Echo in Amethyst

by Sharon Shinn

  Elyssa looked impressed and slightly uneasy. “Is this because the prince killed Renner?”

  “Maybe,” Bentam replied. “But Orenza has been stoked for war ever since Marguerite died. This was just the final fuel.”

  “Do you join him? Or try to turn him back?” Elyssa asked.

  Marietta managed a grim smile. “The very question we were discussing.”

  “He can hardly hope to take on all the king’s troops on his own,” Elyssa said. “If Alberta and Empara don’t join him, his men will just be massacred.”

  “That’s the news of the day,” the other visitor said. He was a large man with a poet’s fluidity about him—long flowing hair, loosely draped clothing, restless hands. I would have expected such an affectation to look a little silly on a man who had to be close to sixty, but he had an air of hard certainty that negated the softness of his appearance. I thought Trima had called him Fannon. He went on, “Empara has mounted an army of its own, and it’s even bigger.”

  Bentam rapped an impatient fist against the table. “Empara!” he exclaimed. “All this time, they’ve been the most reasonable of the lot! Even when the rest of us were clamoring for war, they were preaching the benefits of negotiation. And now they’ve armed five thousand men and massed them on their own northeast border.”

  The echoes and I were shoveling our food in, but Elyssa was just toying with the items on her plate. “Why the sudden change?” she asked. “Did they care that much about Renner?”

  Fannon snorted in disdain. “No one cared about Renner Andolin, even his father. No, this is all about the Devenettas and their desire for vengeance.”

  I frowned over my toast because I couldn’t remember who the Devenettas were, but Elyssa inadvertently came to my rescue. “Queen Tabitha’s family? I would have thought they were the last ones to want to go to war!”

  Marietta glanced between Elyssa and her father. “You didn’t tell her?”

  Bentam grunted. “The news came late last night. This is the first I’ve seen her.”

  Elyssa laid down her fork. “Tell me what?”

  The poet spoke as if he were savoring each word like brandy. “The queen has been arrested for treason.”

  “For conspiring to kill the crown prince,” Marietta added.

  “How did she—when—what?” Elyssa demanded.

  Bentam nodded, as if that was a perfectly reasonable response. “You remember. Marco Ross told us there had been a second attempt on Cormac’s life. Apparently, the king hired a Pandrean man to investigate it, and he turned up evidence that Tabitha and the inquisitor had plotted the assassination together.”

  “The inquisitor?” Elyssa asked faintly. “Malachi?”

  “That’s his name,” Bentam said. “He’s from Empara, just as Tabitha is. Apparently, they’ve been plotting against Harold all this time. Then, two and a half weeks ago, the inquisitor simply disappeared.”

  Two and a half weeks ago, I thought, when we were in Wemberton. I had warned Jordan that Malachi might be a traitor, but even as I had been speaking the words, Malachi was making good his escape from the palace.

  “I was in Camarria when he vanished,” the blond woman said. “The palace was in an uproar. The king had all the assistant inquisitors combing the streets, looking for him—or looking for his body—or looking for someone who knew what had happened. They found absolutely nothing.”

  “Then why was Tabitha implicated?” Elyssa said. “I don’t understand.”

  The aging poet took up the tale. “The story I heard was that the king had learned the truth about Malachi and the queen, but he had decided not to accuse her. He was afraid that such a move would rile Empara—”

  “As it has,” Bentam muttered.

  “And bring on a civil war. So he had decided to tell no one except Cormac and Jordan.”

  “He should have told no one, especially not the princes, if he truly wished to preserve peace in the realm,” Marietta said.

  Bentam gave her an astonished look. “And keep beside him on the throne a woman who tried to kill his son—and might try again? I understand the value of keeping peace, but no man could be expected to manage such a charade.”

  “So what happened?” Elyssa demanded.

