Scrivener's Tale

by Fiona McIntosh

  Cassien stood quietly within the fragrant tranquillity of the Orangerie — an inner courtyard of Stoneheart. He noticed no servants bustling around here; the only sounds were the soft coo of pigeons beginning their evening roost, together with the low drone of the last determined bees of the day. Hamelyn, too, had fallen silent and sat on the edge of a low stone wall watching a small army of ants swarming over a dead beetle. Cassien was sure the boy must be famished and exhausted after the ride, although he heard no complaint.

  There were no fruits on the citrus trees but the thaw blossom was just bursting and the perfume of their explosions was heady and romantic. He was thinking about the queen and how courageous she had been, not shrinking from Hubbard despite death lying around her. His mind wandered, and suddenly he was considering his physical reaction to Florentyna. At first sight he’d found her irresistible, standing there in her oversized cassock, flushed and angry, with the hood fallen back and her hair tumbling in strands from the tight pins she’d hoped might hide her femininity. But the rules of the Brotherhood were clear. No emotion was to cloud his judgement. He had to go about his business with a cold detachment or fail in the eyes of Brother Josse and his elders. There was also Vivienne, but he would not permit himself to dwell on her.

  He had been given what was arguably the single most important task undertaken by his fraternity. The direct championing of a monarch was unheard of in the Brotherhood. It was a testament to the serious nature of the present threat that the Brotherhood would sanction such a public mission. He would not let his emotions interfere.

  ‘Cassien?’ Hamelyn said, breaking into his fractured thoughts.

  He emerged from the grove into the early evening sunlight. It was warm in the courtyard, more so than outside it, because its smallish size and thick walls had managed to trap the sun’s thin warmth through the day.

  ‘Yes?’ He saw the boy’s frown. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I’m not sure whether something’s wrong but …’

  ‘Say it.’

  ‘Something isn’t quite right.’

  Cassien moved closer to where his friend sat. ‘Tell me.’ He’d become used to Ham’s cryptic notions and was now fully accepting of the youngster’s invisible senses. ‘Is the sword making noises again?’ His sword was hanging at his side, openly visible — he’d deliberately made no secret of it.

  ‘That’s just it. It has always made some sort of sound. Now there’s nothing.’

  This was Ham’s specialty. Cassien had no idea what to suggest. ‘Follow your instincts,’ he offered. ‘What are they telling you?’

  Ham looked up at him. ‘It’s hiding.’

  Their conversation came to an abrupt end as one of the soldiers approached. ‘The queen will see you now.’ Cassien nodded, threw a tight glance at Ham. ‘Follow us, please. The boy is to go with this messenger.’

  A sandy-haired youngster not far off Ham’s age, but far better dressed and rosy-cheeked, regarded them. ‘I am Meek, sir,’ he said to Cassien, and nodded at Hamelyn. ‘I was told to take you to the kitchens … to make sure you were given some food.’

  Hamelyn’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Off you go,’ Cassien urged. ‘I’ll see you shortly. And, Ham … keep listening,’ he said carefully. Ham nodded.

  The senior soldier put a hand up and gestured for one of his men to search Ham and he was duly given permission to go with Meek. Now the senior man turned to Cassien. ‘I need your weapons. You cannot meet with her majesty wearing that sword.’

  He understood, could tell the man was baffled that he’d got this far into the palace wearing it. ‘Perhaps you’d like my blades as well?’ he offered, pulling back his cloak.

  The soldier’s eyes widened. ‘I’ll need all your weapons.’

  Cassien obliged. He unbuckled the two belts and noted the amazement in the soldier’s face as he accepted them. ‘These will be returned to you after your audience with her majesty.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  He felt curiously naked without them and for the first time realised how comfortable they had felt strapped to his body.

  ‘Your weapons will be cared for.’

  He hadn’t realised his concerns were etched on his expression. He brightened. ‘Of course. Shall we go?’

