The dapper lord sketched a half-bow but his voice was full of sarcasm. “Your people expect no less.”
The queen’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Have a care, Lord Mills, else some may think you a Red Horn in counselor’s clothing.”
Lord Mills had the good sense to look away.
Anxious to end the meeting, the queen surveyed the rest of her lords. More than one had the sense to bow their heads in submission. “Any questions?”
The red-haired sheriff nodded, his face thoughtful. “You’ve ordered the harvest collected and brought to Kardiff, Graymaris, Lingard, and Pellanor. The first three have stout fortresses and are easily defended…but why Pellanor?”
“If the enemy reaches Pellanor, then the ploy of hunger has failed.” Her words cast a pall on the chamber. “Now you know what we face.” She rose from the throne, regal in rubies and red velvet. “Despite the odds, we shall prevail. We expect our lords to conduct themselves with courage and steadfast determination. Victory will be ours.”
Twelve lords bowed toward their queen, “Victory to Lanverness,” but the conviction in their words was mixed.
Anger flashed through her, leaching into her voice. “Prince Stewart, Master Raddock, with me.” Turning abruptly, she strode from the chamber without giving her counselors a chance to take their leave, a sure sign of her royal displeasure.
A pair of guards rushed to open the doors. Courtiers and servants hovered outside but she waved them away with a frown. Anger laced her stride. Something was amiss in her court, something she did not understand. The queen outpaced her entourage, footsteps echoing in the marble corridors. Her thoughts raced ahead, replaying conversations, recalling faces, sifting through facts and rumors. The Spider Queen could ill afford to be outplayed, especially when war threatened her kingdom, but logic led Liandra to an answer she could not accept.
Guards snapped to attention while a young page rushed to open the doors to her private sanctuary. Liandra swept into her solar, instantly embraced by the scent of pine logs and the crackling warmth of a glowing hearth…but the simple comforts could not dispel her unease.
Lady Sarah stepped from the shadows, holding a tray of fresh-baked scones and honeyed milk. “I thought…”
The mere sight of food roiled the queen’s stomach. “Perhaps later.” Taking a seat on the carved throne set in front of the blazing fireplace, Liandra arranged the pleats of her gown to best accent her hourglass figure. Image was as much a habit as it was her armor.
A knock came from the outer door.
“The guards may admit Prince Stewart and Master Raddock, but everyone else is to be denied.” Her voice brooked no argument. “We need time alone with our counselors.”
“Shall I leave the tray?”
“No.” The queen stared into the fire, considering the ambitions of her ‘loyal’ men.
Lady Sarah curtseyed and retreated from the solar. A moment later, Prince Stewart and the dark-robed deputy shadowmaster entered. The two men bowed and waited for permission to sit.
Permission was not given.
Liandra drummed her bejeweled hands on the throne, a sure sign of her displeasure, yet her two advisors remained stubbornly mute. “Knowledge is power, yet it seems knowledge has been withheld from your sovereign queen.”
A warning glance passed between the two men but neither spoke. Liandra considered the two men. Tall with broad-shoulders, her royal son stood like a soldier on parade, his booted-feet spread wide, his right hand resting on the hilt of his blue sword, his gaze direct and uncomplicated. By contrast, the deputy shadowmaster slouched beneath dark robes, his gaze roving around the chamber as if searching for a threat…or an escape route. Short and barrel-chested, Master Raddock had the look of a back-alley brawler instead of a counselor to the wealthiest monarch in all of Erdhe. A smashed nose and an old scar ruined his pug face, a reflection of his low birth and shady past, yet the man had a cunning intellect that earned him the position of deputy shadowmaster, the right hand to the Master Archivist. The queen had approved Raddock’s rise in power, recognizing that exceptional abilities often belied the circumstances of birth, yet sometimes she wondered if Raddock’s loyalties resided with his sovereign queen…or with the lord who’d rescued him from the thieves’ gallows.
Silence hung like a shroud in the room. The queen decided on a frontal attack. “We will hear a report on the fate of Prince Danly.”
