by A. C. Cobble
They marched on, following the rogue’s shadow down the narrow brick tunnel. It was barely wide enough for two men to squeeze past each other, and Ben tried to ignore the fact that they hadn’t seen another opening anywhere along the way. It was a bolt-hole, he realized, designed for people in the castle to enter and exit unnoticed. Perfect for their purposes, but with friends in front of him and friends behind him, Ben felt a suffocating confinement.
After several long moments, Amelie asked, “I wonder if my father knew about this tunnel?”
No one answered.
“Rhys,” said Amelie. “How did you know about this tunnel?”
“Damma and her family have been maintaining their side of it for years,” answered the rogue. “On the other side, I suspect your father did know about it but never had reason to use it. In times of peace, it’s more of a… a way to secretly visit friends in the city.”
“Like Darla?” inquired Prem.
Rhys coughed and hurried his pace.
“How do we find Lord Dronson when we get inside?” asked Ben, changing the subject. “Do you know where his rooms are, Amelie?”
“He’s likely staying in the South Wing,” she responded, “at least, that’s where he used to live. I can’t say if he’s still there. I never visited his personal chambers.”
“I can do a little reconnaissance,” offered Rhys.
“I think I have an easier way,” said Amelie. “Garliage is a former tutor of mine and a well-known scholar. He taught me the foundations of science until Lady Greenfoot took over. He’s been a part of Issen since long before I was born, and I’d wager he’s still in the same location. He’s loyal only to knowledge. Regardless of what leadership changes have happened, he will still be following the same pursuits, and he’s too useful for anyone to run him off. Rhys, where did you say this tunnel will lead us?”
“The east gardens,” answered the rogue.
“My mother’s gardens,” said Amelie, her voice clipped with restraint.
“I said your father didn’t have reason to use this tunnel.” After another fifty paces, Rhys added, “That reminds me. You should probably make sure the engineers are still capable of flooding the tunnel before Lord Jason and Lady Selene arrive with their army.”
“This reminds me of when I was thirteen or fourteen summers,” remarked Amelie, peering down a dark, quiet hallway. “Meredith and I used to sneak out at night, thinking we’d find out secrets. We never did, but it was always fun to pretend we were on an adventure.” She laughed quietly. “An adventure. To think that walking down these halls once seemed an adventure to me.”
“It seems pretty adventurous to me,” whispered Serrot, his voice bubbling with excitement. “We’re sneaking into a castle!”
“You get used to it,” replied Ben.
“You’ve snuck into other castles?” wondered Serrot. “You didn’t say anything about that.”
“There’s a lot we need to catch up on,” admitted Ben.
“Speaking of sneaking through castles,” hissed Rhys, glaring back at them. “It’s best practice to remain quiet while you’re doing it.”
The steady clomp of boots echoed down the marble hall, and Rhys motioned the party to move out of view. They ducked into a shadowed alcove and waited until the sound of men on patrol faded away.
“Why are we sneaking?” asked Serrot quietly, one eye on the rogue as Rhys stalked ahead to check that the way was clear. He hooked a thumb toward Amelie. “Doesn’t she rule this place?”
“Not yet,” she replied. “I’m the rightful heir, but I was never crowned. Until that happens, it’s a bit of a delicate situation. Technically, I do not yet rule, but from what Damma told us and what we’ve heard, no one else does either. Lord Dronson, as chair of the council of lords, is serving as a steward until a legal ruler can be named.”
“So, he just needs to name you, uh, Queen?” asked Serrot.
“Lady of Issen,” corrected Amelie. “And yes, that’s what needs to happen. It is a bit more complicated, though. Remember, they all think I’m dead.”
“Ah,” murmured Serrot.
Rhys poked his head around a corner and waved them on. Just a little bit further, and they’d be to Garliage’s chambers. Amelie didn’t think her former tutor’s door would be guarded, but the halls were full of regular patrols of soldiers. With the approaching armies, assassination was a serious threat.
