Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs)

by Margaret Weis

  “No, Your Majesty, you cannot. That is why you have a spymaster,” said Henry. “And now, sir, we must decide what to do about the last name on the list, Hugh Fitzroy, Earl of Montford. I have evidence to prove his guilt. Hugh kept letters he received from Smythe. I think he had some crackpot idea of using this plot to turn the Freyan people against you, still hoping to claim the throne for himself.”

  “And are you saying I must pardon him, my lord?” Thomas asked.

  “Hugh is a numbskull, a brute and a lout. But he is Queen Mary’s half brother, the son of King Godfrey and an heir to the throne. If you put him on trial, people will whisper that you are attempting to remove your rivals. That being said, Hugh will be a constant source of trouble for you as long as he lives. He continually plotted against Queen Mary and once tried to persuade me to assassinate her sister, Elinor.”

  “What do you suggest, my lord?”

  “Banish the earl from the kingdom. Send him into exile. Hugh has business holdings in Blount. He will be able to eke out a living in that godforsaken country, but he will no longer have the money or the necessary influence to cause mischief. Impress upon Hugh that if he ever sets foot on Freyan soil, you will lock him in prison and toss the key into the Breath. My brother, Richard, knows Hugh. He can make the arrangements.”

  “It seems you have thought of everything, my lord,” Thomas said.

  “I try to be of service, sir,” said Henry.

  Thomas regarded him with cold, glittering blue eyes. “And what about you, Sir Henry? Have you done all this to blackmail me if I put you on trial for murdering Smythe? Will you reveal what you know?”

  “If you knew me better, sir, you would not ask that of me, my lord,” said Henry with quiet dignity. “I would mount the scaffold in silence. My secrets—and yours—would die with me.”

  “And why should I believe you?”

  “I made a promise to my queen, sir.”

  Henry drew the queen’s letter from his pocket and laid it before the king. “Queen Mary gave this to me to be kept sealed until her death. I opened it the night she was killed. You see the bloodstains on the envelope. That blood is hers. In that letter, she tells me that she has named you her heir. The last time we spoke, she asked me to be the same loyal friend to you that I was to her. I gave her my promise. I consider it to be a deathbed promise.”

  Thomas reverently touched his fingers to the bloodstained letter, as though it was sacred. Henry picked it up and tucked it back into his pocket.

  “What do I say about Smythe’s death?” Thomas asked.

  “Nothing, sir. There is no need for Your Majesty to acknowledge it. The prison authorities will issue a brief statement saying that he took his own life, a prey to guilt. He will be buried in an unmarked grave in potter’s field. The man was a monster, sir. He left a bloody trail of innocent victims behind him. Your Majesty was very nearly one of them.”

  Thomas fixed Henry with a grim look. “I suppose for the good of the kingdom, I must do as you advise. But I will not have a man such as you in my service.”

  “I thought that might be the case, Your Majesty.” Henry drew the other document from an inner pocket and placed it before the king. “My resignation.”

  Thomas took it up. “You know I will accept it, Sir Henry. I detest intrigue, scheming, and plotting. I have no more need of spymasters. I will rule in the sunlight, not in the shadows.”

  “I wish you success, Your Majesty,” said Henry. “I look forward to a day when men will find a way to live together in peace. Until that blessed day, I leave you with a word of caution: there is a reason why men and women such as myself and the Countess de Marjolaine work in the shadows. The rats live there.”

  Thomas was silent for a moment, then said, “I will take your counsel under consideration, my lord.”

  Henry bowed. He knew he was being dismissed for good, and he would likely never set foot in this room again. He raised his eyes to the portrait of Queen Mary. He remembered persuading her to have her portrait painted, remembered her sitting for it. The sessions had not gone well.

  The queen could not sit still. She constantly fidgeted and changed position, complaining that she had lost all feeling in her feet. She would stand up and march off in the middle of a sitting to see her griffins or drink tea and eat biscuits. When the harassed artist had finally shown her the finished portrait, Mary had insulted him by demanding to know who it was he thought he had been painting all this time, because it bore no resemblance to her. Henry had been forced to pay the artist double what they had agreed upon to persuade him not to burn it.

