by Jeff Wheeler
“I hope I haven’t made a mistake like Hastings said.”
She did too. His decision had been made based on her counsel. The awful weight of it oppressed her.
Down below, she saw Warrewik talking to Sir Thomas, both astride their mounts. Thomas was explaining something to the duke, gesturing. She couldn’t make out any words and she was too far to read his lips. Then the duke dismounted and started toward the inn, tugging off his armored gloves and tossing them to a squire.
“He’s coming,” she said.
“I’m ready. Go hide again.” He gave her a serious look. “His life is in his hands. If he decides to kill me, he and I may both end up dying here. I’d like to prevent that if possible. I wonder if Hux is down there too.”
If so, Ankarette couldn’t sense him. She hid under the bed, close enough to hear the conversation and, if needed, to strike.
The thudding of the boots up the stairs and down the hall announced the duke’s arrival. He pushed open the door without knocking. From her secret place, she saw Warrewik’s face, illuminated by the room’s candle, was lined with doubt, his eyes lit with feverish intensity.
“Good morning, Uncle,” Eredur said calmly. A tray of breakfast had been arranged in advance. “Would you care to join me?”
“You have the stomach to eat?” Warrewik answered archly. “I’m impressed. But no, I’ll not taste a morsel. It may be poisoned.” He said it with a tone of suspicion. “Where is she?”
“Ankarette? She left last night. She warned me you were coming and urged me to join Kiskaddon’s army. I saw through her trap and elected to stay here.” He lifted a cup and drank from it. “I’ll eat if you don’t mind. You talk.”
Warrewik seemed startled by the news. “I didn’t tell her I was coming. Strange.”
“No matter to me,” Eredur said with a casual shrug. “You’ve always been good at Wizr, Uncle. Always thinking ahead. Ah, some berries. From Brythonica, I think.” He picked up a few and popped them into his mouth, smiling in satisfaction. “We’ve been at odds for too long. I propose we rectify that.”
“And how would we do that?” Warrewik asked condescendingly. “Especially where we stand now. I’ll admit, you’ve surprised me, Eredur. This is not how I thought you’d react.”
“I know the game well enough, Uncle. I know when I’m about to lose. Threat and mate.” He held up his hands. “But I’d rather not end things this way. I’d like to reconcile with you. These berries are truly divine. You should have one.”
“No, thank you,” Warrewik snapped. He still hadn’t taken a seat, although Eredur had. Warrewik glanced around the room, searching for something.
“So what is it to be, Uncle? It’s your move.”
Warrewik gave Eredur a wary look. “I don’t think we can work together, lad. We cannot be partners. Not anymore.”
“Tell me why not? I’ve treated you poorly. I’ve humiliated you often. You bear a grudge and rightly so. Can we not mend the breach?”
Ankarette was proud of Eredur’s composure. His exhaustion showed in his drooping shoulders, but he had remarkable stamina.
“That depends. I ordered your wife’s father to be thrown in the river and sent over the falls for treason. The queen was in sanctuary at Our Lady when it happened.” He gave Eredur a wolfish look. “She watched her father perish. So I ask you, Nephew. Do you really think we can work together?” His voice oozed with malice.
Eredur’s eyes turned to flint. Elyse’s father, Lord Rivers, in his new capacity as the Duke of East Stowe, had been wresting the naval power away from Warrewik. Ordering his death was a malicious act of revenge.
The news had rocked Eredur and it showed. His hand slumped onto the table top. “Well, you’ve had your revenge, Uncle. I know you resented him—”
Warrewik stepped forward. “I don’t think you have any idea whatsoever how much I’ve resented him. How I’ve bitten my tongue while you advanced the Riverses to positions across Ceredigion, polluting the nobility. I’ve patiently borne your mistreatment of me, bided my time until now, and now . . . now you wish to partner with me? Now, you wish to give me due honor and respect? Without me, you would never have become king!”
