by Jeff Wheeler
“It’s just a question,” the young man said innocently.
Dunsdworth grabbed a linen napkin from the table and began mopping the flecks of wine from his tunic.
“No, you may not,” Eredur said, chastening him. “I didn’t come all this way for a family gathering. I came to bloody hunt! While you both are sitting idle here and in Clare, I’m beset by problems and intrigues and worries back at the palace. I need a break from squabbling, and yet I get more from the pair of you than I could ever want. I expect more civility the next time we meet. Aunt, forgive this sordid scene at breakfast, but as you can see, it was none of my doing!”
Dunsdworth glowered at Severn, dabbing his chin with the napkin. Severn had already known he wasn’t invited on the hunting trip, which seemed odd to Ankarette.
As she ate her meal, she wondered at the relationship between the Argentine brothers. Had it always been this way? Their father was dead, killed in the same civil war that had also taken the life of a fourth brother. Perhaps their dynamic had been different before the war?
The chief butler, Berwick, came into the room and stamped his staff on the floor. It was the signal he made prior to announcements, and the hall quickly quieted.
“Lord Hux, the herald, seeks to bid ye farewell before he departs for Pree, my lady. He will be escorted by the deconeus.”
The duchess waved in acknowledgment and the butler turned to face the doorway. The Occitanian walked in, smiling pleasantly at all who were present. The deconeus followed him into the room, but he lingered by the door.
“Before I depart the splendors of Dundrennan,” Lord Hux said, bowing gallantly, “I wished to ask if my lady the duchess had any communication to deliver to your lord husband, the Duke of Warrewik? I should be seeing him in a few days’ time.”
“Please tell my lord husband that his wife and daughters miss him,” the duchess replied sincerely. “That the king and his brothers were our welcome guests at the castle and displayed great brotherly amity. Thank you.”
“The pleasure, my lady, is indeed mine,” Lord Hux said, bowing deeply and with a flourish.
Ankarette felt a tingle in her heart as she heard him speak. The sensation of warning and mistrust seemed to well up inside her, unbidden and uncontrollable. Something loosened it, and the unseen energy came spilling out. It was like she’d toppled a goblet of water onto her dress. The fear from the night before came rushing back into her chest. In her embarrassment, she fumbled the spoon she’d been holding and it clattered noisily onto her plate.
The sound drew the herald’s eyes to hers. They were full of cunning.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Queen of Ceredigion
Time passed quickly in Dundrennan. Within a few months of her arrival, Ankarette had become thoroughly integrated into the household and its traditions. She and Isybelle had become close, although the secret about Eredur still loomed between them. The young woman had given her heart to the king’s brother and spoke of him often, wondering when they would next meet. The affection between them had started while Dunsdworth was the ward of the Duke of Warrewik, and it was clearly mutual.
The shadowy presence of the Occitanian herald soon became a distant memory. She never told Sir Thomas about her experience. It would have embarrassed her to try to explain the inexplicable feelings. Besides, those feelings did not repeat themselves after the herald left.
Her favorite activity was sitting in the solar and doing needlework, and she discovered she had a gift for finishing the birds, flowers, and comforting scenes that Isybelle had begun. Even the duchess praised her handiwork and would marvel at how quickly she worked. For Ankarette, an afternoon could expire in a moment, and she’d discover herself holding a finished project with hardly the recollection of having worked on it. Sometimes she’d become too lost in thought to take note of what was going on around her—even if someone was calling out her name. It made her smile and blush, but there wasn’t anything she could do to stop.
After one such moment, Isybelle poked her in the ribs to rouse her.
“My goodness, Ankarette,” she said laughingly, “I’ve called your name several times. Did you not hear Sir Thomas’s news?”
Not only had she not heard the news, she also hadn’t noticed him enter the solar. He was standing in front of the duchess, hands clasped behind his back. His fingers looked taut and hard, and there was a restless energy about him. Whatever he’d come to say, he was very attached to the duchess’s reaction.
“What is it?” Ankarette asked softly, keeping her voice low.