  Henry smiled at the memory. His eyes dimmed.

  Thomas followed his gaze. His voice softened. “I wish I had known her.”

  “She was a great lady and a good monarch,” said Henry. “As you will be, Thomas Stanford. God bless and keep Your Majesty.”

  Henry bowed and took his leave.

  After he had left the royal presence and the door closed between himself and the king, he realized that he was free. He was no longer called upon to spy, lie and scheme, plot and connive, commit crimes, cover up crimes, or worse. He did not regret what he had been called upon to do in the service of his country. But he was glad that part of his life was behind him. He knew an exhilarating sense of liberty, an absence of care, such as he had not known for many years.

  The hour was late. The Long Gallery was dark, save for the light of the moon and stars shining through the windows. No one was about. Henry tossed dignity to the winds and capered down the hall, performing impromptu dance steps and even kicking up his heels. No one was watching except the ever-watchful eyes of the portraits of long dead kings and queens. And what they saw, they would never tell.

  By the time he reached the front entrance of the palace, Henry regained his dignity, twitched his cravat into place, and tugged at his flannel waistcoat. A yawning servant summoned his carriage.

  Settling back in the seat, Henry smiled in the darkness. He had already made plans for his retirement. He would move his family away from the city to his estate at Staffordshire, a gift from Her Majesty, who knew that one day Henry would need a refuge.

  He looked forward to life as a country squire having no more onerous tasks than to settle disputes among his tenants. He would oversee the education of his children, enjoy the simple pleasure of taking tea with his beloved wife, and breed prize hogs.

  After dealing in politics for so many years, Henry thought hogs would make a refreshing change.

  EPILOGUE

  The weddings of Sophia and Phillip, and of Kate and Thomas, were the social event of that century or any century. Amelia’s lengthy description of the ceremony and the reception afterward filled the entire Haever Gazette. Her description of Sophia’s exquisite beaded white lace, silk, and velvet wedding gown took up three columns.

  As for Kate’s wedding dress, she teased those planning the wedding by insisting she would be married in her slops. Thomas laughed and told her to go ahead, never mind what anyone said. In the end, Kate chose a simple dress of green silk and velvet. People were shocked that Kate didn’t wear white. Kate said the green dress was in memory of her father, but she didn’t tell anyone why. She and Olaf and Thomas understood. Admiral Baker had returned her red kerchief with his grateful thanks for having helped save his life. Kate carried the red kerchief in her bosom beneath her wedding dress, close to her heart.

  The double weddings were held in the springtime. The ceremonies took place in the royal gardens, so that Dalgren and other dragons could attend. Phillip and Thomas had invited the Dragon Brigade and they were represented by the dragons, the Duke of Talwin, Countess Anasi, and Lord Haelgrund, and by humans, Stephano de Guichen and his wife, and Captain Dag Thorgrimson.

  Sophia’s brother, King Renaud of Rosia, was present, but he did not escort her down the aisle. That honor fell to the Countess de Marjolaine. Upon hearing this, Sophia’s mother had taken offense and refused to attend. Olaf and Akiel escorted Kate, who had
obtained a pardon for Akiel so that he could come to Freya and not fear arrest.

  Thomas’s parents, the Marquis and Marchioness of Cavanaugh, were given places of honor as parents of the groom. Constanza was thrilled that her son had fulfilled her dreams by becoming king of Freya, though she was not happy with his choice of queen. She desperately hoped Thomas would change his mind, and until the very morning of the wedding, she made a point of introducing him to every marriageable young woman of noble birth she could find.

  Father Jacob traveled from Below to perform the ceremony, and to represent the Rosian church. The Freyan church was represented by the Bishop of Freya, Jeffrey Fitzroy. Hugh Fitzroy did not attend. He had apparently fled the country. Dark rumors abounded, but no one knew why, or where, he had gone. Hugh was not missed, not even by his brother, who had long been fearful that he would do something to disgrace the family. Jeffrey secretly thanked God he was gone.