Ankarette had never seen Warrewik so unguarded, so emotional. If she killed him, it would not end the threat to Eredur’s life. No, she was convinced that such an act would all but ensure that Warrewik’s supporters, his sworn men, would storm into the room and slaughter Eredur where he stood.
“You’re right,” Eredur said in defeat. “You are right, Uncle. No king wants to be under subjugation to his vassals. Am I any different?” He rose from the chair. “But by the Fountain, do we not have enemies enough that we must turn on each other?”
“You can forgive me for killing one of your dukes? Without a verdict from the Assizes? I find that difficult to believe. I’m not a fool.”
“No! Clearly you are not! I have been the fool,” Eredur said. “Without you, I would not have become king. I may have won the battles, but I could not have defeated Queen Morvared’s armies alone without your support. I’ve not given you proper credit for your role, and worse, I’ve humiliated you by spurning the marriage negotiations you made on my behalf. I was wrong, Uncle. Terribly wrong. Please tell me it’s not too late.”
It was an emotional appeal. Ankarette was amazed at how ably the king performed it. She studied Warrewik’s expression, saw the cracks in the stone of his resolve.
“I don’t see . . . I just don’t see how it can work,” he said, shaking his head.
“Name your terms,” Eredur said.
Warrewik snorted. “You’ve prevented them all so far.”
“Things have changed. Name them. You wanted my consent for Dunsdworth to marry Iysbelle. Done. I give it.”
“The deed is already done,” Warrewik said. “They were married in Callait.”
“What else can I give you? The duchy of East Stowe? It’s yours. Or put another man there if you would prefer. What about Stiev Horwath? He’s loyal to you?”
Warrewik waved his hand. “Are you drunk?”
Eredur shook his head, his eyes blazing with intensity. “No. I just want to live past breakfast.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Captivity
From the window of the inn, Ankarette watched as Eredur mounted a horse down below, surrounded by knights wearing the badge of the Bear and Ragged Staff. There were grins of victory mixed with looks of confusion and concern. She could not hear the words, but she saw Warrewik talking to Sir Thomas, jabbing his finger at the younger man, then making a dismissive gesture. Her insides were knotted with worry, but at least the king had survived. So far. His unconditional surrender had forced Warrewik to be magnanimous. His sense of honor had demanded it.
Eredur sat stoically, puffs of mist coming from his mouth. The weather had soured considerably and promised sleet as well as rain. How odd. She waited in silence and patience, wondering what her next move should be to rescue the king.
Warrewik had his own horse brought to him and he mounted.
The commotion in the streets was all from the duke’s men. None of the villagers had roused from their homes. No one dared to walk the streets when they were choked with soldiers. Then she noticed Sir Thomas slide from his saddle and march to the inn. She pursed her lips, wondering what he was about.
Her answer came moments later when he entered the room. She had hidden herself again, this time in the shadows in the corner parallel to the door.
He stood in the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. “Ankarette?” he whispered.
“I’m here,” she said, and he whirled, not having seen her. She stepped from the shadows and moved quietly toward him.
He sighed with relief. “Eredur whispered that you were still up here. We don’t have much time to talk.”
“I did the best I could to save him.”
“I see that. My stomach has been in knots thinking I’d arrive too late, that he’d be dead. I’
m relieved.”
“Where are you taking the king? Dundrennan?”
“Of course. The duchess was sent there to fortify the castle. It’s my duty to inform Stiev Horwath about his new prisoner. This is a mess, Ankarette. Truly, this is bad.”
She bit her lip. “What happened when you went to Dunsdworth’s land?”
He glanced back down the hall, still standing partway in the room. Half of his face was in shadow. “Obviously he wasn’t there to advise. I’ve since learned of his marriage. This is all Warrewik’s doing. He’s made his move.”
“And clearly so has King Lewis.”
“No doubt the two of them have an alliance. What can be done? Kiskaddon wasn’t willing to risk open warfare with Warrewik, not without knowing what had happened to the king. His army is retreating to Westmarch as we speak.” He sounded agitated and angry.