Neither spoke.
“Master Raddock, we will hear from you.”
The master’s eyes narrowed to dark pinpricks, like a cornered rat desperate to hide. “The traitor-prince,” he cleared his throat, “everything was done according to orders.”
His words stoked her fear, yet she held her voice steady. “Then you saw the orders, signed with our signature and affixed with our royal seal?”
“No…” his voice was hesitant, “the orders came…through the usual channels.”
It was like prying teeth from hens. “And what were those orders?”
“To give the traitor-prince a choice.” The spymaster’s face hardened.
“A choice?”
“To lose his head…or his manhood.”
The queen clutched the armrests, struggling to contain her shock. Statue-still, she harkened back to another conversation when the grim choice had first been proposed. Remembering the man who made the suggestion, her heart quailed. Not you. Struggling to keep her poise, her fingernails gouged the wooden armrests. “And?”
“The prince chose…to keep his head.”
So her second son still lived, but as something less than a man, no longer a threat to her crown. “And where is he now?” She was surprised her voice remained so even.
“Chained to the back of wagon, heading west into exile. A ship waits for him in the Delta, to take him to the Serpent Isles.”
So it was done…and beyond her control. A measure of relief swept through her but it did not abate her anger…or the pain in her heart. Liandra clenched her fists and steeled her face to stone. “And who oversaw the orders?”
The master’s answer came in a flood of words. “Your majesty must know that your shadowmaster is loyal to the crown, always working to protect the Rose Throne against any threat.”
“Your queen asked a question.”
His face was reluctant, but he yielded the answer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “The Master Archivist, Lord Highgate.”
Once spoken, the name struck like a dagger to her heart. Logic had not lied…yet the proof was bitter, so very bitter. The man she’d trusted above all others had dared to usurp her power. Pain pierced her. Her hands tightened into fists, her nails gouging her palms, but her will prevailed. She kept her face impassive and her voice steady, turning her gaze to her oldest son. “Did you know of this?”
“Not ahead of time, no.” There was no guile in him.
“Then how did you hear of it?”
He shrugged. “Rumors abound, especially among soldiers.”
The answer only fueled her anger. “So the whole court knows of this, yet the queen was not informed?”
Neither man answered.
“Fools!” Her voice was scalding. She took a deep breath, needing to hear it all. “What does the court think?”
Prince Stewart answered. “All the other traitors faced their fate months ago. Danly was the last of the Red Horns. Justice needed to be served. Even a prince is not above the queen’s justice.”
So the people believed the queen had issued the orders…her power remained intact…but what of her image? A queen who castrated her own son, Liandra suppressed a shudder. “And do you agree with Lord Mills, that it was a ruthless choice?”
Stewart’s face flashed with anger. “Lord Mills does not deserve to sit on your royal council.”
“Lord Mills is nothing but a yapping dog. He barks but has little bite…beware the ones who remain quiet and plot behind our back, for they are the real worry.” She fingered the rubies at her throat,
her voice growing hard. “Yet sometimes enemies have their uses, revealing more than allies.” Her stare settled on his face. “Do you think it was ruthless?”
Her son looked away, staring into the blazing fire, his jaw clenched. “A terrible choice for any man, but was it ruthless?” He met her stare, honesty in his gaze. “Danly had a choice, which was more than the other traitors got…more than he deserved…yet justice was served.”
The question slipped out. “What would you have chosen?”
The fire snapped and crackled, spitting a spark from the flames.
The Prince trod on the spark, leaving a burned smell in the room. “That’s easy.” His face dissolved into open admiration. “I choose to always be loyal to the queen.”
His words proved a balm to her heart. At least she had one loyal son, one man she could trust. “You have grown into a fine general. We are pleased.” She stared into the blazing fire, burying her emotions beneath a regal facade. “But we have much to do to protect Lanverness.” She snapped her gaze to the deputy shadowmaster. “Tell the prince the latest news from Coronth.”
