Privateer

by Margaret Weis

  He had left Father Jacob and Miri and undoubtedly lost his chance to redeem himself, regain his name. He would be forced to live the rest of his life as an outcast, an exile. And now he was somewhere in Freya, lost and alone.

  “But he knows how to find me,” said Kate, lifting her head. “He saw the Naofa. He knows I’m on board and he knows the ship is headed north. Once he’s rested and recovered, he will come looking for me.

  “We’ll find another way for him to earn back his name!”

  BOOK 3

  FORTY-ONE

  The countess’s private secretary, D’argent, had been gone over a fortnight now, making arrangements for Thomas’s clandestine meeting with the queen. They had heard no word from him and Thomas was growing worried.

  “My dear fellow, D’argent is traveling by griffin,” Phillip reminded him. “Flying from the southern coast of Rosia to Haever and back will take five or six days and that is pushing it. He might have run into bad weather, especially this time of year—”

  “He could have been arrested by Sir Henry,” Thomas said.

  “In which case, D’argent would raise hell, for he is a citizen of Rosia traveling to Haever on business of the countess,” Phillip replied soothingly. “If D’argent is gone past a month, then I give you permission to be concerned.”

  “If he is gone past a month, I will not be concerned,” Thomas said. “I will be a raving lunatic.”

  He found the wait increasingly difficult. Now that he had decided to take such drastic action, he wanted to have the matter settled, one way or the other, and he chafed at the delay.

  He and Phillip had only each other for company these days, if one didn’t count a household staff of about a hundred. Stephano and his wife were in Everux, awaiting the birth of their child. The countess remained in the castle, but she was occupied with matters of state and stayed in the solar most of the day. They saw her only at dinner, and those encounters were awkward and uncomfortable.

  The countess had expected Phillip to leave when his host left and she had not been pleased to hear he was remaining with his friend. Cecile still did not trust Phillip and she made it clear that she considered he had overstayed his welcome. She spoke almost exclusively to Thomas. If Phillip ventured to voice an opinion on a subject, Cecile would fix with him a crystalline look, say coolly, “Indeed, Your Grace,” and resume her conversation with Thomas.

  “I should go back to Estara,” Phillip told Thomas.

  “And leave me here alone with the countess?” Thomas added. “You will do no such thing. I am terrified of that woman.”

  The two were walking in the garden after breakfast. The morning was bright, but the air was cool, and both men were bundled up in scarves and greatcoats. They would have been more comfortable if they had been reading their newspapers by the fire in the library, but the garden was the only place where they could be assured that they could speak in private.

  The garden was lovely with the coming of autumn’s colors: the reds and golds of the changing leaves; the scarlet roses, blooming their last. Thomas found no joy in the beauty. D’argent had been gone eighteen days now and Thomas was convinced that something had gone wrong.

  “The countess is so remote, beyond my reach,” Thomas continued. “I have no idea what she is thinking. Does she value and respect me or does she despise me? Is she advancing my cause or using me to advance her own?”

  “The countess is much like Sir Henry,” said Phillip. “They are both duplicitous, ruthless, merciless. Both patriots, fiercely loyal to king and country.”

  Phillip smiled sadly, his tone softened. “That said, Thomas, the countess is trusting you with Sophia, who is dearer to her than a daughter. She would not permit Sophia to marry a man she despises. Which is why I have no hope,” he added with a sigh. “She still more than half suspects me of being Sir Henry’s agent.”

  “If the countess truly wanted you somewhere else, you would be somewhere else—most likely the penal colony on the Chain of Pearls,” said Thomas. “She permits you to stay because she values your opinion.”

  “Or because I know too much and she wants to keep an eye on me,” Phillip said. “I wonder if the countess is aware that you confide in me?”

  “She knows everything about everyone,” said Thomas. “If King Ullr sneezes, she knows the color of his handkerchief.”

  “Be grateful she is on your side,” said Phillip, laughing. “You may have noticed that I feel safe drinking my port only after you have tasted yours.”

