Ghaun sat abruptly straighter. Rissun looked at Trick who stared steadily back. He had not promised a thing.

  Lithia now looked at Ghaun. ‘Any lord entrusted with this responsibility has to be utterly loyal to the throne.'

  'Absolutely, Your Majesty,’ said Ghaun.

  Trick took a look at Viga's face and saw he was not unhappy. The spy network was prestigious but profitable only to the throne, not for the lord who had to run it. He had swapped a sieve for the wool bales of the north.

  Lithia had judged right. Viga's resistance to her had been based on how well he had done under Mikcul. She appealed to his coffers and won him over. And Ghaun, who played for advantage, got the second most influential position in the court. He smiled.

  But the Empress had not yet finished. ‘Of course, you will remove your spies from among my servants at once.’ Ghaun coughed and nodded and Trick shot a nasty glance back at Rissun. That one had an alliance with Ghaun then, or paid Ghaun's spies for the same information Ghaun got, or perhaps none of Lithia's servants were servants at all.

  Lithia appeared to ignore the interplay, though Trick was suddenly sure she noticed it.

  'Sifley and Zanda will assist you, Ghaun. And I'm giving both those provinces road-rights but if I catch you raising the tolls without good reason I'll take it back.'

  Ghaun's smile faded a little, while the other two lords nodded to each other. She set her two most trusted and least powerful lords to watch the watcher, and threw them both an inexpensive titbit, control of the internal trade routes. Only Rissun had had nothing from her.

  And only Crethen was unhappy with what he had been given.

  'Crethen, you are justly deserving of reward for your assistance in restoring my throne to me.’ Filipe took a deep breath as Crethen nodded with no false modesty, his face clearing. The only thing Lithia had not dealt with was her own marriage.

  'Your land is on the border with Bourchia and therefore vital to our defence. The crown should have close ties there.'

  Crethen said, ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ while Rissun fidgeted.

  Trick held his breath. Lithia looked up and straight at Crethen. ‘Did you murder your wife, Crethen?'

  Viga choked on his kafa and the other lords recoiled. Crethen went deadly pale. ‘No,’ he said.

  'Don't make me call my witness,’ she said, and Crethen sat silent. ‘Suffice it to say, I will not make you Consort. You are arrested. Sifley, you will take half Crethen's land. The crown will take the portion between the Bourchian border and the Salding River.'

  She calmly renounced Crethen and claimed the land that had once been Bourchia's for her own.

  Crethen stormed to his feet. The guards took a few steps forward but Lithia signed them to stop. ‘I don't accept that,’ the lord said, his voice shrieking through the room. ‘Call your witness. You can't depose me just like that.'

  Lithia signed to the guards again, and two went out and came back with Yury. Trick saw something odd then. Crethen's face was all bunched into rage but when he saw his man he relaxed.

  Trick felt his own shoulders go tense.

  Mizzle leant against him as if she saw it too.

  Her shoulder on his warmed him and made him cold at once. He took a glance around and saw the daggers Faustus was giving him, who could not understand Livanian and could only understand that Mizzle touched Trick when she had never touched him.

  As he came in, Yury could only look at Mizzle.

  When Lithia asked the question Mizzle had asked that afternoon, Yury nodded, and nodded, and did not look away from her.

  Crethen sat smiling while the other lords looked uneasy and murmured among themselves.

  'It's true, then,’ said Crethen. ‘But I've had some information in my possession for some time too. Mikcul told me. Mikcul thought it was funny.'

  The garnet in Trick's pocket seemed to go hot. They had ignored Crethen's link with Mikcul and Avenir at their own peril. Crethen turned and pointed at Filipe. ‘The leader of the Company—merchants, they say. We all know they're thieves. Maybe he is their leader. But he's something else too. I was going to use this little morsel against you in my own good time.'

  Trick saw Filipe's fingers twitch out—not—and—safe/good—which meant danger but Filipe himself just gazed back at Crethen impassively. Crethen turned back to Lithia. ‘My man—in his pocket he holds a letter from Mikcul. Read it.'

