On the third day after her father’s passing, Shala alone went to the throne room, sitting deep in the castle and called the heart of the cold northlands. Scholar Naceus had taught Shala that when a ruler sits there, she must think kindly of her people even on days where they seem like snowflakes soon to be melted, or pine needles of which the north had more than enough to spare. “And ask the right questions!” He would always add.
The throne room had become an empty place since her father's death, where once the place was alive with the voice of the King. It was however its reawakening Shala dreaded. She knew the nature of this room. In the peaceful hours Shala as a girl would play at the foot of the throne, while the more sensible petitioners made their plea to the King. Come the ramblings of the Council, deBella or one of the household guard ferried Shala away, leaving King Anka to deal with their squabbles.
Shala looked around the deserted hall solemnly, studying the place where she would defend her family's right to keep the throne. Tall pillars kept up the gallery where the council would sit when in audience with the King. From each of the pillars hung masterful tapestries many men tall, each portraying the insignia of a royal House and family that had ruled Attoras in the past. Shala always thought it was strange that the Council sat higher than the King, them being seated in the gallery, but she knew now it mattered little where her father sat; he was commanding no matter the circumstance. Now that lion of a man is dead and the scavengers of kingdoms will emerge, their hour has come.
In the domed roof of the throne room was an oculus right at the top, a gaping round hole showing the sky as it were. Men and women who petitioned before the King were only allowed at noon, when the sun could shine straight onto them and illuminate the truth of the claims or accusations they brought before the King. The measured oculus provided only a determined circle of sunlight on the patterned granite floor and Shala could imagine how daunting a commoner would find that spot. If that were only true I would have Chancellor Swarztial stand there for a day, and he'd be left confessing to a lifetime of scheming.
Other than that it brought in a cool breeze that had the stone hall chilly at the best of times. Shala was momentarily amused, remembering her father telling her that the oculus at the very least gave a ruler an excuse to not see petitioners the whole day long.
The throne itself stood on a dais at the far end of the chamber, golden and tall, and from its backrest sprouted golden ornate wings on each side, three on the left and three on the right, and right down the middle peaked the hilt of a sword, the blade set within a cavity inside the backrest itself, a sword to be drawn by none other than the King himself; the blade called Erenciel.
The Kingdom was begun and crafted with that sword, and whoever be the ruling House claimed ownership of it. Even with the sword belonging to the Kingdom and not the man, Ankareus still had a way of carrying it like it would know no other ruler.
It was a mighty thing, made for two hands and even then some men could not wield it in combat. Her father at a younger stage was tall and broad in the shoulder and he would sometimes take the sword and practice with it, much to the dismay of the Council members who said it should only be unfastened from its rest at times of war or great need. But her father cared not for their objections and he took the sword to the yard in town, and he would spar against one of his Captains or Knights, and all the people of the town would be allowed to gather around and watch.
The hilt was wrapped in rare dragonhide in his hands, the hide as bleached as his favourite pair of gloves.
When Shala asked her father where the dragonhide came from he would smile wryly and tell her stories of Knights and Wolves and Dragons. “Spoils of war little Shala, we took these mountains from the Dragons and they came to reclaim it, both them and their worshippers. It was their mistake to try conquering us during my reign.”
That memory tentatively had Shala thinking of her father's note. That a dragon had spoken to him sounded like the worst of his delirium. Although maybe he was making sense of the dragons' invasion twenty years ago? She did not know.
Turning her thoughts back to the sword she moved in behind the throne. Just to see it Shala drew the sword two inches from the rest; more than that she could not manage.
The ancient blade had a colour that was fallow gold like winter fields, and was seemingly steel but for the edge, where the sharpening process had revealed it was crafted from no normal iron-ore. Around the edge, the blade was white, not like snow, but rather like a polished ivory, and no weapon had ever looked as glorious as Erenciel - or so Shala decided. For all its use it did not break, it did not blunt and it did not fail, speaking as much of the hands that held it as it did of the sword.
I cannot even lift the thing from its rest, what still about wielding it? So she would let it be, and at least ensure that the next time it was drawn it would not be by an unfit King. A son of mine maybe, she thought hopefully.
She sat on the throne, the soft cushion giving no indication that her back was laid against a sword. It was dark, for the doors were shut and the lights unlit, and in the morning only a little sun made it through the high windows above the gallery and through the oculus.
Now I’m alone in rule. The burden of a crown is now mine. And for that she did not mind, the thought of duty and honour gave her purpose enough to see past grief and every task she would lay down would be for the House of Evrelyn. She would hold everything together. She must.
Then again her place as Queen was far from assured, and she wondered in fact if ever a Queen’s place in this castle was ever more precarious. These were stark days – because the King was dead and because the House of Council were filled with vile men. They controlled which House took the throne and they made the rules by which families came to power. When they deemed a House was weak, or leaderless – or manless, they would place a moratorium on rule and elect a new House to take the throne.
If it were but the right thing Shala would step aside, for the good of Attoras she would gracefully bow out and serve her nation in some other way. Perhaps simply as a healer.