  Thomas grinned. “Speaking of Sophia, she has written to me.”

  He drew a letter out of his pocket and waved it tantalizingly in front of his friend, keeping it just out of reach.

  “You cad!” Phillip exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me? Let me see it? What does she say?”

  “She writes to me, her fiancé, but I have a feeling the letter is intended for your eyes. She asks several questions regarding Freyan customs that could be answered only by a native such as yourself.”

  “Give that to me, you fiend!” Phillip said, snatching the letter from his hand.

  He sat down on a bench to read it. Thomas took a seat beside him.

  “She writes that she enjoys being in Freya, although she finds the political situation distressing,” Phillip said. “Her fellow students know that she is engaged to be married to the handsome ‘Prince Tom,’ made famous by the stories in the Haever Gazette.”

  Thomas shook his head.

  “The young women are all in love with you. They ask her countless questions about you. Sophia says she refers all questions to Sir Rodrigo,” said Phillip, laughing.

  “God help me!” Thomas intoned.

  When Phillip read on, his laughter died. “She says all of Freya is eager for the wedding.”

  He folded up the letter and handed it back to his friend.

  “At least you hear news of Sophia,” said Thomas. “You know she is happy and well. I know nothing of Kate. I do not know where she is or what has become of her. She might be dead for all I know.”

  “I thought you were never going to think of her again,” said Phillip with a faint smile.

  “Unfortunately the more I try not to think about Kate, the more she is in my thoughts,” said Thomas.

  Phillip looked grave. “My friend…”

  “I know that is wrong,” said Thomas. “Don’t lecture me, Pip!”

  “I was not going to lecture you,” Phillip said. “I was going to warn you that you might want to lower your voice. A servant is coming this way.”

  “Her Ladyship sends her regards, Your Highness,” said the servant. “She wonders if you could spare a moment to meet with her in the solar.”

  “Has Monsieur D’argent returned?” Thomas asked.

  “Monsieur D’argent was with the countess when I left her, Your Highness,” the servant replied.

  Thomas and Phillip exchanged glances.

  “Please inform Her Ladyship that I will come now,” said Thomas.

  Phillip rested his hand on Thomas’s shoulder.

  “I will meet you in your room.”

  “Have brandy waiting,” said Thomas.

  * * *

  The servant opened the door to the solar. Thomas found the countess and D’argent standing by the window, deep in conversation. D’argent was still wearing his traveling clothes: heavy cloak and riding boots. He had apparently come immediately to the countess, not even going to his room first to change clothes. He and Cecile both looked exceedingly grave.

  The servant announced him. The countess and D’argent stopped talking and turned to greet him. D’argent bowed. The countess made a graceful curtsy.

  “Thank you for coming, Your Highness,” said Cecile, rising. “That will be all, D’argent. You have earned your rest. I will send for you if I have need.”

  “Yes, my lady, thank you,” said D’argent.

  “I hope you had a safe journey, Monsieur D’argent?” Thomas asked, as the man walked past him.
>
  “I did, sir. Thank you for your concern.”

  D’argent left, taking care to close the door behind him. Cecile followed him and turned the key in the lock. She then took the precaution of adding a magical warding spell, murmuring words beneath her breath and passing her hand over the door frame.

  “Please take care not to touch it, sir,” she said.

  “Something has gone wrong,” Thomas said.

  “Not wrong, exactly. Unexpected,” Cecile replied.

  She indicated a chair. Thomas sat down and she took her usual place on the sofa. Thomas was too restless to remain still, and he almost immediately stood up.

  “Her Majesty has changed her mind, refused to meet with me.”

  “On the contrary, sir, the meeting is confirmed. D’argent has made all the arrangements,” said Cecile. “Her Majesty is most eager to meet with you.”

  “Then what is wrong?” Thomas asked, sitting down again.

  Cecile was dressed in shimmering gray silk with little decoration, only a touch of delicate white lace at her throat, like a froth of sea foam. She wore a shawl of soft white lambs’ wool about her shoulders. She smoothed the folds of her gown, then clasped her hands and regarded Thomas with earnest gravity.