  Cassien walked between his two minders down long draughty corridors, poorly lit, and assumed they must be approaching from the back of the palace. He had not taken too much notice of his path to the Orangerie and was now working hard to make sense of which direction they were travelling in; there were no clues but he was alert for a glimpse of sunlight that would prompt him. Soon the men had him climbing a narrow staircase. They passed a small arched window and he immediately took his bearings and knew that he was facing east. By the time they had escorted him down a few more passages — these more lavishly lit, and decorated with tapestries and pieces of furniture — he was sure, despite all the twists and turns, that he could pinpoint in which direction they moved. The larger spaces, no longer bare, had taken on a sense of life with their trimmings, and the lit sconces added a deeper elegance to the dark stone of the castle, which had looked so sombre from a distance.

  As they travelled, Cassien began to see carvings in the stone and he recognised the great beasts of myth whose fabulous likenesses were sculpted in huge form within the cathedral of Pearlis. He was longing to see the famous nave; yearning to test again which beast was his. He was sure that this time Lupus would call, convinced that as a child his fanciful notion of the dragon was mere whimsy.

  They walked along an arcade, the open corridor linking two parts of the palace like a bridge. Cassien glanced over the balustrade and saw an orchard below with ragged trees, still in their winter nakedness, awaiting blossomtide’s warmth to coax them into a fresh burst of life. He was impressed that Stoneheart defied its name; he was discovering that there was much softness around this palace, the further he walked through it. The love of orchards and fragrant shrubs was evident from the multitude of winterblossom bushes he saw beneath him. Their blooms were finished but he was sure he could conjure the vaguest hint of their gorgeous scent still lingering on the waxy green leaves.

  He continued walking between his minders, who suddenly came to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Wait here, please,’ the head soldier said.

  His interest was diverted, riveted on the great arched doorway over which presided a magnificently rendered dragon. It curled, serpent-like, over the sweep of the arch, but its broad head faced outward in stark relief. Presumably it was meant to instil true fear in those who stood in this spot awaiting their sovereign’s pleasure.

  The dragon’s eyes, though fashioned from dull stone, seemed to look straight into him. There was no escaping the gaze from the king of the beasts; he thought of Fynch and how gentle he seemed and yet the man was linked with this terrifying creature. And how could he be? How was Fynch connected to the dragon unless through blood? His mind began to tease at this while the door opened in front of him and he caught a glimpse of an older man listening to the soldier.

  The thought snapped into place. Fynch was blood. It felt like a thunderclap in his mind. He even looked around in case anyone had heard the sound of it. Fynch had to be the son of a king? What the —?

  ‘Master Cassien?’

  Cassien snapped out of his thoughts. ‘Yes,’ he said, looking into the intrigued gaze of the older man he’d glimpsed.

  ‘I am Chancellor Burrage and I believe Morgravia … indeed, the empire … owes you a debt of thanks.’

  Cassien wasn’t sure how to respond to such a salutation. ‘I … am at her majesty’s service,’ he said.

  Burrage smiled and Cassien saw only kindness. ‘Queen Florentyna is keen to speak with you again,’ he said, gesturing toward the painted double oaken doors that between them formed the great crest of Morgravia. There was no doubting he was now in the private sanctuary of the realm’s monarch. Burrage nodded at his guard of soldiers, who looked to Cassien as though
they were going nowhere, and right enough, they took positions flanking the door as he followed Burrage beneath the arch, still thinking about the revelation connected with Fynch. A king’s bastard perhaps?

  Burrage closed the door. ‘I’m afraid the queen has limited time. King Tamas is taking a short rest, preparing for the evening festivities.’ Cassien nodded. ‘Her majesty must also prepare,’ he added. ‘Please forgive us for hurrying you through this initial meeting.’

  Cassien smiled and Burrage gestured toward the second door, which he presumed would lead into the queen’s private study. As Burrage knocked, Cassien thought about his location again: If I’ve got it right, he pondered silently, then I should be facing in a northwesterly direction and looking straight across the bailey.

  Burrage opened the door onto a vast chamber, with arched picture windows running the length of it. A fireplace at one end had a merry blaze crackling. The queen stood nearby.