  Trick took a breath. Yury had been ordered to act if this meeting did not go Crethen's way and this letter had been his means. Lithia played into Crethen's hands by bringing his man to him. It was too late. Lithia nodded and a guard brought the letter to her. She skimmed it as all went silent. Once she looked up at Filipe. He looked away, thumb pressed to his lips.

  When she finished, she laid the letter aside and looked at Crethen. ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘So?'

  Crethen almost howled with fury. He snatched up the letter. ‘Can't you read? Filipe is King Fillip! Mikcul knew and laughed at you to know who held your strings!'

  Chapter Eleven

  Kintore is gathering his belongings when a rattling crash sends him running out into the hallway. Jacoby reels against the wall opposite the door to her room, one hand clutched to her face, the other raising one of her swords.

  As Kintore catches at her, a man leaps out of her room and thrusts an iron bar at them. Jacoby recoils from it, her sword arm gone limp and clumsy, but Kintore grabs it with his bare hands and tears it from the human. He shoves it hard into the man's chest and forces him away from them.

  'Run,’ he says. ‘Run, or I will let her kill you.'

  Jacoby is already recovering her balance. The shining burn on her cheek makes her eyes seem to glitter and her sword darts at the man. He turns and runs down the stairs.

  'He was one of the men who attacked me before. He was waiting when I came in,’ Jacoby says. She lets the sword fall. ‘Humans and their iron.'

  She probes the burn with one hand and then her gaze falls on Kintore, who is breathing heavily and holding the iron bar.

  'I want to kill him,’ says Kintore. He shakes his head. ‘Did you not hear him breathing?'

  'I assumed it was you.’ Jacoby's reply is distracted. She stares at the bar he still dangles from one hand. ‘How does it not burn you?'

  Kintore throws the iron bar down. ‘It burns.'

  'You are never a good liar, ‘Tore.'

  'I must dress your burn or it will scar.’ He tries to take her hand.

  She jerks away. ‘Let it. Why does iron not hurt you?'

  Kintore pushes past her defending hands and seizes her wrist. ‘Let me tend to you, ‘Coby.'

  Jacoby allows herself to be led into his room, but while he cleans the wound and rubs salve on it, she keeps interrupting him to look at his hand.

  It is reddened by the contact with iron, but that scorch mark is nothing compared to the hot brand on her cheek.

  She hisses out through her teeth as if in pain.

  'I am sorry,’ he says. ‘I try to be gentle.'

  'You will use this against us in the next war.’ Jacoby's voice is soft and distressed.

  Kintore says nothing, all his concentration on his nursing.

  'We cannot fight iron,’ she says. ‘We will die.'

  He clears his throat. ‘It is not for the war, ‘Coby. We enter into bargains with the humans and must be able to defend against the iron.'

  'You will use it against us,’ she says, and turns her face from him.

  * * * *

  Crethen shouted the damning words into the silent room and it erupted. Viga advanced on the still-seated Filipe, except that Mizzle stepped between him and the
rest of the room. She did not make her swords appear, but Viga backed off.

  The other lords babbled out questions at Lithia and Crethen while Rissun read the letter, and Lithia stared at Filipe and Filipe stared back. Neither seemed to breathe.

  Trick withdrew from Filipe—Fillip. He could not bear the look in Lithia's eyes, that vulnerable look he had not seen in her since she had sat and let Filipe—Fillip—and Dalton arrange her marriage, had not seen since Mizzle held her by the throat.

  He had guessed the man as part of the Bourchian court. Perhaps a part of him had known in truth who Filipe really was since he had slipped and assumed the Bourchian ambassador had been sent by Queen Cerise. He could know that only if he knew King Fillip was not in a position to send anybody.

  Faustus said, ‘What's happening?’ He watched the chaos with wide eyes.

  Trick had to explain then, to a mildly surprised but not shocked Faustus, and when he looked back, that look had gone from Lithia's eyes, Mizzle was murmuring in her ear, and she was holding her hand up for calm.

  She got it, and Mizzle sat down again. Lithia looked at Fillip again and away, around the table.