“Very serious,” Rhys had said condescendingly, “considering how pathetic the security is around here. After you’re installed, give me some time with your guard captain. Otherwise, you won’t last the week.”
Ben grinned, thinking about his friend instructing the guards on how to protect against assassins. If anyone knew, it was Rhys.
Finally, after avoiding several more patrols, they made it to a plain, iron-bound oak door. Rhys drew a set of lockpicks from his belt pouch, but Amelie slipped by him and placed her hand on the door. Ben heard a soft scrape as a bolt slid out of place, and then Amelie pushed open the door.
They entered a dark room, the only light coming from the hallway behind them, and the pre-dawn glow from a trio of tall windows set in one wall. In the dim light, Ben saw what looked like a museum, though not as extensive as the one in the City he’d visited. There were tables covered in artifacts, shelves stocked with an assortment of bare bones, stuffed animals, and mock-ups for a variety of creatures he wasn’t sure were even real. In the dark, it was quite spooky. He questioned anyone who chose to sleep next to such things.
They heard a soft clink, and everyone froze. Ben looked around and saw a light flickering from underneath a closed door. Moving glacially slow to stay quiet, they made their way to the door. Through it, they heard a soft humming, and Ben’s nose perked up. The rich smell of kaf was wafting into the room.
Ben touched Amelie on the shoulder and gestured for her to open the door. Whether it was Garliage on the other side or household staff bringing his morning kaf, they would find out. Either way, they were in the rooms they meant to be in, and there was no sense hiding any longer.
Amelie drew a deep breath then opened the door.
“Who are—”
Around Amelie’s shoulder, Ben saw a disheveled man, his white hair standing on end and tilted to the side like he’d gone to bed with it wet and hadn’t bothered to brush it out in the morning. Several days’ stubble poked from his chin, and a worn linen shirt was untucked from a pair of loose britches.
“Amelie?” The man scrambled off his stool and dropped to a knee, his fist pressed against his forehead.
“Garliage, that is unnecessary,” said Amelie. “Surely, after all of the times you smacked my knuckles for not paying attention, we can be less formal than this?”
“M’lady,” murmured the man, “we thought you were dead.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot recently,” she responded. “Please, Garliage, rise. I need your help.”
It was midday by the time Amelie declared she was ready to leave her former tutor’s rooms. She was bathed, dressed, and primped like Ben hadn’t seen since King Argren’s gala in the City over a year before. She looked stunning, every bit the Lady of Issen, which, of course, was the point.
She’d also demanded that the rest of the party bathe and had Garliage secure clean clothing for them. None of it was as fancy as hers, but they no longer looked as if they’d spent the last year on the road.
Ben ran a hand across his smoothly shaved chin and smiled. It felt good to be clean, even if the britches he’d changed into were a little snug for his taste. They felt less uncomfortable than Serrot and Prem looked, though.
“I’ve never worn a dress,” complained the former guardian. “How is one supposed to move through underbrush or climb a mountain in garb like this?”
“I don’t think many ladies are climbing mountains,” suggested Ben.
“You’ve never worn a dress?” wondered Serrot. “Not even for spring dances and the like?”
“We d
idn’t have spring dances,” replied Prem.
“What do the young folks do for fun in your village?” inquired Serrot.
Prem blinked at him. “There weren’t any young folk in my village.”
Serrot frowned.
Ben interrupted them. “You two can compare life stories later. We need to be focused. Amelie is the one claiming her rights, but we’re here to support her. We watch her back, study the highborn she’s talking to, and be ready for anything.”
Serrot scratched his head, and Prem tapped the knives hanging from her belt. On top of the elegant silk dress that she was wearing, they looked ridiculous, but Ben wasn’t about to tell her to leave them behind. Besides, he looked just as out of place with the worn longsword he had on his hip.