  Cassien caught his breath. He wasn’t prepared for her to be garbed in such finery, and had ignorantly imagined she would still be dressed as he recalled, in her riding clothes. She stood so still, and so regally awaiting him, he quite forgot to glance out the windows.

  ‘Your majesty,’ he said, remembering his manners, and bowing low.

  ‘Cassien — welcome. It is good to see you again.’

  She spoke evenly. He sensed she was more confident in these familiar surrounds and had a greater sense of security and wellbeing.

  ‘I can definitely say I feel the same way, your majesty. That you are returned to the palace unharmed is all that matters.’

  Her smile was tentative, but he felt its warmth touch him. It occurred to him that Florentyna’s life was very serious for the most part: most you might take for granted, aspects of life like laughter, abandon, and recklessness, but she could not. In this, they had led similar lives. He could only imagine the responsibilities and duties that rested on her thin shoulders. And she did look thin. Her riding clothes had hidden her frame but her gown, so cinched at the waist, hid no secrets.

  ‘Are you well, my queen?’

  ‘I am. Truly. Burrage, perhaps you might order us some refreshment. I’m sure there’s a little fat in that time schedule of yours.’ She glanced at Cassien. ‘He is a fastidious timekeeper,’ she whispered, though loud enough for Burrage to hear and arch an eyebrow at her. Cassien sensed the bond between them.

  ‘I’m sure I can. A honeywine, majesty?’

  ‘Please,’ she said with an affectionate glance at the man.

  ‘Master Cassien? Would you care to join the queen in the same, or perhaps we could offer you something else. A spiced gartrell, or maybe some —’

  ‘No, no. I’m happy to take a cup of honeywine,’ he said, without a clue what honeywine was or how it might taste. The best he’d had in the forest was ale and only if Loup had remembered to pack a flagon for him, which was not often.

  ‘And Burrage?’

  ‘Majesty?’ he said turning back.

  ‘I wish to speak with Master Cassien privately, please.’

  Cassien watched her elder counsel frown, but the hesitation was brief and he quickly pasted on an even expression. ‘Of course,’ he said with a small bow.

  He left them. Cassien returned his gaze to the queen. There was a heartbeat of awkward silence before she flashed an embarrassed smile with a brief gust of relief.

  He broke into a smile to reassure her. ‘He cares a great deal.’

  ‘I sometimes think he’s trying to replace the father I miss, but there’s nothing cynical about it. He really does care.’

  ‘That’s his role. Counsel, protector, friend … everything a father is.’

  She nodded. ‘Wise words. My father’s chancellor — a man called Reynard — disappeared soon after my father’s death. He was the most loyal of men and I had become close to him.’ She gave a sad shrug. ‘Reynard had always been there since my early childhood. He was like a comfy old piece of furniture.’ Florentyna gestured at a chair near the fire and they both sat. ‘I think Burrage is always aware of walking in big footsteps, but also not trying to replace Reynard in my heart. It must feel like a tightrope sometimes.’

  Cassien was impressed by her sensitivity. He was just about to use her mention of Reynard as a way in to discuss his presence when Burrage reappeared, with a servant bearing a tray with goblets and a flagon. The older man supervised the pouring of the goblets. Cassien noted a tiny cup on the tray and was intrigued when that was filled and everyone waited while the servant — a young man — swallowed its contents with a look of trepidation. Burrage was certainly taking no chances.

  ‘Not the poisoned brew,’ Florentyna quipped, with a wry expression directed at Cassien, who noticed Burrage’s slightly pursed lips.

  The chancellor sent the servant on his way. ‘I shall return before the next bell, majesty. Time is short.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her tone kind, but both of them knew it was a dismissal.

  When they were alone again she stole another embarrassed glance at Cassien and this time they both laughed.

  ‘I’m sorry about that. Burrage has become frantic about security since this morning’s episode. He’s now refusing to leave me alone. I’m sure there must be soldiers hiding behind every doorway.’

  ‘Can you blame him?’

  She sighed. ‘I just hate that this is how life is going to be. It’s stifling enough without more scrutiny and rules being added. And that young man — how unfair that he should risk death by poison. I’m going to insist all the tasters are paid exceptionally well; I’ve never taken their role quite as seriously as I do now.’ She looked at him over the rim of her goblet. ‘Forgive me, I have no right to complain. I must sound wickedly selfish to you.’