Sir Thomas heard the comment and rocked on his heels. “The duke is returning from his negotiations in Occitania. He’ll be at Kingfountain on the morrow or the day after, after he stops by Callait to inspect the defenses. He’s traveling by ship. News just arrived by an Espion courier that he’d like to see his family at the palace when he arrives.”
This was grand news indeed. Ankarette had never been to the capital city before, let alone the palace. Her stomach flipped over with excitement and she understood Isybelle’s enthusiasm. In all likelihood, Dunsdworth would join them in Kingfountain.
The duchess rose from her seat and set the letter down beneath her. She looked thrilled by the news and more than eager to see her husband again. “These negotiations have dragged on for months. Do you know who they settled on for Eredur’s bride, Sir Thomas?”
There was a look in Sir Thomas’s eyes that defied description. A little wrinkle in his lips, almost a sneer. “I believe King Lewis’s sister is the lady who was chosen.”
“Aymonette,” the duchess said with surety. “She’s not too young. A good choice for a queen.”
Sir Thomas pursed his lips and rocked on his heels. “We will need to depart in all haste, my lady.” He looked brooding, ill at ease.
“Indeed we must,” the duchess replied. “We’ll prepare the carriage and bring an escort to the palace. Twenty men will be enough, I should think.”
“The duke asked for fifty,” Sir Thomas said pointedly.
The duchess’s brow furrowed. “That seems an excessive expense, does it not?”
“My opinion hardly matters, my lady,” Sir Thomas said affably.
The pronouncement of the journey sent an immediate uproar through the castle. Ankarette was in charge of helping Isybelle choose gowns that put her in the best possible light. Nanette was positively beside herself with enthusiasm and kept exclaiming to Severn how thrilled she was to see her papa again and visit the palace.
After her duties were done, Ankarette sought out Sir Thomas, only to learn that he was already out in the bailey, preparing to leave. She had thought the knight would escort them and was a little disappointed he would not be keeping them company. When she found Sir Thomas, he was deep in conversation with the castellan, Lord Horwath. She lingered by the huge palace doors, gazing up at the fangs of the portcullis. After a few moments, Lord Horwath marched past her, deep in thought, and she hurried out to the crowded and noisy yard. Servants were already loading the carriage.
Sir Thomas gazed up at the high tower of the castle, lost in thought, until she arrived next to the stirrup of his horse.
His brow wrinkled. “What is it, Ankarette?” he asked, speaking with just a hint of impatience. He cast his eyes at the rampway leading to the town.
“Is everything well?” she asked him.
He flinched, something he quickly masked.
“Why shouldn’t it be well?” he asked her lightly, but the tone belied the look in his eyes.
“You seem . . . distracted, Sir Thomas,” she said, keeping her voice low. There was a burden he was carrying. She wished she knew what it was.
“Are you practicing your skills on me, lass?” he asked her, arching his eyebrows accusingly but with good grace.
She flushed because he had read her right. “Is there something wrong with the match, Sir Thomas? With Princess Aymonette?”
He smiled ruefully. “You could say that, lass. The rooster
crows in its own time, though. Not when we want it to.”
In other words, she realized, he would say no more.
The people of Kingfountain had gathered in the streets to watch the Duchess of Warrewik’s carriage pass. Nanette waved through the window, her cheeks pink with flushed excitement. Ankarette was mystified by the show of respect and acclaim given to the knights wearing the badge of the Bear and Ragged Staff.
The wheels of the carriage clacked on the cobblestones, and Ankarette found herself wishing she and Isybelle were on horseback instead of enduring the bone-jarring carriage ride.
Ahead, the impressive river reached its abrupt end and churned over the cliff in a remarkable display of frothing white water. The roar of the falls grew louder as the carriage and its entourage approached the stone bridge that connected the mainland to the island of the sanctuary of Our Lady of the Fountain. Ankarette gripped the edge of the window, staring breathlessly at the huge spire that rose ahead of them, gleaming like a spike of sunlight. There were birds in the sky, along with sparse clouds that made the heavens a deep, wondrous blue.