“Did you know that the Duke of East Stowe is dead?”
“No!” Sir Thomas moaned. “By the Fountain, does Eredur know?”
“Yes, Warrewik gloated about it.”
“Where’s the queen? Did you make sure she was safe before you left Kingfountain?”
“I did. She’s in sanctuary at Our Lady. The deconeus will take care of her.” While the deconeus was somewhat selfish, she had come to understand him better. She was absolutely convinced that he would follow the Fountain—and equally convinced that the Fountain did not want Dunsdworth Argentine to be King of Ceredigion.
“But what about that poisoner? I’ve been worried sick that she was his target all along. Or the princess.”
“No, they are safe. Tunmore has hidden them on the grounds. Not even the Espion know where they are.”
“Are you certain? I would have thought that possible a few days ago, but Warrewik kept this plot from me, and now I distrust everyone.” He raked one hand through his hair and squeezed the other into a fist.
She touched his arm. “You can trust me.”
He gazed at her in the darkness, wrestling with his emotions. “I believe that, lass. What happens next is critical. We need to free Eredur. Do you have any ideas? My mind is racing like a runaway stallion. I can’t keep up with it.”
“Warrewik will expect something soon. It will be almost impossible to sneak him out of Dundrennan. So we need to bring help to him.”
“What do you mean?”
She dropped her voice lower. “Do you think Kiskaddon is loyal? To the king?”
Sir Thomas scratched his throat. “Aye, lass. Eredur trusted his father-in-law the most, but he’s dead and will be replaced by a man of Warrewik’s choosing. Southport is run by Lovel, whom Eredur has never fully trusted. He chose Kiskaddon to help put down the rebellion for a reason.”
“I will send him word, then,” Ankarette said. “The king likes to hunt. Remember that place north of Dundrennan, by the falls? The river with the large boulder?”
“The one you jumped from? I remember it.”
“Remember the woods where Hux was hiding? I’ll arrange for Lord Kiskaddon to bring some of his soldiers to wait for you in that place. You bring the king hunting. We’ll make sure the guards outnumber yours. Then Kiskaddon can bring the king back to Westmarch and they can rally the kingdom from there. I’m sure Severn will support his brother as well.”
“Of course he will,” Sir Thomas said. “He loves Duke Warrewik, no doubt. But he loves his brother even more. It’s a good plan, Ankarette. Your thinking is impeccable.”
She flushed at his praise. “You should go. I need to come up with a pretext for going to Kiskaddon.”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” He gave her a tender look, one of approval and fellow suffering. “Thank you.”
“Keep the king safe.”
“You do the same for the queen. There will be bloodshed ere this is over. It’s unavoidable now.”
His words made her shiver with dread. She stepped closer to him, so close she could smell the leather and sweat. He’d been riding all night. The furrows of anxiety on his brow were pronounced. She wished she could smooth them away.
“Go,” she whispered, longing to kiss his bearded cheek in farewell. Be safe, she pleaded silently in her mind.
Once, Ankarette had observed a servant carrying an unwieldy tray overladen with wine chalices. She’d predicted he would fall the moment she saw him with that tray, and sure enough, the crash had come soon afterward.
She had the same insight about the Duke of Warrewik. The duke had taken on too much.
After returning to Kingfountain, the duke had interrogated her regarding her whereabouts. Her Fountain magic helped her gauge how the duke was reacting to the story she’d concocted, and—much to her relief—he believed her.
Dunsdworth was livid that his new father-in-law had not done away with the one major impediment to his taking the hollow crown. In addition to the verbal abuse of his new son-in-law, the duke had to contend with Lord Bletchley, who refused to answer the summons to Kingfountain for fear of sharing Lord Rivers’s watery fate, and the privy council had disbanded.
The duke had long been a man of poise and exuberant self-confidence. Now he was harried with every step. Running the Espion was not the same as running a kingdom. His decrees had all been signed forthwith by the king. But no one believed in them. Trust had been shattered. Only fragments remained.