  ‘Not at all. I was just thinking how constrained your life must be, what with you having to be so many things to so many people.’

  A few seconds passed. Florentyna raised her goblet. ‘To your health,’ she said.

  He did the same. ‘To your health,’ he echoed and they both sipped in comfortable momentary silence.

  ‘Did your young companion make it here with you?’

  He nodded. ‘He’s enjoying some treats in the palace kitchens, I gather,’ he replied.

  ‘Good. I asked Burrage to ensure … Hamelyn, is it?’ Cassien nodded. ‘That he was properly cared for. He looked far too thin.’

  ‘So do you, majesty,’ he said. It had slipped out before he could censure himself.

  The queen regarded him with bemusement. ‘Oh, really? Because you know how I should look.’

  ‘Forgive me. That was indiscreet.’

  Florentyna laughed. ‘No offence taken. Everyone always feels they know best where I’m concerned. Now, tell me why you’re here. No guile. I am depending on your complete honesty.’

  He barely blinked. ‘I would never give you anything but the truth as I know it.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  ‘You mentioned Chancellor Reynard, your majesty,’ he began. She nodded and he sensed she was frightened.

  ‘You know what happened, don’t you?’ she said baldly, all humour gone from her expression.

  Cassien hesitated only briefly before he began his story from the moment Fynch had come into his life, and told the queen everything that he knew about the threat to the Morgravian Crown. He didn’t believe it was necessary for her to know the background information on the Brotherhood, or his own curious life, or even Hamelyn’s involvement, for even to his ears there was too much that sounded strange. The episode in Orkyld would surely come across as delusional, so he withheld that as well.

  Florentyna had said nothing while he had spoken, quickly and quietly. One of the logs of wood snapped and a burst of sparks exploded with a crack. It broke the silence between them.

  ‘And you believe this?’ she asked pointedly.

  ‘Queen Florentyna, I am a Brother. I have no say and it is not my place to question my duties. I have been given the task of pro
tecting you. I could have tried to fulfil my role from a position of invisibility, which is the Brotherhood’s preferred way. However, Master Fynch knew that couldn’t work easily in this instance. It made sense to me that if you knew of my involvement, you might help me to play my part in this curious set of circumstances.’

  ‘Help you?’

  ‘By co-Opérating with my presence.’

  ‘Doing what you tell me, you mean,’ she qualified.

  He watched her carefully. She was young but she had already proved to him that she was courageous and pragmatic. To all intents and purposes she was helpless against this unseen threat, but he sensed Florentyna would do everything in her power to help herself. It would not be wise to treat her with anything but the transparency she had demanded.

  ‘Exactly as I say, in fact,’ he said, as directly as he could. Then there could be no misunderstanding. He quickly added, ‘Your majesty, I don’t know in which guise this threat will come either … or even if it will. But I suspect my talents are far better suited than half a dozen of your guards encircling you at every turn.’ She pulled a face of disgust. ‘Exactly. If you will permit my constant presence, and that I might bear a weapon at all times, I believe you have the best protection any public person could have.’

  He watched her take a deep breath and pressed his point. ‘Fynch believed that you trusted him despite the strangeness of what he was conveying.’

  She nodded unhappily. ‘I didn’t mistrust him — there’s a difference. I just couldn’t quantify, and neither could he, the threat he warned of. However, there was something compelling about him. I sensed no guile, no separate agenda. He was here for my benefit, or rather, for the good of the Crown.’

  Cassien nodded. ‘I believe that too. Given that he was sent away unhappy, unable to convince you to take his claims seriously, may I ask what has changed your mind enough to hear me out?’

  Florentyna told him about Dean Flek.

  ‘Help me?’ he repeated, baffled by the bizarre explanation.

  ‘I heard it. I know I did,’ she said, sounding defensive. ‘I can’t explain the royal sigil burned on his chest, or the return of the scrivener’s quill that I’d given to Reynard, either.’