  Kate further scandalized the fashionable world by refusing to select daughters of dukes and barons to be her bridesmaids. She chose two Trundler women, Miri and Gythe McPike, and Amelia Nettleship. Amelia’s primary duty was to walk Bandit down the aisle. The spaniel enlivened the ceremony by barking at the bishop and making himself sick on wedding cake. Amelia did honor to the occasion by leaving her umbrella at home, though she insisted on carrying her reticule.

  Thomas was at last able to dance with Kate, as he had foretold so long ago after he and Phillip had helped her escape from prison.

  “I am glad your dance card was not filled,” said Thomas, teasing, remembering their conversation as he had dug a sliver of glass out of her foot.

  Kate shook her head, embarrassed. “You and Pip risked your lives to save mine and I repaid you by hurling insults at you. The truth was, I had heard you were going to marry Sophia and I was jealous.”

  “So you loved me even then?” Thomas asked, pleased.

  “I have loved you from the moment I saw your blue eyes,” said Kate.

  Henry Wallace II, son of Sir Henry and Lady Ann Wallace, niece of the late queen, served as ring bearer. Young Hal acquitted himself well, much to the relief of his mother, who was terrified he would drop the silken pillow or make faces at his father during the ceremony. Following the ceremony, Henry looked for a chance to speak to the Countess de Marjolaine.

  He met her in a secluded part of the garden. The two spoke only briefly, aware that eyes were on them.

  Cecile gave Henry her hand and said quietly and most earnestly, “Thomas told me you resolved a difficult problem for him, my lord. His Majesty admits the necessity, but he cannot condone the deed.”

  “I understand, my lady,” said Henry. “I would think less of His Majesty if he did.”

  “Permit me to extend my grateful thanks, my lord, for your assistance in this matter.”

  Henry bowed in response and made no reply. None was needed, nor did Cecile seem to expect one.

  She casually opened her lace and gilt-trimmed folding fan and held it before her face to screen her words.

  “Thomas tells me that you have retired from the Foreign Office, my lord. I was able to convince His Majesty that your position should not go vacant. You will be interested to hear that the king has appointed an agent who served me, Corporal Ernest Jennings, as your successor.”

  Henry smiled. “I know Jennings. He is a good man and more than adequate for the task. I am glad Your Ladyship was able to persuade His Majesty.”

  “Thomas is young and idealistic,” said Cecile. She added with a sigh, “He will learn wisdom, more’s the pity.”

  “Let us hope he does not grow too wise,” said Henry. “This is a time for youth and idealism.”

  “Not for old embittered cynics such as ourselves,” Cecile said with a smile. She gave him her hand. “I hope you enjoy your retirement, my lord. You have served your country well and earned your rest. Please convey my love to your lady wife and the children.”

  “Thank you, Countess,” said Henry. “I respected you as a foe. I am glad I am now able to esteem you as a friend.”

  He kissed her hand and the two parted, each going their separate ways.

  The dragons stood apart from the humans in a field outside the royal garden in order not to accidentally trample anyone. They gathered to congratulate Dalgren, who had been forced to postpone his decision to do penance by living a solitary life helping Father Jacob in his work Below. He had been invited by the Duke de Bourlet to assist in training young dragons and their riders at the Dragon Brigade academy. Father Jacob had persuaded Dalgren to accept.

  “Penance may take different forms, Lord Dalgren. You will spend your life in service to men and dragons, teaching the young what you have learned through your mistakes,” Father Jacob told him. “Far better to be part of the world than retreating from it.”

  Dalgren had agreed at last, but only on the condition that he would spend part of each year helping the Bottom Dwellers.

  Father Jacob moved among the dragons, speaking to each, then asked the Duke of Talwin if he could have a private word with him.

  The duke agreed, and he and the priest walked across the field. Once they were out of earshot of the others, the two stopped. The dragon settled down in the grass, making himself comfortable and giving the priest his full attention.

  “I have a strange story to tell, Your Grace,” said Father Jacob. “A bit of a mystery. I was hoping you could help me solve it. Brother Barnaby and I were walking outside of Dunlow when we came across a man who was near death. Every bone in his body was broken and I can only guess as to the extent of his internal injuries.