  “Apparently the queen said or did something that Cormac took as a threat to Vivienne,” said Fannon. “And Cormac accused the queen of plotting against all of them—and the room was full of witnesses. Two lords from Banchura and Vivienne’s parents from Thelleron and a handful of Pandrean nobles. After that, Harold had no choice but to arrest her.”

  “Well.” Elyssa folded her hands on the table, clearly done with the meal, so the echoes and I had to reluctantly stop eating. Truth to tell, I was so engrossed in the story I’d almost lost my appetite, anyway. “How does the situation stand now? Does he plan to execute her in Amanda Plaza?”

  “I don’t think a sentence has been pronounced yet, but treason is generally punishable by death,” Fannon said.

  “And that’s why the Devenettas are on the move,” Marietta finished up. “And they’re bringing along all their own allies—all the lords who had stayed out of rebellion out of respect for Tabitha’s family.”

  “So it’s finally come,” said Bentam gruffly. “War.”

  “Do we join in? Or do we hang back?” Marietta demanded.

  “Either way, we have something to lose,” Fannon said.

  Bentam slammed his hand down. “Damn it! I wanted concessions! Not battles and dead men in the streets!”

  Marietta looked at him coldly. “One way or the other, there will be dead men.”

  “What would it take,” Bentam said, “for Empara and Orenza to turn back? What would Harold have to offer them?”

  Marietta kept her blue eyes fixed on Bentam’s face. “What would make you turn back,” she asked him, “if the king had murdered your daughter?”

  Now Elyssa lifted her gaze and rested it on her father’s face; now the poet also surveyed Bentam with a thoughtful expression. I saw Bentam’s skin flush and his expression turn mulish.

  “I would hope to never have to make that decision,” he snarled. “But one life is never worth the lives of a thousand others.”

  “In other words, he would not avenge me,” Elyssa said lightly. “So I’d better not try to assassinate a prince.”

  You already did try, I thought, or at least you assisted at an attempt. Elyssa must have been thinking the same thing—and realizing that, if her role had been discovered, her father would have settled for concessions rather than revenge. I could only imagine how much that added to her bitterness.

  Bentam ignored her. “The question before us today,” he said, “is what do we do now? Do we raise our own armies and join forces with Empara and Orenza? Or do we throw in our lot with the king?”

  “Can we do both?” Marietta asked.

  The men looked at her. “What do you mean?” said Bentam.

  She shrugged. “Gather our soldiers. Join the others—but make it clear that we are making a final effort to talk peace with the king. And then send a delegation to Camarria to try to negotiate that peace.”

  “You just said it yourself,” Fannon pointed out. “Nothing will turn back the grieving fathers of Empara and Orenza.”

  The woman made a scoffing noise. “Garvin Andolin never cared any more for his daughter than Bentam does for Elyssa.”

  “I never said that!” Bentam bellowed.

  “It’s not grief that spurs them on, but pride and greed and rage,” Marietta continued. “You can’t reason with grief, but you can pay off a proud and greedy and angry man.”

  Fannon was watching her with a look that was half speculative and half admiring. “I never realized how cynical you are.”

  “I find it easier to do away with pretense,” she said. “So the question is: What will it take to appease the rebel lords?”

  “They want independence—we all do,” said Fannon. “If the king will grant sovereignty to the three wester
n provinces, then I think we can stop this war.”

  “That’s a start,” Marietta agreed. “That’ll assuage rage and greed. But to heal their pride, they’ll want blood. Something was taken from them, and they’ll want to take something from the king in return.”

  Fannon sneered. “You think Harold will turn over one of his sons to be killed by bloodthirsty revolutionaries?”

  “Not to be killed,” Marietta said. Her voice held a thread of humor as she added, “Unless you count marriage as a kind of death, as some men do.”

  Bentam looked thoughtful. “You think a marriage between Jordan and my daughter will pacify the rebels.”

  “It is the best way for Harold to prove he negotiates in good faith,” Marietta replied. “He cannot ignore the voices of the western nobles if his own son is married to one—if his own grandchildren have Alberta blood running through their veins.”