Hawkers and merchants cleared the way for them, and soon they were on the bridge. The gates of the sanctuary were thronged with people, most wearing ragged clothes. A motley array of hands and hats waved at them from the crowd and a few jeers and whistles followed them too.
Ankarette covered her eyes, wincing at the enormous grandeur of the place. Something rustled inside her heart, and she felt her throat thicken with emotion. Power emanated from the sanctuary, like the hearth at Dundrennan where she would warm her hands after spending a day hunting with Isybelle’s falcon. A feeling of peace and tranquility flowed from the structure, and she felt the urge to toss a coin into one of the fountains later and say a prayer for her mother who was so far away.
“We’re almost to the gate,” the duchess said primly, ignoring the rabble flocking the carriage. After crossing the wooden bridge, they reached the opposite side of the river, where the palace of Kingfountain soared in its unrivaled splendor. Ankarette gazed at it hungrily, taking in the tall turrets that seemed high enough to stab the clouds and the rings of walls that covered the hill leading up to the palace. Who was she, a young girl from Yuork, to be visiting such a grand place? It was like a dream and she didn’t want to wake up.
Their arrival sparked a commotion in the bailey. When the carriage lurched to a stop in front of the castle, grooms quickly emerged from the stables and began caring for the steeds. The duchess emerged from the carriage, smiling brightly, and Ankarette noticed it was Sir Thomas who had helped her out. He gallantly assisted each of the girls, and when he touched Ankarette, she felt a tingle shoot through her hand. It was just as she’d suspected—something was wrong.
She searched his face for a sign of trouble, but he gave her a carefully neutral expression. He winked at her playfully after helping her to the ground, flashed her a knowing smile, and then offered the crook of his arm to the duchess. There was Severn beside the carriage, dismounting his horse and gazing up at the battlements with a scrutinizing frown that seemed to notice the pock marks more than the roses in bloom.
Ankarette followed the others into the castle, gawking at the wide corridors and the decorative suits of armor that stood at attention on either side. The banner of the king hung from tapestry poles and fluttered with the breeze of them passing. As she walked, she began to notice the servants were all hushed, heads bent low in consternation. She couldn’t understand their demeanor, but she noticed that very few would meet their gazes. There was a chill from the castle inhabitants they hadn’t experienced in the streets outside the castle, and the other ladies in her party seemed to feel it too. None of them spoke as they swept through the halls.
When they reached the throne room, Ankarette was on her guard and her eyes shifted feverishly to take everything in. Her gaze found the Duke of Warrewik instantly—and one look at him confirmed that something was very wrong indeed. His cheeks were mottled with pent-up fury, and further evidence of his rage could be seen in his eyes, his clenched jaw, and the firm grip of his hands behind his back. Sir Thomas had removed himself to a discreet distance but stood by the duke, his master.
Eredur, who sat on the throne, was barely recognizable as the lighthearted man she’d met at Dundrennan, and his brother Dunsdworth was pacing the throne room. The royal brother glanced up at their arrival, and his eyes offered additional proof they’d walked in on a squall. Severn frowned upon seeing Dunsdworth and his demeanor didn’t brighten after his gaze shifted to his eldest brother.
“My lady!” Eredur boomed with a good-natured smile that temporarily banished the gloom. “Arrived safely from Dundrennan! Welcome to Kingfountain. I don’t think you have been here since my coronation ceremony, I believe.”
“Indeed so, my lord,” the duchess said in a firm voice, but her eyes were shooting worried darts at her husband.
“I’m so grateful that you came,” Eredur said, rising from the throne. He closed the distance to his aunt and embraced her, kissing her purposefully on each cheek. “Your help will be needed for the coming event.”
“I would be honored to help in any way that I can,” the duchess demurred. “When do you expect your bride to arrive?”
Eredur smiled at her words. “Later this afternoon, if all goes well,” he said respectfully.
The duchess wrinkled her brow. “So soon? I heard the negotiations were finished, but surely she—”
“I hate to disrupt your speech, Aunt,” Eredur said with a sigh. “Your husband knows already, so best to get it out in the open quickly.”