Master Raddock nodded. “The flood of refugees has slowed to a trickle, but one man brought strange whispers from Balor. Weak from the journey, and perhaps delusional from his ordeals…yet he tells an odd tale, insisting that the Pontifax is dead, consumed by flames in a test of faith.”
“What?” The prince gaped. “Is it true?”
The spymaster shrugged. “He is the first refugee to sing such a tale. Hard to say if it is truth or delusion.”
“But this could change everything!” Hope radiated from the prince’s face. “If the Pontifax is dead, then surely his religion must fall?” He stared at the queen, logic slowly strangling hope. “But you did not tell the council.”
Her son was learning. Liandra nodded. “Religions rarely die so easy a death. Even if the Pontifax is dead, some zealous priest will surely leap to take his place.” She sat straight in the throne, steel leaching into her voice. “As long as an army marches toward our border, we must prepare for war.”
“And the council?”
“…need not hear the news, lest those who argue for negotiations blunt our preparations for war. The odds are already heavy against us. Divisiveness in our council will only hinder our efforts.” The queen smoothed her gown, as if she could smooth away all opposition. “We will manage our council, and prepare our people…while you lead our swords against the enemy.”
Her royal son stood straight and proud, handsome in the emerald tabard of the rose army. “What are your orders?”
“Take the army north and prepare for this war of skirmishes. When Lord Highgate returns from Radagar, we shall send the bought swords to you. Use the mercenaries as you see fit. Slow the enemy as best you can. Nibble at their flanks and perhaps your strategy of small bites will prevail. And while you fight, deny the enemy our harvest. Perhaps we can starve them back to Coronth.” She eased back into the chair, tapping her ringed fingers on the carved armrests. “Perhaps hunger will work if swords do not.” She gazed into the flames. “And when the monk, Aeroth, returns, we will see what aid the Kiralynn Order can provide. They owe us for Sir Cardemir.” She turned her gaze back to her son. “Keep us informed of your victories…as well as any threats.”
Prince Stewart nodded, his face troubled. “I accept the task…but?”
“Speak, we would hear your counsel.”
“I’m reluctant to trust mercenaries.”
“We have had this debate before.”
“I respectfully ask that you hold the mercenaries in reserve, here in Pellanor. They can bolster the defense of the city and act as a rear guard.”
“Agreed.” She gave him a regal nod. “When will you march?”
“Within the week. There is no time for delay.”
“All of Pellanor will see you off.” Her voice softened. “We charge you to keep yourself safe. You are our firstborn, our royal heir.”
He gave her a smile that revealed the boy within. “I’ll stay safe, mother.”
She would have said more but they were not alone. “The gods grant you victory.”
“And you.” She sensed his words were heartfelt.
The two men took their leave, bowing to kiss her emerald ring. She let them reach the door before her words struck like a lash. “Master Raddock, a word.”
The shadowmaster stumbled to a halt while the prince escaped, the door closing behind him. Her deputy shadowmaster returned to skulk in front of the fireplace, his face closed, his shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow. She let him wait, feeling her royal displeasure. The fire snapped and crackled, burning down to a single log, and still she waited. If the shadowmaster felt discomfort, he showed no signs of it; the man had the nerves of an alley cat.
“You failed your queen.”
“I obeyed orders.”
“But not the queen’s orders.”
“I did not know.”
“But you should have known. The fate of a prince requires a royal writ.” Her words struck like swords. “Lanverness is a kingdom of laws. The queen’s laws.”
His eyes widened but he did not reply.
She shifted her attack. “Your daily reports contained no word of the traitor-prince.”
“I thought…” his voice went hoarse. A struggle raged across his face but in the end his sense of survival triumphed, “The Master Archivist said he would provide a full report before he left for Radagar.”
Her anger exploded. “How dare you withhold this from us! Ignorance is a state no monarch can afford, leastwise a queen.” Her words cooled to a deadly edge. “How shall we treat with your silence? Shall we name it treason by omission? In most kingdoms, men hang for less.”
