Tyrant's Throne

by de Castell, Sebastien

  ‘Yes, fine,’ I said, irritated by the woman’s apparently endless derision, not to mention the way she kept snorting as though I had no comprehension of how castles were constructed – I didn’t, of course, but she didn’t have to remind me of it with every twitch of her lips. ‘What if we hired more people to speed things up?’

  ‘What people?’ she asked. ‘With what money? This isn’t digging trenches we’re talking about, First Cantor. This is skilled work.’ The stonemason spread her arms wide, gesturing at the passageway as if she herself had carved it from solid rock. ‘A castle like this takes a generation to build! It takes specialists in a dozen different crafts; can you not understand that?’

  Before I could answer, she grabbed me by the arm and hauled me through the servants’ entrance into the throne room. ‘There,’ she said, pointing at one of the heavy marble tiles on the floor. ‘You see that? And there? And again there?’

  I peered down at the marble. ‘Er . . . the ones in the middle of the room are a little lower than the others. So what?’

  ‘So what? That marble rests on a stone floor above the lower levels of the keep: it’s not supposed to sag. Tell me, have you ever seen rock bend?’

  ‘Well, no, but—’

  ‘That bloody God of yours somehow weakened the foundations holding up the entire bloody castle.’ She looked away as if addressing someone else – someone considerably less ignorant than me. ‘“How soon can the castle be finished?” he asks me.’ She turned back to me. ‘First Cantor, right now it’s all I can do to make sure what’s left of the fucking thing doesn’t fall into the dungeons the next time more than twenty people come begging favours from the crown!’

  Saint Eloria-who . . . whatever she does. It never occurred to me that the keep could actually be in even worse state than it looked from outside. What had once been the proudest castle in the country was now little more than a husk; it shared so much in common with the broken, rotting nation itself that I wondered if the damned Blacksmith hadn’t done it this way on purpose.

  ‘Oh, now he gets it,’ the stonemason said. ‘Now the true state of things is seeping into that mighty magistrate’s brain of his. Now he understands why asking me how soon I can be done is the most idiotic question of the age.’

  I didn’t feel like I was going to develop a good working relationship with Midreida, so I waited until she stopped railing at me, then a little longer before she finally let her arms drop by her sides. Then I asked, ‘So, next week is no good then?’

  *

  With only a few hours left before daylight, I should have made my way straight to my bed, but instead found myself continuing my lonely meanderings in the castle’s halls (although this time I was paying more attention to where I stepped). I kept hoping I might run into Ethalia; I still hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with her since my return. The stupid thing was, I knew where she would be: inside what was left of the broken-down old chapel she’d taken as her bedroom in the same way I’d moved into the Greatcoats’ wardroom. We’d both made homes out of our respective professions, and somehow that had created another barrier between us. Although I must have walked past the chapel a dozen times that night, my uncertainty over the state of our relationship kept me from just knocking at her door. Instead, like an unwanted puppy, I returned to the wardroom, tail between my legs, and hoped that she might come to seek me out. So there I sat, on my dusty cot, waiting like a lovelorn fool for a knock at the door.

  Unfortunately, when the knock finally came, it wasn’t Ethalia.

  ‘Rhyleis,’ I said wearily, ‘I don’t know how you got to Aramor so quickly, but I swear if this is another—’

  She reached up and briefly placed a finger against my lips. ‘Shush, my darling, no time for your usual flirtations tonight. I’m here on important business.’

  ‘Which is?’ I asked suspiciously.

  ‘I bring orders from Nehra.’

  I sighed. ‘You know what I wonder sometimes?’

  Her mouth lifted in a salacious smile. ‘I know exactly what you wonder about.’

  I let that pass. ‘Why is it that the Greatcoats are literally the only people in the country who are never required to bend a knee to anyone and yet everyone and their cat think they can order me around?’