  'Guards, take Crethen and his man to the dungeon, place them in separate cells.’ When they were gone, Crethen still spitting out curses, Lithia said to the five lords still sitting there, ‘King Fillip is visiting royalty and should be treated as such. I apologise for the deception but it has been necessary while we finalise our peace treaty.'

  'Then,’ said Viga, looking between Lithia and Fillip. ‘You were aware—'

  'Of course,’ she said. Given all else she had managed today, Trick wasn't surprised. Except he did not believe her. ‘I will adjourn the council now. Are we all happy?'

  To ask was a huge breach of etiquette and an attenuation of her power, but the lords just nodded.

  'Then I ask again for your oaths.'

  They had always planned that she would do this, she and Fillip. She had not counted on such a revelation, and asked anyway. And all five knelt and gave their oaths, kissed her hand, and filed out, the servants bowing and following.

  Rissun lingered. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, hesitant and unlike himself. ‘Will Lady Jollette—'

  'She knows what happened to her mother,’ said Lithia, staring at the papers in front of her. ‘She came to me this morning to beg me not to marry her father.'

  Trick had seen her, he remembered, and never even wondered what she was doing.

  Rissun nodded and started out. ‘Oh, Rissun,’ said Lithia.

  The lord stopped and came back. He glanced around quickly at Fillip and Trick still sitting at the back of the room, and his eyes lingered on Mizzle. Then he turned his full attention to Lithia.

  'I forgot to give you something,’ she said. ‘Everybody else got something.'

  Rissun looked at Trick again. Then he bowed over her hand and kissed her fingers with sweet delicacy. ‘I got you, Your Majesty. That's all I need.'

  Lithia laughed, lightly enough. ‘That is what you can try for.'

  She had just given him permission to court her, to attempt the position of Consort. Trick had to feel a wrench, to have her let him go, and then he was happy for her, that she could.

  Rissun walked out and Lithia looked down the length of the long table at Fillip. The silence swelled and threatened to drown them.

  Trick broke it, deliberately. ‘How could we never even hear a whisper that the king has been totally absent from Bourchia for three years?'

  'Cerise,’ said Fillip, as if he told a tale with that one word. ‘Though no doubt Faustus and his ilk had heard rumours. The king is ill, the king is visiting, the king is closeted.'

  He had begun speaking, and it seemed to give him courage. He knotted his fingers together and faced Lithia, tying words together as if they were a raft he could cling to. ‘We were lucky Mikcul died when he did.’ His calm tone belied his hands, trying to pull apart from the controlled knot he had made of them. ‘See the date on the letter? Mikcul must have sent it to Crethen barely before Jarrett got him—too late to turn Crethen from his course, not enough time to turn anyone else. I wonder how he found out.'

  Lithia said, softly, slowly, and with so much likeness to Mizzle that Trick wanted to weep, ‘You had best be here with a peace treaty because you'll regret the war you're provoking.'

  She had come far from that young girl who had sat uncomprehending at the tavern table beside Filipe. Now Fillip could justifiably look uncomfortable. But Trick thought she was more hurt than angry, and hiding it well.

  Her gaze flicked to him, and now tears threatened, now the jagged edges showed. ‘You knew,’ she said.

  'No,’ said Trick. ‘I only met Filipe once before Kitira and I knew him only as the leader of the Company. I thought his alias was a joke.’ Which flipped him right around. He turned on Fillip. ‘You used us as tax collectors.'

  Fillip could not be made to be concerned. ‘How else do I impose a wealth tax on noblemen and the guilds or an import tax on foreigners with such ease?'

  Trick sat back, stunned. Fillip created the Company for one sole purpose and did not bother to hide it now. He had answered without even looking away from Lithia and kept talking right to her. ‘Lithia, I'm sorry I didn't tell you—'

  'So I had to hear it from Crethen?’ she said. ‘And should I rule now, knowing I was chosen for Bourchian purposes?'

  Fillip said what he had always said. ‘You are the rightful heir.'

  'Whom you put on the throne because Mikcul was too hard to fight and you need an easy target.'

  Fillip stood and went down the table. He took the chair next to her but she pulled away from his supplicating hand. ‘Lithia, I will not deny I need my treasury opened. Mikcul decimated the Company and the crown is running out of money.'