“Ready?” asked Tutor Garliage, looking to Amelie. “I just received word Lord Dronson and the others are in the council chamber. Confronting them there is a risk, but if we wait, we may lose our chance.”
“I know it’s a risk, Garliage, but it is one that we must take.”
“Much of what I taught you about dramatic changes in power involved successful attempts,” warned Garliage. “That doesn’t mean there were no unsuccessful ones. There were far more, in fact. The difference is that the heads of those individuals decorated pikes outside of the gates instead of the pages of my history books. You are the rightful heir, but many highborn believe you are dead. They won’t welcome your return.”
“You think there will be resistance?”
The former tutor shrugged uncomfortably. “Lord Dronson and the other council members are in the chamber. So is Lady Inslie.”
Amelie’s painted lips pursed together. “She was always ambitious.”
“If you were dead, she has a legitimate claim to Issen,” reminded Garliage.
“Only if I was dead,” replied Amelie crisply. “Is it possible Lord Dronson is in league with her? If I was dead, stripping my mother’s title is more likely to help Lady Inslie and House Tand than anyone else.”
“House Tand?” asked Rhys.
“You know the name?” questioned Amelie.
Rhys offered her a grim nod.
“It is possible they are allied, but I cannot say for certain,” responded Garliage.
“I still do not understand what is happening,” muttered Prem.
“My family has ruled Issen for centuries,” explained Amelie. “Leadership passes by bloodline. The eldest, direct descendent inherits the throne. If there isn’t one, then the closest relative. Over time, there are marriages, cousins, and other offshoots of the family. At least half of the noble houses in Issen share some of my family’s blood. It makes things complicated when there is not a clear line of succession.”
“And they think you’re dead,” said Prem.
Amelie nodded.
“Isn’t there a cousin or something?” questioned Ben. “In the stories, there is always an evil cousin.”
“There are some cousins,” acknowledged Amelie. “My father had several siblings, and they had several children each. I don’t believe any of them are evil, though. Lady Inslie is one of my cousins, and while she is not evil, she is highly ambitious. If she and her family see a path to the throne, they will take it.”
Ben frowned. “Does she have an uncle? Evil uncles are pretty common, too.”
Amelie rolled her eyes while Garliage muttered, “Vikram Tand.”
“There is an uncle!” exclaimed Ben. “I knew it.”
“I do not know what’s been spoken behind closed doors,” said Garliage, turning to Amelie and changing the subject, “and behind closed doors is where these things are always settled. So far, no one has publicly declared a claim to rule Issen, but they are in the council chambers…”
“They’re probably deciding it right now,” said Amelie.
“That’s likely,” agreed Garliage. “Something spurred Dronson to act, and now that he has, there is no reason to wait.”
“The Veil,” explained Rhys. “Her fingers are all over this.”
Garliage’s eyebrows rose in shock.
“I have a feeling we’ll be dealing with that woman’s machinations for a long time,” muttered Amelie. She reached up to rub her face in frustration, but Ben caught her wrist.
“You’ve got face paint on. And when it comes to the Veil, we defeated her. We can defeat whatever snares she’s set,” declared Ben. He paused before asking, “When you show up alive, what will happen?”
“Hopefully, they recognize her claim and all is settled peacefully,” answered Garliage. “Lady Inslie and her family represent a significant threat, though. Ever since Lord Dronson acted, they’ve been throwing parties, offering trade alliances, and engaging in new business dealings which involve generous terms for their partners. While they haven’t made a public claim, they’re laying the groundwork for one.”
“Have the assassinations begun?” wondered Rhys. “The palace did not seem secure enough if blood has already been spilled.”
“So far,” replied Garliage, “matters have been conducted civilly. When Amelie makes herself known, House Tand and many others will find they have wasted enormous resources to take a position which is no longer available. It’s not hard to imagine them deciding one more payment could reopen the succession discussion.”
“Blades will be gathering in the city, even if they have not been given targets yet.”
“The history of how rule changes hands is not always pretty,” agreed Garliage.