  Rhyleis pinched my cheek. ‘You have a very orderable face, Falcio.’ Before I could protest, she blithely relayed Nehra’s command. ‘When you get to Avares, it’s very important that you bring back any warsongs that you can. The Avareans don’t write them down, but their warriors often sing them during training. Have Kest take note, since he’s got the best ear for music of the three of you, and make sure you—’

  ‘Hold on,’ I said, barely keeping up, ‘how does Nehra even know we’re going to Avares?’

  Rhyleis arched an eyebrow at me. Not many people can do that, and few so superciliously. ‘Falcio, please, we’re the Bardatti.’

  ‘You say that like I should give a damn, which I don’t. Anyway, if you know where I’m going you probably have some idea of why I’m going, and you’ll then understand why I don’t have time to bring back any tunes, poems, ditties or other nonsense.’

  Something changed in Rhyleis’ expression and it took me a moment to recognise it for what it was. I guess I’d never seen her angry before. ‘Be very careful how you speak of songcraft, Falcio val Mond. The spread of a single carefully worded scorn poem has taken the crown from a Prince’s head. Generals have watched their infantry run screaming from the field as the effects of a true warsong broke their spirit. We are the Bardatti, and we are not to be trifled with.’

  There was a fire in her eyes and it was an impressive speech, but I have a low tolerance for excessively flowery threats when I’m tired.

  ‘No, of course not. The Bardatti are too busy trifling with everyone else.’

  For some strange reason, Rhyleis took this as submission. ‘Now remember, it’s not important to get the words, but we need the melody and rhythm – as many Avarean warsongs as you can, every single one you hear while you’re away on your little holiday.’

  Holiday. ‘Right. I’ll get on that straightaway. Warsongs. Rhythm. Melody. Tell Nehra it’s as good as done.’

  Rhyleis smiled. ‘Excellent. Now that we’ve got business out of the way . . .’ She brought her fingers to the collar of her shirt and undid the top button, then nodded for me to do the same.

  ‘Rhyleis . . .’ I said.

  ‘Yes, Falcio?’

  The thing about being a duellist is that you learn to sense when someone is testing you with a feint rather than preparing an actual lunge. ‘Get the hells out of my room.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Unanswered Whistle

  It was cold outside, the morning of our departure – colder than it had any right to be for the time of year. I’d risen later than I’d intended, the result of yet another frustratingly sleepless night, and by the time I walked out of the front gates I expected to see Kest, Brasti and Morn waiting impatiently for me. Instead, I found Aline standing alone in a pale grey robe far too thin to protect her from the wind.

  She whistled into the empty air, then fell silent as the sound floated off into the distance. She stared down the main road and after a moment she whistled again and once more stood quietly, as if waiting for a reply.

  ‘You’d make a terrible bird,’ I said, and when she didn’t reply, I tried a sterner tone. ‘You shouldn’t be outside alone.’

  She motioned absently off to her right and now I spotted the three guards standing a discreet distance away, doing their best to blend into the gardens while still keeping an eye on her.

  Aline started whistling again and at last I realised this wasn’t an idle tune; it was more like an urgent call. A summoning.

  I bridged the distance between us to take a position next to her. ‘What are you—?’

  ‘I c
ome out here every morning and call her,’ Aline said, ‘but she never comes.’

  ‘Call who?’

  She didn’t answer at first, until I leaned over and saw the deep sadness in her eyes and the set of her mouth. ‘Monster,’ she whispered.

  I hadn’t thought about the Fey horse in almost a year. She went on, ‘We aren’t that far away from . . . from where I made her go away.’ Aline turned to me at last. ‘I said horrible things to her, Falcio. I threw rocks at her and called her . . . but I had to make her go. She wouldn’t . . . she was causing problems with the other horses – she just wouldn’t fit in. All she wanted to do was fight, to charge into battle . . .’