A sheen of sweat soaked his face. “Not treason, never that!”
“Do you think the Master Archivist promoted you without our approval?”
He shook his head, like a man backed into a corner.
“We raised you up from a common back-alley thief.” A glint of fear flashed across his face. “Oh yes, we know of your shady past, yet we accepted your service, and this is how you repay our trust?”
He fell to his knees, his face flushed. “Only in Lanverness could a man like me reach so high. Please, your majesty, let me serve you?”
Disgusted, she left him on his knees, turning her stare towards the glowing hearth. As the fires dimmed to embers, her anger slowly annealed to deadly logic. “We live in a world of knights and kings, where swords matter more than words. For a queen to keep her crown, she must be smarter and quicker than all those who seek to bring her down. And always the hounds nip at our heels…no matter what we achieve.” She turned her gaze back to the kneeling shadowmaster. “We seek loyalty, intellect, and discretion in our shadowmen. Are you such a man?”
He nodded, his face contrite. “A queen’s man.”
At least he was smart enough not to swear…for he’d sworn once before. “We shall give you one more chance to prove your worth.” She extended her hand, offering her emerald ring of office. “Do not fail us again.”
He grabbed her hand and kissed her ring, fervent as a penitent grasping a holy relic. At least he groveled well. “And what shall we do with the one you serve?”
He sat back on his heels, staring up at her. “Lord Highgate?”
Even his name caused her pain. She nodded.
“He only meant to serve…”
She raised a hand, forestalling him. “We shall hear no excuses.”
His gaze dropped to the floor, a war of emotions flashing across his face…but the queen did not relent, letting the silence lengthen, making him choose his loyalties.
He eventually raised his stare, his face pale. “Arrest him then. But hear his reasons before you pass judgment.”
And there was the rub. The Master Archivist was a fine chess player, caging her with her own image. If she ordered his arrest, then the council, nay the whole kingdom, would know that the orders regarding Danly�
��s punishment were not hers…and a queen could never appear to lose control, or the hounds would bring her down. “No, nothing so rash. This matter must be handled with great discretion.”
He stared at her, his face wary.
“When Lord Highgate returns, you will take his report and then order him confined to his castle chambers, to await a summons from the queen. Rumors will be spread that he fell ill on his journey from Radagar, something in the food.”
A chill settled over the chamber. “Will it be a fatal illness?”
So he thought her capable of murder. She made her voice hard, clutching the arms of her throne lest her hands betray her. “That will depend on Lord Highgate.”
His face paled.
“In the meantime, you will continue to serve as our master of shadows.” She extended her ringed hand. “Do not disappoint.”
He kissed her ring without touching her hand, as if she might bite, and then he scurried from the chamber.
The door clicked shut and she was once more alone. Always alone, she paced in front of the fire, considering her loyal lords. Master Raddock, her thief turned shadowmaster, had a shrewd cunning but he was a pale imitation of his mentor and his loyalty remained in doubt, yet he would serve and she would make do. She always made do with lesser men. Her mind shied away from the Master Archivist. Perhaps there was no one she dared trust. A crown was a heavy burden, yet she would never give it up. She clenched her fists, staring at her royal rings, the great emerald and the gold seal gleaming in the candlelight. Lanverness prospered beyond the telling and the royal treasury was flush with gold. None of her ancestors had ruled half as well…yet she was the only queen among them, the only woman in a long line of kings. She’d achieved much, yet all her accomplishments seemed a thin comfort. Liandra stared into the hearth, but the embers had died, letting the chamber grow cold…as cold and bleak as her mood. Memories of him assailed her, nights filled with passion, stirring a raging need laced with hurt. She’d trusted him, letting him into her bed, letting him into her heart, yet he’d dared to usurp her power. Sex changed everything. She should never have slept with him. Power was too much temptation…for any man. “Oh Robert, how could you do this to me?” A single tear coursed down her cheek. Liandra bowed her head and linked her hands across her stomach. “How could you do this to us?”
S&SS [04] The Poison Priestess Page 6