Her face went as gray as ash. “W-what, m-my lord?”
Eredur held her hand and patted it gently. “I will not be marrying Princess Aymonette after all. The truth is, I am married already and have been since I last saw you in Dundrennan. I had just come from the nuptials.”
His words were like thunder. It explained the nearly purple complexion of the Duke of Warrewik, who had negotiated in good faith for months with the King of Occitania. This was not just a snub. This was a political nightmare, an outrage of colossal proportions.
A deliberate move on the Wizr board that would have far-reaching consequences.
The duchess was so dumbfounded she could not speak. Her pallor was startling. She glanced at her husband with new understanding.
Eredur patted her hands gently, as if they were the greatest of friends. “So, as I said, I will need your help for my wife’s coronation ceremony. You must have a place of honor, Aunt. I insist on it. I know this news is surprising. It had to be kept in the greatest secrecy until today.”
“B-b-but who?” the duchess stammered. “I’m beside myself. You are already married?”
“Yes, Aunt. She’s a wonderful woman. Her name is Lady Elyse Degriy, daughter of the Dowager Duchess of Westmarch. She comes from a very noble line.”
The duchess’s eyes widened with horror. “M-my lord, she was married before. She had two sons through her first husband. Her people were enemies of your . . . your father!”
“I know this,” Eredur said reassuringly, his eyes flashing with confidence. “And now she is to be the Queen of Ceredigion.”
CHAPTER NINE
Discretion
The duke’s state room at Kingfountain palace was lavish in decoration and ornamented with costly Genevese rugs and a myriad of fetching decor showing his rank and status. Tall white tapers were lit atop elegantly wrought stands, but there was little need for them. The room was suffused with light due to the gauzy curtains tied back to reveal the afternoon light.
The duke had returned from his journey to Occitania with chests full of fabric, gowns, jewels, and books he had acquired during his long ambassadorship to that country, and Isybelle and Nanette were huddled by some of the open ones, gazing at the various treasures and grinning at the evidence of their father’s generosity.
Ankarette sat on a closed chest nearby, but her eyes were focused on the duke, his wife, and
Dunsdworth, who were railing animatedly about the shameful way Warrewik had been treated by his nephew the king.
Dunsdworth was particularly vehement. “And what kind of woman is Lady Degriy? A widow? And we’re to welcome her as our queen? Her husband died at the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross fighting against Eredur.” He threw up his hands and glowered with fury.
“Patience, patience,” Warrewik said, shaking his head, but he was clearly flustered himself. Ankarette could tell he was chafing from the indignity he had endured in the great hall. He wagged his finger. “Your brother intends to provoke a reaction out of me. I’ll not give in to it.”
“Are you not affronted?” Dunsdworth demanded.
The duchess looked worriedly at her husband. “What are we going to do, Nevin?”
The duke raised his hands, as if trying to quiet a crowd. “Patience! Give me time to think!” He gritted his teeth and paced with anxiety. Then he spied a Wizr board and stopped, gazing down at it. His fingers fondled some of the pieces. “It’s a provocation. Clearly. He wants me to be hasty in my response. To reveal the depth of my discontent.”
“He had no right to treat you that way,” Dunsdworth snarled, his blue eyes menacing.
“He’s the king; of course he has the right,” Warrewik snapped. “He’s trying to humble me. The Fountain knows it. I’m not daft.” He stroked his chin, still studying the board. “He expects me to be rash. I will not be. I will bide my time. I will wait until he is distracted by something else on the board. Do you have any idea how angry King Lewis will be? Your brother has not just offended me, he has offended the powerful and very wealthy ruler of a kingdom who still hates us because of Azinkeep fifty years ago.” He snorted. “This decision of his, this offense, may just provoke Lewis into starting another war with us.”
“Do you think so?” the duke’s wife asked with concern.
“I hope it does,” Dunsdworth glowered. Ankarette saw that he was itching to prove himself. He had been too young to fight in the battles that had won his brother the crown. He was now of an age to win honor for himself in battle. Perhaps he was too eager, Ankarette thought.