  “But I don’t want to marry Jordan,” Elyssa protested.

  “And I’m sure the prince would rather not marry you,” Marietta replied. “But if we want to stop blood from running in the streets, you will both do what is best for the kingdom.”

  “But—”

  “If we take this offer to the king, we had best make damn sure that Orenza and Empara empower us to negotiate on their behalf,” said Bentam.

  Fannon began arranging saucers and saltshakers on the table. “According to my best intelligence, Orenza’s forces are about here. Empara’s here. They should meet at the southernmost point of the Charamon Road within five days, but they are moving slowly. We can intercept them before they turn north. We can tell them that we’re sending a delegation to Camarria—but that we’re also raising our own armies in case Harold proves recalcitrant.”

  “That might work,” Bentam agreed.

  “Our next question is: Who shall undertake what task?” Marietta asked. “One of us must remain behind in Alberta and collect the troops that the nobles have promised in the past. One of us must stay with the rebel forces and make sure Orenza and Empara keep to the bargain. And one of us must ride to Camarria to confront the king.”

  “I will camp with the rebels,” Fannon said. “I have some influence with Garvin Andolin, and I usually get along well with the Devenettas.”

  Marietta nodded. “Bentam, you have always had the strongest voice among the Alberta lords, so you stay behind and gather our armies. I will travel to Camarria with your daughter.”

  “If my daughter is to be married off, I should be the one heading to Camarria,” said Bentam.

  She surveyed him coolly. “You will remain in Alberta,” she repeated, “because I do not trust you in Camarria. You would negotiate some deal all to your own advantage.”

  “That’s a lie!” Bentam roared, slamming his palms on the table and rearing up from his seat. At the table with me, his echoes did the same.

  Fannon spread his hands in a gesture calling for calm. “Easy, now. We cannot afford to fight amongst ourselves. Marietta spoke harshly, but her reasoning is sound. If she and Elyssa are both in Camarria, Marietta can lay out the terms for the provinces, while Elyssa looks out for the interests of your house.”

  “That’s what I meant, of course,” Marietta said.

  “But I don’t want to marry Jordan,” Elyssa said urgently.

  Marietta turned her faded blue eyes Elyssa’s way. “Then make sure the marriage is short,” she said softly. “But have his child first because that will bind Harold to us more surely than a treaty. After that, I don’t care if the prince meets with an unfortunate accident on the hunting field someday.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence before Fannon began laughing. “Goddess have mercy on my soul, but you’re the coldest-hearted woman ever born,” he said.

  Now she turned those icy eyes on him. “I’m practical,” she said flatly. “And I’m tired of these years of plots and posturing. The time is now. We make our last desperate stand, or we unleash a bloodbath. Which do you choose? I vote for peace.”

  This second silence was longer and more thoughtful. “I vote for peace, by any means possible,” Fannon said.

  Bentam grunted. “Peace,” he said.

  “Good,” Marietta replied. “The two of you know what you must do. Elyssa and I will leave for Camarria in the morning.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Back in the coaches again, once more traveling half the length of the kingdom. Back to Camarria. Back to Jordan.

  I could not see a way out of this tangle. Marietta might very well persuade Harold that only Jordan’s marriage to Elyssa would prevent bloodshed and that the marriage must proceed immediately. Once wed to Elyssa, would Jordan still be able to sue the king for my independence? Or would he drop that notion entirely, not wanting to incur the displeasure of his new bride? If he did find a way to separate me from Elyssa, I didn’t see that I would be much better off. No doubt I would be sequestered somewhere far away from Elyssa—and far away from her husband, the one person I wanted to be close to.

  Meanwhile, Elyssa might very well be plotting to kill him the minute she got him into the marriage bed.

  And if he refused to marry her, the country would be rent by war.

  There were no easy answers. I couldn’t find any answers.

