Either way, it sent prickles down my back. And it made what I was going to ask even more gut-churning difficult. But Galen deserved an answer.
“Yes, we’ll go speak to the King,” I stated. “As court wizard, would you mind conveying me into his presence? I think your word might have more weight than mine.”
The centaur bowed modestly, but I suspected that he beamed a little inside at the compliment. He led the way at his high-stepping trot, only ducking slightly as we went through a doorway’s narrow pointed arch. Galen had been originally sent to the Good King Benedict’s court as a gesture of goodwill and peace. Given his evident magical talent and even-tempered nature, he’d been promptly appointed to the position of court wizard by Benedict himself.
This trusted position allowed us to pass by the red and black suited guards and enter the throne room without too much of a challenge. The chamber was huge, framed by a series of ice blue marble-lined alcoves. Each alcove held a skinny window of stained glass which let in lots of light and a rainbow of bright colors.
All of which provided an interesting contrast to the man who sat upon the throne.
No one could doubt that the Good King Benedict’s genes had been successfully passed on. Fitzwilliam had a carbon copy of his father’s aquiline nose, high-domed forehead, and a mane of shoulder-length blond hair salted at the temples with a dash of white. His clean-shaven lantern jaw gave his face a drawn appearance, but it served to frame a masculine mouth that could twitch at one end into a catlike grin.
He wore a loose-bodied gray robe trimmed with fur from some silvery-pelted animal and studded with freshwater pearls. A heavy gold belt wrapped securely about his waist. The silhouette of a rampant griffin had been stamped on the buckle. The same design was repeated at the center of the golden circlet he wore at his brow.
Beneath the crown, Fitzwilliam’s tired gray eyes roamed back and forth without focusing on much of anything. His lack of interest, wandering gaze, and slouchy position on the seat of power all conveyed the sense that the monarch was bored out of his skull.
Oblivious to that fact, the two elderly gentlemen standing below the throne’s dais continued to drone on at intervals from a set of scrolls. They looked important and slightly silly at the same time. The two were dressed in fine linen, while each wore a cap that looked like it came from the Mad Hatter’s reject pile. But their droning was cut short as Fitzwilliam spotted us, sat bolt upright, and cleared his throat.
“Ambassadors, we must cut the diplomatic niceties short for the day,” he said, in a clear, commanding tone. “There are urgent matters of the state which the court wizard must bring to my attention. We shall pick this up tomorrow, perhaps.”
The two men shot a disapproving glance at Galen and a puzzled one at me. But instead of objecting, they thought better of it and bowed, walking backwards out of the room. Fitzwilliam got up, put his crown aside on a velvet pillow set on a pedastal next to the throne, and gave a stretch. A small pop sounded from the small of his back, and he sighed contentedly.
“Thank the makers of our world that you arrived, Galen,” he quipped. “If I had to listen to one more article on our ‘favorable agreements of trade’, I would have chosen to fall belly-first upon the point of my broadsword.”
“The duties of the Crown can lie full upon the brow, your Majesty,” Galen said sympathetically.
“Full and monotonously. How on earth did my father put up with this?”
“Heavy drinking, for the most part, sire.”
Fitzwilliam let out a laugh at that. I found myself relaxing a little. The affable person I’d met at the coronation seemed to be the real man, from what I could tell. The king then shifted his attention to me, and I felt his appraising and rather forward male gaze taking in the measure of my stance as well as my bust size.
“Well, Lady Chrissie, you appear as fair as a delicate flower.” Fitzwilliam stepped forward, took my hand, and then raised it to his lips for a kiss. “Thank you for rescuing me from the rigors of diplomacy.”
I wasn’t all that keen on being called ‘Lady’ anything, let alone a delicate flower. But it was enough for me to grit my teeth and give the ghost of a curtsey in response. Galen had schooled me in the basics of court etiquette, so I could no longer claim ignorance on how to behave around nobility. Plus, I didn’t want to start annoying the man who might just become my boss.
“Sire,” I said, and damn if that didn’t sound weird coming from my lips, “maybe I don’t understand. If the ambassadors bore you, why not delegate their meeting to some Duke or Earl who’s got nothing better to do for the morning?”