“We will proceed,” stated Amelie, drawing to her full height. “There will be risks, but without Issen, we have no leverage with Saala and Jason. Without making myself known, we cannot gain Issen.”
“We’ll be right behind you,” assured Ben.
Amelie drew a deep breath then turned and swung open the door. She appeared confident even if she didn’t feel it.
Ben walked quickly after her, taking her right side while Rhys took the left. In their borrowed clothing, they didn’t look exactly like guards who would be flanking the Lady of Issen, but they put on a better show than they did when they first arrived. Behind them, Prem, Serrot, and the scholar Garliage completed the entourage.
Ben looked over his shoulder at Prem, and she offered him an assured smile. They were counting on the former guardian to alert them to any unseen attacks. No one would recognize her, which meant she would be ignored. She would be free to monitor the crowds for danger.
As they strode down the hall, Ben watched the faces of those they passed. At first, they saw palace staff and professionals who would be employed by the highborn. Scholars, physics, and other men and women of knowledge lived in the quarters near Garliage. Several of them stopped the moment they saw Amelie, shock in their eyes. Some sketched hurried bows, and others looked to Garliage where they saw the confirmation in his face.
Amelie held her chin up, her eyes straight ahead, and kept walking at an even pace, ignoring the occasional gasp of surprise or breathless question.
Before long, a train of people had begun to follow them. These were not highborn, but they’d served in the palace long enough to recognize Amelie. They knew what her return meant.
At the tall, arched opening that separated the west wing from the other sections of the palace, they saw the first guards. Four men, draped in Issen’s pale blue, turned at the sound of the marching feet. Ben guessed there were fifty in the train behind them now, and the guards must have been unused to such a crowd in the halls. They glanced suspiciously down the marble-floored corridor, hands resting on weapons.
“What’s going on?” barked one of the men, stepping into the center of the hall, trusting he and his fellows were sufficient to intimidate a group of scholars.
Amelie kept her eyes ahead and kept walking at a steady pace.
Rhys hurried in front of her. He spat out, “Acknowledge the lady!”
“What are you—”
The rogue swung a fist and connected with the guard’s skull, snapping his head to the side and
sending him crashing to the floor in a clatter of steel on marble.
The others guards moved to draw weapons, but Amelie stopped. She demanded, “Who leads this squad?”
The men blinked back at her. All of them were young, and Ben suspected they’d just barely graduated from working the patrols at night. It was quite possible they’d never seen Amelie up close before she left for the Sanctuary. Finally, one of the guards pointed to the unconscious man on the floor.
“Instruct your captain to discipline this man until he learns to show proper respect to his liege,” commanded Amelie. “Now, you three will accompany me to the council chamber and ensure there are no other incidents which require such brutish examples to be made. I’ve been away for a year and a half, and it is unfortunate to see the guard has lost the proper respect for leadership.”
The men stared back at her, open-mouthed.
“Protocol is to offer a short bow to Lady Amelie,” instructed Rhys.
“Lady…” muttered one of the guards.
“She’s dead!” exclaimed another.
Rhys favored them with a hard look and cracked his knuckles menacingly. The young guards eyed the crowd of scholars behind Amelie then performed perfunctory bows and spun, marching quickly down the hall. Rhys winked at Ben and Amelie before starting after the guards. Amelie and the scholars followed, now appearing as if they had an official escort.
Not all of the scholars and palace staff had decided to follow them, though, and quickly, they started to see evidence that some must have taken off running. People began to appear in the hallways ahead of them, watching the group pass by and talking frantically to each other behind their hands. At first, it was staff, off-duty guardsmen, and others, but the closer to their destination they got, it looked as though minor highborn were joining the throngs.
Amelie kept her eyes forward through all of it, but Ben studied the crowds and grew nervous when he saw more armed armsmen lining the way. None of the soldiers moved to stop them, but they had been sent by someone. They were there for a reason.