But the glorious history of royal houses (encapsulated in books Shala dare not lift without help) and meeting the men of these Houses had taught Shala contrasting truths. Maybe their ancestors were noble, but some of their offspring were certainly not.
The aforementioned Patrick of Sannil was a danger, a danger to Shala because she would have to marry him if she was to remain in rule, and a danger to the Kingdom because he was no wiser than a beanstalk mistaking candlelight for sunlight, growing toward its own doom. He would be played the puppet and the council would rule with sublime immunity, the fool King taking blame for their indiscretions.
Of the foremost of these Councilmen was Chancellor Swarztial, and was maybe the only person Shala ever felt she truly hated. Even in her father’s days he schemed, and by now his mind would be rife with plots. She looked again at her father’s note, having kept it tucked in whatever piece of clothing she wore on the day. It sounded so bleak, and predicted that Shala would not remain in rule, or maybe a crueller fate than that was coming? She would carry herself with dignity until then and fight for Evrelyn for its worth, but somehow she did not expect to end up Queen.
Her train of thoughts came to a sudden halt as someone disturbed her peace. Her heart sank lower if that were at all possible. He approached like a shadow, edging closer. Swarztial always seemed tall in his dress of black, dark sashes clasped to each shoulder, but he was thin and wiry underneath all the excess cloth, a long slender neck evidence of that. Shala thought he looked fittingly like a vulture. A fine-trimmed beard and moustache lined his mouth, being well-groomed and meticulous to a fault his efforts at disguising an otherwise vile person. On most days like today he preferred to wear a feathered beret on his bald head.
The Princess and Metrus the Druid had discussed the nature of the soul in one of her visits to Norwain, and there the Druid had remarked that eyes were the window to a man’s soul. Shala would beli
eve it, because Metrus’ flare of green eyes told much of how close a bond the man had with nature. The man in front of her however had eyes as black as night, and from underneath prominent eyebrows they seemed only to search for weakness he could exploit, in the manner the craven always do. Keeping her silence she allowed him to explain his presence.
‘My dear Princess, I am exceedingly sorry about your father. His death fell hard on us all, and we’ll be poorer for having lost the strength of his rule,’ said Swarztial in a tone that was practiced with false grief.
Shala swallowed and said politely, ‘I thank you member Swarztial, I have had a hard time dealing with it. It seems the only thing that stifles my bereavement is the prospect of doing my father proud, and rule his realm like he would have.’
Swarztial opened his mouth and closed it again, and Shala knew he was acting contrite and cautious with his words. ‘Your Highness,’ started Swarztial slowly.
‘Yes?’ said Shala, fearing that saying anymore may betray her anger.
‘I’m sure that you know better than anyone that even your father’s passing has not ground the wheels of the realm to a halt. In days to come the most difficult of times will wait for us who wish to govern a kingdom.’ Swarztial paced, an unnerving trait of his Shala had seen a hundred times, his clicking shoes taking over where his voice left off. ‘Our task is exasperated by uncertainties of course. In and outside the council chambers, from here to the Estermarsh, people are doubtful as to our prospects as a kingdom. I am... forbidden to share this with you, but many of the council chambers are thinking on deposing the rule of Evrelyn, and after many generations bringing a new House to the throne.’
Shala was hardly surprised. He fails to mention he is leading this vendetta.
‘Then so be it. If there are any that wish to rashly give the reins over to another, let them try the process. I have no trouble with it as long as bribery and conniving are not part of it. It is the same process that anointed my great grandfather's father, although I’d imagine he had won some confidence from the people by the time he ascended and was not as untested as others in our day might be.’
‘Yes, Evrelyn has had some fine men, and I loathe to say this Highness, but you are a woman, and it is expected of you to marry. We’ve been down this road before I know... but I must insist on it. For your own sake and for the sake of keeping Evrelyn close to the throne, why not consider lord Patrick of Sannil’s proposal? With the King and Queen each from the two strongest houses none will have lost anything. It will be the perfect compromise.’
‘And yet my authority will be lessened as Queen if there is a King,’ said Shala.
‘Yes Highness, but you could have nothing at all, and a Queen is not really a Queen until she is-’
‘I can be instated as Queen without a husband, let’s not pretend you are not aware of that fact. I can rule on my own.’
‘But the people want a united state of affairs, they want marriage-’
‘They want bread and wine, and a sound ruler, and they trust Evrelyn, why not leave it at that?’ said Shala.
‘If you marry Highness, it will please the people,’ emphasised Swarztial, ‘it is a smart show to give them, to bind them with a spectacle, it will give them the rebirth of Attoras after your father’s passing.’
‘I don't believe I can carry on this discussion Swarztial, my mood will turn sour.’
Swarztial stepped back in a slight bow and said, ‘Then I will let you be, mourn Princess, as we all do.’
Shala got rid of him faster than she had expected and yet she still felt ill at ease. It had taken him only a short while to make her feel unwelcome on the throne she sat upon. And the worst was still to come, this she knew about Swarztial.
Dream of Embers Book 1 Page 5