A chuckle. “Alas, that would not be respectful, in this case. These two fine fellows come from the seaside kingdom of Kescar, the realm which lost their ambassador in the same incident where my father met his end.”
I nodded in understanding. Many forgot that when King Benedict and his friend Duke Kajari were slain, so was this third, Kescarian man. Fitzwilliam was doing his best to smooth over what had to have been a major diplomatic snafu.
“Well, at least they were polite,” Fitzwilliam continued. “I had to deal with a rather obnoxious centaur delegate earlier. King Angbor has been demanding that I turn Magnus Killsheven over to him for a ‘sorely deserved’ trial and execution, with a strong emphasis on the latter.”
“My apologies, your Majesty,” Galen said, embarrassed. “My people can be very direct.”
“True, but I prefer directness to evasion. Personally, I was hoping to buy your father off with some gold to ‘forget’ the incident.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. “I’ve seen enough death in my time, and I refuse to execute anyone who currently resides in my dungeons.”
That surprised me. In spite of the fact that Andeluvia was (with many important exceptions) similar to the Middle Ages in my world, Fitzwilliam had a surprisingly modern outlook on capital punishment. Galen must have been surprised as well, judging by the question he asked next.
“You would do that, even if they are a murderer, Sire?”
“Even so. Magnus remains in magical stasis. He can’t so much as blink, so I doubt that he’s a threat to anyone.” A sigh, and he went on. “I barely knew the man who sired me. Benedict sent me abroad when I was quite young, as a token hostage in a foreign kingdom’s court. I learned there that some problems can be solved with power – others not. So I hope you’ve brought me one that is the former, not the latter.”
“I hope so too, your Majesty,” I agreed, and in a few minutes I sketched out the death of the Fayleene’s Protector and the thorny issue of Liam’s ascension. To Fitzwilliam’s credit, he listened without interruption, though I could see that he was unimpressed.
“That’s a bad break for the Fayleene heir,” he admitted. With a dismissive gesture, he added, “But I fail to see how this is any business of mine.”
I swallowed, hard. Here was the part that I wasn’t looking forward to.
“I’ve promised to assist Liam in any way I can. In order to help him win through his assigned task, we need information. I need someone who knows all about dragons. And the best dragon trainers in the kingdom…are the commanders of your Air Cavalry.”
“That could be problematic. Of the three commanders, one died of old age, a few months before you arrived. The second is away on a diplomatic mission across the sea and can’t be recalled until next summer. And the final one…resides in my dungeon.”
“Yes, Sire,” I said, and I bowed my head to him. “That is why I am here. To ask, to beg for a royal boon. To release Captain Vazura of the Air Cavalry into my custody.”
Fitzwilliam said nothing for a moment. He rubbed his chin as he replied, “It is strange that you should ask for this. My next meeting is with someone who is also requesting his release. I believe you know Lady Behnaz?”
My stomach twisted up anew at the mention of that woman’s name. Lady Behnaz hated my guts, in no small measure because I’d called her out on having an affair
with Vazura behind her husband’s back. And that made me curious.
“Pardon me, your Majesty,” I said, “But why is the lady petitioning for Vazura? Shouldn’t she be asking you to release her husband, the Lord Behnaz?”
King Fitzwilliam watched me carefully as he gave me the answer.
“A fair question. The reason she’s not asking about Lord Behnaz is simple: I released that treacherous nobleman from the dungeon and restored him to his estates just last night.”
Chapter Ten
I couldn’t imagine the expression that must have been on my face. Of course, King Fitzwilliam didn’t have to imagine. He saw it in full, after all.
“I can see that this news displeases you,” Fitzwilliam noted.
“Displeases?” I said, before my voice jumped an octave. “Displeases? Yes, I think that’s a good start!”
Galen looked at me anxiously from behind Fitzwilliam’s left shoulder: he shook his head and drew a single finger across his neck. It didn’t stop me, though. This was feeling all too much like a re-run. A repeat of what I went through with Magnus Killsheven, when he impersonated Duke Kajari.