  “Queen Mary is dying.”

  Thomas stared at her. He did not know the queen, and his first thought was the pity one feels at the news that any fellow mortal is dying. Then, suddenly, he comprehended the enormity of her words. He refused to believe it.

  “I have been reading the Freyan newspapers, my lady, and I have seen nothing…”

  “Her illness is a closely guarded secret,” said Cecile. “I can count on one hand the number of people who know.”

  “But then how did you hear about it?”

  Cecile smiled, but her smile chilled him. “Do not ask me. Never ask me, for you would not want to know. Suffice it to say, I know this news to be true.”

  She regarded him with concern. “I know this comes as a shock.”

  “I am reminded of the time when I went walking on a frozen pond,” Thomas said. “The ice broke beneath my feet, plunging me into the freezing water. The cold stopped my breath and nearly stopped my heart. I feel something like that now.”

  He shook his head. Still in denial. “The queen is only in her middle years.”

  “Mary is dying of the same affliction that killed her father. A malignant growth in her stomach.”

  “How long…” Thomas asked.

  “Months, perhaps,” said Cecile. “Weeks. No one can say.”

  Thomas sat staring down at the carpet. He noticed it was beige, decorated with a vine and dragon motif done in soft, muted colors of green and blue. He thought it odd that he should be so aware of the carpet.

  “Poor woman,” he murmured.

  “God give her ease,” said Cecile.

  Thomas stirred and looked up. “Is this why D’argent was gone so long?”

  “He had to make plans,” said Cecile. “We believe the queen will name you her heir. Sir Richard is honored to have you as his guest. This development means you must remain in Haever until…”

  Cecile hesitated.

  “Until the queen dies. I am to remain on death watch,” Thomas said grimly. “I will do nothing so ghoulish!”

  “You must and you will, Your Highness,” said Cecile. Her voice was cold, stinging. “Put aside your pity. Put aside your compassion. Such feelings do you credit, but they are luxuries you cannot afford.”

  Thomas was so angry he did not trust himself to speak. He rose from the chair and walked to the window. Cecile came over to stand beside him.

  “When the queen dies, you must be present in Haever to assert your right to the throne. Her Majesty will have documents drawn up making the succession legal and official, but I doubt she will announce it publicly, knowing she would put you in danger. Most likely she will publicly name you from her deathbed, as her father named her.”

  Thomas shuddered and bowed his head.

  Cecile clasped his hand, her nails piercing his flesh. Her fingers were as cold as the frozen water of that long-ago pond. “The waiting will be dangerous and tedious, for you must remain in hiding. We will have to find a plausible excuse for you to extend your stay, for Sir Richard cannot know the truth. I was thinking you could fall ill with an ague. The symptoms are easy to fake and the illness would leave you weak and unable to travel.”

  “An ague…” Thomas repeated.

  He sank down in a chair and stared at a vase of chrysanthemums, the last blooms of the fall before the onset of winter. When spring came and the flowers bloomed again, he could well be king of Freya.

  “I need time to think,” he said.

  “I am sorry, Thomas, but there is no time,” said Cecile. “You must leave tomorrow at first light. D’argent has made the arrangements for your journey.”

  “So soon…” Thomas murmured.

  “D’argent spoke to several of my contacts in Haever, remaining discreet, of course,” Cecile continued. “He heard nothing that caused him alarm. No one knows the queen is ill. Freya remains in turmoil; riots occur almost daily. A mob actually attacked the Naval Yard. The unrest works to our advantage. Sir Henry is completely occupied with the worsening political crisis to the exclusion of all else. We must take advantage of the situation.

  “As for Sir Richard, he is overjoyed to hear that you will be meeting with the queen.” Cecile added with a sigh, “He presents something of a problem, however.”

  “What is that, my lady?” Thomas asked.