  'So declare war on me, Fillip.'

  Fillip sat back in his chair and rubbed his hands into his eyes and through his hair.

  He could, Trick knew. Livania, its armies fragmented and weakened by famine, in-fighting and the struggle for survival under Mikcul, had never been more vulnerable. Fillip could take his land back trusting Lithia was too sensible to retaliate as Mikcul would have.

  Doing so would alienate her forever and create another generation of hatred between two nations. Trick thought Fillip might have done it anyway to get that damn treasury open, except for something he evidently hadn't counted on happening in three years of training her.

  'He can't, Lithia,’ he said. ‘He likes you too much.'

  Fillip and Lithia both looked his way. Beside him, Mizzle stirred. ‘What are the terms of the spell that will open your treasury door?’ she asked in Bourchian.

  'To win a war with Livania,’ Fillip said with a shrug.

  Trick wondered if he knew Lithia could follow the conversation.

  'No. I must have the specific wording.'

  Fillip was thoughtful for a long moment. ‘I'd have to send for my uncle's will.'

  'No,’ she said again. She gestured to Trick and Faustus. ‘Fetch me the mirror.'

  They carried it over and balanced it across three chairs. Mizzle addressed Fillip. ‘Should I speak with your queen?'

  Fillip hesitated before nodding. Mizzle took his hand and placed it on the frame. She put her own hand on his shoulder. She said, in his ear, ‘Where is she?'

  Fillip flushed a little, Trick noticed. ‘Her bedroom, probably.'

  'There is a mirror?'

  Fillip nodded and she said, ‘Think of the mirror in her bedroom.'

  Silence fell. The mirror showed only their solemn reflections and the strained faces of the others standing behind them. Then the reflection wavered, blurred and disappeared. After a moment of nothingness, it lightened again, to show a large room with a wide bed and a lit fireplace. Empty.

  'Not there,’ said Fillip, with what might have been relief.

  Then someone sat down in front of the mirror and picked up a brush. Queen Cerise looked idly into the mirror as she ran the brush o
ver her coarse brown hair. She was not beautiful as Mizzle was beautiful or even pretty as Lithia was pretty, but she was attractive, with direct grey-green eyes and an air of calm and competence.

  'She can't see us?’ whispered Fillip.

  'Not yet,’ said Mizzle. She took a breath and then Cerise stopped brushing her air and stared into the mirror.

  She set the brush down and folded her hands before her. ‘Fillip,’ she murmured, her voice husky and mellow.

  'Risa,’ Fillip said. ‘Go down to the library and get my uncle's will and any books you can find on the history of the treasury spell.'

  The calm eyes surveyed him and Mizzle. ‘Contact me again shortly,’ she said simply.

  Mizzle immediately took her hand off Fillip. The mirror went black and then showed only their reflections.

  'You've been in Livania for at least three years,’ said Lithia.

  'Yes,’ said Fillip.

  'You didn't even ask how she was.'

  Blank look from Fillip. ‘So?'

  'She's your wife.’ Lithia sounded obscurely hurt.

  'It's not that kind of marriage,’ he said. ‘That's why we should choose your Consort carefully.'

  'You can't just step back to being Filipe,’ said Lithia. She had half turned away. Trick handed her his flask on an impulse and she took a few gulps. He grimaced over her shoulder at Fillip but when she handed it back he went shot for shot with her, and even nudged Faustus into having some.

  A scant time later none of the three of them were exactly sober. Fillip and Mizzle had refused any, and Trick was sensible enough not to offer any to Mouse.

  He lay on the couch in the corner tossing his knife in the air and catching it. He was aware only of a pleasant buzzing and did not even notice Mizzle standing beside him until he missed the knife and she caught it before it could plunge into his leg. He blinked up at her.

  Faustus leant over and said, ‘Shame on you,’ with an intently focussed glare. ‘Drunk. And you're supposed to be the High Priest of Fortune.'

  Trick's gaze drifted across from Mizzle to Faustus and returned to Mizzle as the more pleasant sight.

  'Is he?’ asked Lithia in Bourchian.