  I was about to say that I knew that feeling, but somehow, I managed to keep my mouth shut. Was that what I was now: a mad beast who just wanted to kill his enemies, who had no place in this new world? I wanted to say something reassuring, to myself as much as Aline, but what came out was, ‘Maybe she doesn’t come because she can’t. Maybe she’s . . .’ I paused in my headlong rush to a bad ending.

  ‘Dead?’ Aline shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think anything can kill her. The Tailor says that Monster is all gristle and iron on the inside. I just wish I could see her one more time – to apologise. All she ever did was try to protect me, and I . . .’

  ‘And she did, sweetheart. No doubt Monster’s off somewhere raising seven hells against the world.’ I took a chance and reached an arm around Aline’s shoulders.

  She surprised me by turning and grabbing onto me, her face sinking into my chest. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you arrived, Falcio. I’m sorry Pastien was so foul to Valiana – I should have—’

  ‘Wait now, sweetheart,’ I said, holding her close. ‘The weight of the world will be on your shoulders soon enough.’

  She pulled away and took my hand. ‘I have something for us,’ she said, and pointed to a small table set a little ways inside the gate with two chairs, set for tea, with a flagon of wine besides.

  As we sat there, she poured tea for herself and wine for me, and I had a momentary stab of panic. There had been times in the past when Aline had reverted to a child’s innocence – but then she set the wine in front of me and I remembered something.

  ‘You know, your father did this sometimes,’ I said.

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Tried to get the other guy drunk while he stayed sober.’

  Aline blew on her tea before bringing the cup to her lips. ‘Did he? From the stories I’ve been told by those eager to tell them, my father was usually the one who was drunk.’

  That made me smile. ‘He certainly liked to give off that impression.’ The wine in the glass decanter looked to be a pleasant claret and I started to reach for the goblet, then thought better of my choice and picked up the teapot to fill the second cup instead. ‘In truth, he was rather fond of drinking himself into a stupor, but those who claim to have seen him do so are usually lying.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because your father knew he had to stay sharp, keep his mind clear. He never knew who his enemies were, other than the fact that almost everyone was his enemy in one way or another. Even the most innocuous of conversations could end up being used against him. He could rarely afford to let down his guard in the company of others.’

  Aline seemed to consider that. ‘But he did so with you.’

  I nodded. ‘With me, and Kest, sometimes with Brasti and a few of the others.’

  ‘So he only felt safe with the Greatcoats?’

  I was about to agree, but something about that struck me as wrong – or at least, incomplete. ‘It’s more that . . .’

  ‘He saw you as friends?’

  The sentiment still wasn’t quite right. ‘King Paelis was trying to do something big, trying to . . . change the way the country saw itself. The Greatcoats were part of that, but I think the real reason he felt comfortable in our presence was because we were the only people who shared some small part of that vision – we saw the world in the same way.’

  ‘What about Grandmother?’

  ‘The Tailor? She . . .’ I searched for the right words. Even when the Tailor isn’t in the room, if you say the wrong thing, you’re likely to get a sudden slap across the back of the head. ‘She supported the King’s dream, to be sure – I think in many ways she understood how to make it come to life better than he did . . . but she never took any pleasure from it.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m not making sense.’

  ‘No, that makes perfect sense,’ Aline said. ‘My father could talk about his plans, his vision for the country, and feel as if you and the others shared in the excitement it brought him.’

  ‘Exactly. I suppose you could say that King Paelis liked to drink around us because somehow our presence made him feel a bit like celebrating.’

  She gave me a small smile. ‘Then there’s at least something I have in common with my father.’

  I smiled back. ‘You have at least one other thing in common with him.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You both think that a little wine and pleasant conversation will somehow make me less prone to wanting to tear the walls down once I hear what you actually sat me down to say.’

  She hardened a little. ‘The walls have already been torn down, Falcio. You’ll have to find some other way to express your displeasure.’ The words were spoken lightly, almost as a jest, but there was an edge there I recognised as a warning not to overstep: a third tendency she shared with her father.