“I’m starting to question why I’ve even bothered to put myself on the line for this kingdom!” I vented in exasperation. “Why don’t we just install a revolving door down in your dungeon? It would make everyone’s life a lot more convenient!”
Fitzwilliam gave me a look so chill that it stopped my rant in its tracks.
“Do you think me a fool, Lady Chrissie?” His voice had a hard, icy tone.
I swallowed, hard. Oh, good one, Dayna! What was all that about trying not to piss off the man who might become your boss someday? Who could also order your head lopped off your shoulders if he so desired?
“My apologies. Sire.” I choked out, haltingly. “I’m from a world where things are done differently. I spoke out of turn. And out of frustration. I don’t like seeing someone who was complicit in covering up Benedict’s murder let loose.”
That did a lot to cool off King Fitzwilliam, but a few shards of ice remained in his voice.
“You spoke out of loyalty to my father’s memory, milady. That is the one and only reason you will not be spending time inside one of my dungeon’s cells, or bent double over the flogging block. You would be wise to remember that.”
I cast my gaze down towards the floor. I had screwed up, but at least Mama Chrissie didn’t raise complete idiots. I kept quiet and gave another awkward curtsey. Fitzwilliam didn’t take his eyes off me, but he pursed his lips before issuing a new command.
“Wizard, wait here. I shall accompany Lady Chrissie to the guardroom outside the dungeon.”
“Sire,” Galen acknowledged, with a bow of his own.
Without another word, Fitzwilliam strode off, leaving me to follow in his wake. A pair of the palace guards fell into formation behind us as the king exited the throne room and turned off the main hallway. We descended four flights of spiraling stone stairs, and then passed under an unnervingly sharp iron portcullis. The king cleared his throat before he spoke again. He didn’t look at me, but at least this time, the tone of his voice didn’t make me think of being clapped in irons and stretched out on the rack.
“It is true that your world does things differently. Elsewise, you would easily grasp the reason for my actions. Lord Behnaz expanded his holdings by marrying Margrave Ulhan’s only daughter: the woman who is now Lady Behnaz. The old Margrave died years ago, allowing Lord Behnaz to unite their lands. That land encompasses most all of my kingdom’s western reaches. It encompasses the woods that contain the Grove of the Willows, where Angbor of the Centaur Kingdom and I meet. If that were not enough, those same reaches have always been the least stable, with barons and errant knights staying just inside the laws I lay down.”
I nodded and remained silent as the king paused, making sure I was still following. His voice echoed slightly as we turned down a narrower passage, one lit by torches held fast in iron brackets.
“Without a lord as powerful as Behnaz, the western reaches will soon fill with banditry, unrest, and much worse. That is a situation which any ruler worth their salt will try to avoid. So I have returned Behnaz to his domain. I realize, as you do, that he is a snake lying in wait. One does not expect gratitude for long from such a man. But I have stripped his forces of cavalry, of griffins, and of course, the last of our stabled dragons. So as far as I am concerned, this viper’s fangs have been pulled.”
He fell silent as we emerged into a large square chamber, one that looked as if it had been carved right out of the solid granite that made up the palace’s foundation. The room had been set round with yet more torches, filling the air with the smoky scent of charcoal. At the far end lay a door of oak and iron, flanked by stout pillars depicting coiled reptilian creatures and two even stouter guards in dark leather surcoats and spiked helmets. Though they looked fearsome, it also appeared that they’d done one too many shifts guarding a buffet table instead of a dungeon. Then again, I didn’t suppose that prison guards here had much of an exercise program.
A woman stood by the door, and the sight of her made my frown lines deepen ever more. Lady Behnaz’s eyes gleamed like chips of ice, hostile and unrelenting. In the dim light, her pale skin and lank features gave her face the appearance and sharpness of a hatchet. Her gown matched the black of the guardsmen’s leathers, only in velvety soft fabric. A corset-styled bodice elevated and showed off what scanty goods the woman had, likely to curry favor from Fitzwilliam’s very male eye.