  We traveled with some difficulty through a dismal ice-covered landscape, arriving in Camarria late on the sixth day. The city had been transformed. The busy streets were no longer crowded with nobles and merchants, servants and clerks, the rich, the poor, the ambitious all mixing together in one energetic swell of humanity. Instead, the public spaces were largely deserted except for a few uneasy souls who scurried about on unavoidable business, keeping their heads down against the sharp wind. But pairs of soldiers could be seen patrolling every avenue, and whole troops were gathered in some of the larger squares and plazas that we passed.

  The houses and shops no longer maintained their friendly aspects with doors thrown open and summer blossoms decorating the windowsills. Instead, all the plants were brown with winter, all the doors shut tight, the windows covered with heavy curtains. Our carriages moved noisily through cold, empty, unwelcoming streets, and the only people who marked our passage were the soldiers who clearly assessed us to make sure that we offered no threat.

  The reception at the palace wasn’t much warmer. Marietta, Elyssa, and their combined four echoes were allowed to step into the cavernous foyer, but there we were stopped by the redoubtable housekeeper, Lourdes.

  Marietta supplied their names, speaking with the arrogance of the high noble who believed she was better than any mere servant, no matter how exalted. “I know we are unexpected, but we have come for an audience with the king. Please show us to a parlor where we can wait in privacy until he has time to see us.”

  But Lourdes was a match for anyone who did not enjoy royal approval. “Certainly, my lady, but first I must check to see if any of our sitting rooms are available. We have had so many visitors at the palace lately. You understand.”

  “I understand that I will not be left waiting here like any common petitioner!” Marietta exclaimed.

  Lourdes shook her head. “It’s unfortunate,” she said. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  And despite Marietta’s protest, Lourdes disappeared without another word. “How dare she,” Marietta fumed. “I’ll tell the king of her rudeness!”

  Elyssa was contriving to look detached from the whole enterprise, but I was not fooled by her relaxed posture; she was tense and wary and deeply unhappy to be there. “You’ll tell him if he consents to see us,” she said. “But he may have us escorted from the premises. And then we will face the end of all our plotting.”

  “He will see us,” Marietta promised, “if I have to hunt for him through every room in this wretched building.”

  It was probably only fifteen minutes before Lourdes returned, although—as we were subjected to stares from every servant and visitor who passed through the foyer—it seemed infinitely longer. “It turns o
ut that the rose parlor on the second floor is unoccupied,” the housekeeper said. “Will you follow me upstairs?”

  The rose parlor was small but had a lovely view of the city, which I thought was a hopeful sign. I was even more encouraged when Lourdes promised to send refreshments. Surely Harold would not make us wait long to see him.

  Would he bring either of his sons to this conference?

  Food arrived shortly, and we were all nibbling on sweet cakes and tea when the door opened again. Harold swept in, three shadows at his back. My heart leapt up, and I found myself hoping one of them might be Jordan, but they were just his echoes, almost as dense and whole as the king himself.

  We jumped to our feet and made our curtseys, which Harold acknowledged with a brief nod. During my last visit here, I had only caught glimpses of the king, so now I took an opportunity to study him. He looked a great deal like Cormac, with black hair and dramatic cheekbones, though age and care had left him with a grim expression and an air of heaviness that his son lacked. Or maybe he had been a generally cheerful man until he had learned of his wife’s traitorous activities.

  “Sit,” he commanded, slipping behind a small desk. The rest of us disposed ourselves around the room. I took a chair that allowed me to see Elyssa’s face as well as the king’s. “I suppose I know why you are here,” he added.

  “If you do, then my mission is more easily accomplished,” Marietta said. “I am here to prevent war.”

  “Rebel troops are already massed along the Charamon Road,” Harold replied. “How do you propose we keep them from marching north to the city?”

  Marietta leaned forward, fixing those chilly eyes on Harold’s face. “Give them up,” she said. “The western provinces—let them go. What they want is independence. Allow them to form their own nation.”