  From my chair, I bent at the waist and gave a small bow. ‘I await your command, your Majesty.’

  ‘Don’t do that, Falcio.’

  ‘I wasn’t mocking you.’

  ‘Yes, you were. You might not think it, but when you play the loyal servant with me, what you’re really doing is saying that if you don’t like what I have to tell you than you’ll just find some way to subvert me without explicitly disobeying me.’

  I tried a smile. ‘See, when you say it like that, I don’t sound very clever at all.’

  ‘You aren’t,’ she said. ‘You just rely on the fact that most of the world is even stupider and more stubborn than you are.’

  ‘Perhaps, your Majesty, my reticence to follow a monarch’s commands is because the last time I did so, I found myself standing outside these very walls while Ducal Knights came and dragged him to a cell.’

  She sighed. ‘I’m not about to commit suicide, Falcio, I promise you.’

  ‘Excellent.’ I reached for the goblet and the wine. ‘In that case, what would you like to discuss?’

  She shook her head, but there was a smile in there somewhere. ‘You obstinate arse! I need your advice.’ She held up a hand. ‘Not to mock me or complain or make threats against the rest of the world. To advise.’

  I considered where this might be heading. Despite my better judgement I took a sip of the wine. I was right: it was an outstanding vintage. Just as well; I was fairly sure I was going to need to be very drunk to get through this conversation. ‘You’re going to do as the Dukes demand and marry.’

  She put her teacup down on the table. ‘I’m fourteen – it’s not unheard of, especially in a royal line.’

  ‘To whom should I send my congratulations?’

  ‘That is precisely what I need your advice for, you great oaf!’

  I nearly spat out my mouthful of wine. ‘You want me to help you choose a husband?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, so quietly I barely heard her. ‘When you return from this mission, I mean.’

  ‘Me? Why me?’

  She shrugged, the gesture of a nervous child, and for the first time since we sat down, I found myself facing not the determined and clever future Queen of Tristia, but a fourteen-year-old girl forced to make a choice that clearly terrified her. ‘Because when I think of asking anyone else to help me choose, I feel sick to my st
omach. Even Ethalia . . .’

  I felt a stab of guilt at the way I’d spoken to her. I’d been wrong about the nice chairs and the wine and the pleasant conversation. She hadn’t been trying to ease me into this horrible subject. She’d been trying to build up her own courage to face it.

  I tried to imagine what it must be like, to be young, beginning to see your own talents emerging, to see the world full of possibility – and yet have to set that aside, to prepare yourself for a marriage whose only purpose would be to ensure you never fully met your own potential. To consign yourself to be less than you could be in order to satisfy the machinations of old men.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not your fault—’

  I reached out and took her hand. ‘Well, then, I suppose I’ll have to make a list of suitable candidates.’

  Aline lifted my hand and kissed it. ‘Thank you, Falcio.’

  I gave her my best smile and tried to mentally prepare for what would one day soon be a horribly awkward and uncomfortable conversation for both of us. I consoled myself with the fact that I was about to travel into enemy territory and face what would quite possibly be my death. If that didn’t work, I’d have plenty of time on the return journey to come up with the required list of prospective husbands, each of whom I would soon be visiting in order to explain the finer details of stab wounds.

  ‘Oh, I met with Chalmers, by the way,’ Aline said.

  I was taken aback by that – we’d only arrived yesterday – but then, Aline always took such pleasure in meeting with every Greatcoat she could. What did you think of her?’ I asked, genuinely curious.

  Aline took another sip from her tea. ‘She’s rude and obstinate and she clearly suspects everyone who isn’t a Greatcoat of being morally compromised.’ She put down the cup and grinned. ‘I adore her already.’

  Before I could provide my own assessment, Aline rose from the table. ‘I should go. I have to meet with some of the Dukes before the council adjourns.’ As she walked back through the gates, the guards quickly following behind, I thought she might have whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’