If that was her intent, she spoiled the effect by starting off with a near screech that echoed off the chamber’s stone walls: “My liege, what is this woman doing here?”
“To my great surprise,” he replied, “she has come forward with the same request as yours: to secure the release of Captain Vazura.”
“How dare you listen to the wheedling of one such as she?”
The king raised one blond eyebrow. His voice edged back to the regal, rather pissed-off tone he’d taken once I had crossed the line with him.
“Another sign of disrespect from the fairer gender,” he remarked, this time to one of the stout guardsmen. “Tell me, Jaseck: do we have flogging blocks made specifically for women? I seem to have need of one.”
“No, m’lord,” came the gravelly reply. “As with many of the tools of my trade, flogging blocks serve one and all equally.”
I did my best to hold back a grimace. Great. At least the corporal punishment in this world was equal-opportunity. Lady Behnaz, on the other hand, gasped and did her best to curtsey as low as possible in order to give the king the rooftop terrace view of her cleavage.
“Your Majesty,” she breathed, “please forgive my lack of care. I have nothing but harsh words for the ‘lady’ here. But I did not come to bandy insults with her. Rather, all my thoughts were bent towards securing the release of–”
Fitzwilliam cut her off. “Your lover, Captain Vazura.”
“Lover? My liege, I only seek to free one who would seek to serve you as straight and true as a newly fletched arrow!”
As she spoke, Behnaz’s very skin betrayed her feelings. A blush ran from her cheeks all the way down to the tops of her exposed breasts. I didn’t know which was more pathetic, her follow-up claim or the fact that Jaseck and the other guard stood on their tip-toes trying their best to get a peek. But the king’s reply made them sober up, and fast.
“Quiet, woman. I have heard so much lying at court that to hear the truth at all feels strange and foul. Your letting Vazura ride you more often than his dragon mount is quite possibly the worst-kept secret in the kingdom. I know not if your husband knows, and I care not.” He addressed Jaseck a second time. “Bring Vazura from his cell.”
Jaseck motioned to the second guard. Together they opened the heavy oak door with a creak of hinges in bad need of oiling. In a few moments, the crackle of the torches around us were joined by the distant slam of an iron door and the jingling of metal. Behnaz made a sound between a
happy gasp and squeak as Vazura was brought out into the room, his legs bound by a length of chain stretched between his ankles.
When I’d last seen the Air Cavalry commander, he’d all but swaggered up to me, a man in complete control over his men and his destiny. All that was gone now. Though he was still muscular, the man had lost fifteen pounds. On a build as tall and slender as his, it showed. His cheeks were more prominent and his nattily-trimmed goatee had blossomed into a fuzzy bush of beard. Instead of his scarlet commander’s mantle, a ragged beggar’s tunic draped over his slight frame. A smell of raw, dried sweat and stale food emanated from the man. And the easy arrogance I had once seen in his eyes had been snuffed out and replaced by deep unease.
“Your Majesty,” he said, in a voice that creaked in a way that Shaw’s had, when I had first met the griffin. It was the sound of a voice that hadn’t been used in a long time.
“I have brought you forth because of requests that have been made on your behalf,” Fitzwilliam began. “Lady Behnaz had come to plead for your release. Apparently, your choice in women strikes well, though not in the gold. For while she did loyally come to your side, she also believes that I am as witless or as willfully blind as my father Benedict.’
“My Lord–”
Again, King Fitzwilliam put steel in his voice as he spoke, pinning Vazura in place.
“At the very least, you can set store by my memory. I will always remember that you, your paramour, and your lord lifted nary a finger in defense of this realm. That you willingly let a usurper sit on the throne while my father’s body was still warm!”
Behnaz stepped in front of Vazura and hurriedly knelt before the king. She grasped his hand and kissed it. “Mercy, Sire,” she sobbed. “I beg of you, show mercy!”
“The mercy I showed you both is that I have not emulated my father. Captain Vazura, do you know what the Good King Benedict would have done in my stead?”
The Deer Prince's Murder: Book Two of 'Fantasy & Forensics' (Fantasy & Forensics 2) Page 7