  “He was a stranger. No one Below recognized him. We are therefore certain he comes from Above, although we have no idea how he came to be on Glasearrach. If I were to venture a guess, judging by the extent of his injuries, I would say that he had fallen from a great height.”

  “Interesting, no doubt, Father,” said the duke. “But I fail to see how I can be of assistance. Perhaps he tumbled off the side of a mountain.”

  “I am coming to that, Your Grace. Brother Barnaby and I were certain the poor man was going to die, and we did what we could to make him comfortable. To our surprise, the man survived. His body appeared to possess magical healing powers to mend itself. I have never seen the like—except among dragons.”

  “Meaning no disrespect, but isn’t that rather a fanciful notion, Father Jacob,” said the duke, puffing smoke from his nose.

  “Perhaps, Your Grace,” said Father Jacob. “As I treated him, I found evidence of old scars on his body, terrible scars that seemed to indicate he had been horribly tortured as a child.”

  The duke appeared suddenly wary. His mane twitched and his eyes narrowed, though he made an attempt to speak casually, as though he was merely curious.

  “What does this strange human have to say for himself, Father? How does he explain what happened?”

  “Alas, that is the problem, Your Grace,” Father Jacob replied. “All the poor man remembers of his past is that his name is ‘Petar.’ He is quite adamant about that. He repeats his name over and over. Do you believe it is possible he was taught dragon magic?”

  “Preposterous,” said the Duke of Talwin, snorting a gout of flame that came near singeing Father Jacob. “You are a learned man, Father, with extensive knowledge of the ways of dragons. I am surprised you could even ask such a foolish question.”

  He paused, then said, “What will you do with him, Father?”

  “He appears to be quite content to remain Below,” said Father Jacob. “He is now fully healed, and is a tireless worker. He seems to take comfort in helping others.”

  “That is good, then,” said the Duke of Talwin, seeming relieved. “Given what you say, perhaps it is a blessing the poor man has no memory of his past. Some mysteries are best left mysteries, for the sake of everyone involved. It would never do for some unscrupulous being—human or dragon—to find out that humans were capable of casting dragon magic. And now, if you will excus
e me, Father, I must go pay my respects to the Countess Faltihure, Dalgren’s mother. I am glad she was able to attend the ceremony. I have not seen her in many years.”

  The duke hurriedly lumbered off. Father Jacob looked after him. His question answered, he sighed and walked away.

  The wedding celebrations came to an end with the setting of the sun. The couples prepared to leave on their respective honeymoons. Phillip and Sophia were planning to travel to Rosia in company with the Countess de Marjolaine, who said she wanted to come to know Phillip better.

  King Thomas and Queen Katherine were spending their honeymoon at Barwich Manor. Kate was having the manor renovated and restored to its former glory. They traveled in company with Olaf and Akiel, who were stopping at the manor on their way back to the Aligoes.

  Akiel disconcerted Kate by telling her the house was filled with spirits. “But they are good spirits,” he said. “They will bring you good fortune.”

  Kate and Olaf walked the familiar grounds of her home, the two of them sharing old memories and new dreams. Kate could not help but notice that Olaf walked more slowly, and leaned more heavily on his cane than when she had seen him last.

  “I wish you’d come live with me and Tom,” Kate said.

  “And have me die of the cold!” said Olaf indignantly. “Gert would run the Parrot into ruin and Akiel would be led away by those confounded spirits of his.”

  He patted her hand. “The Aligoes is my home, Katydid. You and Tom will come visit me often.”

  Kate promised they would, but she knew differently. She had a sorrowful presentiment that this parting would be their last, and she clung to him as he and Akiel made ready to set sail on her old ship, the Barwich Rose.

  “You haven’t once told me I am my father’s daughter,” Kate said teasingly, through her tears.

  Olaf fondly shook his head. “You are your own woman now, Katydid. And I could not be more proud.”

  Kate watched the Barwich Rose sail into the clouds and seemed to see the old Kate in her slops and red kerchief waving from the helm. She waved back until the ship was lost to sight, disappearing into the orange mists of the Breath.