  “He is deeply concerned for your safety while you are in Freya. Sir Richard tends to be an alarmist. He sees assassins behind every bush, and he was at first insistent that you travel with a military escort.

  “D’argent attempted to explain that you would be far safer traveling alone, incognito. He reminded Sir Richard that you are a soldier with training in arms so you can take care of yourself. He was able to convince him, but Sir Richard remains dubious.”

  “Did D’argent impress upon Sir Richard that he must not tell my mother of my journey?” said Thomas.

  “No need to worry on that account. Sir Richard knows your mother, and while he admires her, he views her as a rival. His great fear is that once you are king, your mother will rush to Freya, supplant him, and take charge herself. Sir Richard is loyal to you, Thomas, but he is also ambitious; something we can use to our advantage.”

  Thomas scarcely heard her. He had not been in that icy water long. His mother had never let him go anywhere on his own and when he had fallen through the ice, an army of servants had rushed to his rescue. They had carried him inside, blue with the cold, dripping wet and shivering so that his teeth chattered. His mother had fainted at the sight of him, sodden and shaking, and he had not been allowed to go near the pond ever again, even in the hottest days of summer.

  The chill he now felt was the same, creeping over him. His hand shook and he clenched his fist to hide it.

  “What would happen if I were to reconsider, my lady?” Thomas asked.

  “Has this been a game to you, Your Highness?” Cecile was angry. She spoke with a calm fury that was like the prelude to a deadly wizard storm.

  “Not a game, my lady!” Thomas returned. “I thought I had years ahead of me to make the adjustment. Years during which I could study to be king. I am not ready. I am not prepared! I am…”

  He faltered. He could not say what was in his heart—he was afraid.

  Cecile heard the unspoken words, and her tone grew gentle. She said softly, “No one is ever ready, Your Highness.”

  She understood, and proved she did by answering his question. “Let me tell you what will happen if you do not take the throne. Queen Mary will name her sister, Elinor. Hugh will not stand for that. He is already plotting with his wealthy friends to seize control, even as Elinor is conspiring with the Council of Bishops of the Church of the Breath to help her stay on the throne.”

  “What will keep both of them from
turning on me?” Thomas asked.

  “You have your own armies, both in Bheldem and the secret army your colonel is raising in Freya. In addition, Sophia brings as her dowry the might of Rosia,” Cecile replied. “You must, of course, be married immediately following your ascent to the throne, thus cementing the Rosian alliance. Neither Hugh nor Elinor will dare contend against the might of Rosia.”

  “You have thought of everything, my lady,” said Thomas.

  “That is my job, Your Highness,” said Cecile.

  “I will go to Freya,” said Thomas. “I will meet with Her Majesty. Beyond that, I can make no promises. The future is in God’s hands. We have no idea what will happen.”

  “I, too, have misgivings,” said Cecile. “You are right, we do not know what may happen. I considered traveling to Haever myself, to be on hand if you need advice.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Stephano would never forgive me if I missed the birth of my grandchild. And, to be honest, I would never forgive myself.”

  Cecile opened the rosewood box, withdrew a piece of paper and handed it to him.

  “Here are the names of my most trusted agents in Haever. Contact them if you are in desperate need. That said, your best resource if you are in trouble is Sir Rodrigo.”

  Thomas started to smile, then saw she was serious.

  “Rodrigo? Truly, my lady?” he asked, astonished.

  “Do not underestimate him, Your Highness,” said Cecile. “Rodrigo has hidden talents. Although I admit at times they can be well hidden. And now I must be going. I am leaving for Everux this afternoon.”

  Thomas accompanied her to the door of the solar. She turned to leave him, then paused.

  “You must say nothing about any of this to His Grace,” said Cecile.

  “I hope you will have a safe journey, my lady,” said Thomas politely. “Please give my best wishes to your son and his lady wife.”

  Cecile gazed at him. “I know you trust Phillip, despite the fact that he betrayed you. Ask yourself this: Do you trust him with your life?”

  Thomas did not answer. He met her gaze and held it. Cecile sighed and lowered her eyes.