Six months passed as quickly as a runaway carriage threatening to crash. There was still no council. The new Duke of East Stowe had been named, Lord Countly, but he was weak and ineffectual and would not do anything without Warrewik’s express and documented permission. Countly was afraid, of course, that he would be found guilty of treason should Eredur regain his power. Lord Horwath ran the North in the duke’s absence calmly and with an unruffled air. The rest of the kingdom was barking mad.
Isybelle had become pregnant almost immediately after the wedding. Ankarette was at her side constantly, helping her understand the various pangs and pains she experienced. The first three months had brought terrible sickness and vomiting. Her husband could not abide the sound of retching and always hastily fled the room when it began. Isybelle was miserable. She had longed for years to marry Dunsdworth. But he was always chafing at the situation, insisting that their problems would all be solved if he were declared king. He railed against Warrewik, even in Isybelle’s presence, which upset her.
Another month passed.
Ankarette watched, biding her time. She had made an arrangement with Lord Kiskaddon. He supported Eredur but feared the wrath of Warrewik. Moving too quickly could be fatal to him and his budding family. He had asked her to provide tunics bearing Warrewik’s badge for his men to use to infiltrate the North. One by one, she had sewn them, using her skills with needle and thread to fashion badges convincing enough to be used without creating any alarm. Stealing from the duke’s stores would have brought suspicion down on them. She had arranged for the tunics to be delivered to Kiskaddon’s herald several days ago.
She was in the middle of working on another one, just in case more would be required, when the door to the solar burst open and Warrewik and Dunsdworth stormed in, midargument. Ankarette discreetly concealed the one she’d been working on under a pillow. Isybelle was dozing on the couch across from her, hand resting on her swollen abdomen.
“Can you not give me a moment’s peace?” Warrewik said angrily over his shoulder. “I’m doing the best that I can!”
“But you are not doing all that you can,” Dunsdworth snapped. “How long is this farce going to continue, Uncle? It’s been nearly eight months, and he’s still hunting and hawking and dancing! Does he even miss his wife or child? Has he even asked for her?”
“I’ve offered to bring his family to him,” Warrewik said, raising his hands helplessly. “But his wife will not come out of sanctuary. She does not trust me.”
“You could make her come out,” Dunsdworth glowered.
“How can you say that? You know the rules of sanctuary. The people would revolt and I’d
be thrown in the river. They’re nearly revolting now. As I said, give me a moment’s peace, lad! I wanted to come and check on my daughter.”
Isybelle, jarred awake by the noise, sat up and rubbed her eyes. She had been very uncomfortable of late, and when she started rubbing her back, Ankarette put a pillow over her own needlework to cover it and went to the other couch and started to soothe the discomfort.
It was as if Dunsdworth had noticed his wife for the first time. He looked sheepish at his failure to greet her and offered a formal bow in lieu of an apology. He had gotten what he had wanted from her. The promise of her lands and wealth and a possible heir. Now his pleasantries and flirtation had largely faded away.
“I’m fine, Father,” Isybelle said. “Ankarette takes care of me.”
The duke looked at his daughter, his eyes full of the tenderness that her husband’s eyes so distinctly lacked. “Your mother had difficulty with both of her pregnancies. I used to rub her back when it was tender.”
Dunsdworth snorted with contempt.
The duke went livid. Rising to his feet, he rounded on the younger man. “Go, if you find this amusing. You’re about to become a father. Then perhaps you will understand what it feels to care about someone other than yourself!”
Dunsdworth’s eyes glittered with fury at the rebuke. “You promised me,” he said, shaking his head.
“And I will deliver it in my own time. You are not yet twenty, lad. For some rewards we must be patient.”
Dunsdworth gave him a petulant look, then turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the heavy door behind him.
Ankarette swallowed, disturbed by this further proof that her friend had made a mistake, that she had fallen in love with the wrong man. Warrewik was right. The young duke cared about himself most of all.
Warrewik sighed. He knelt by the couch, wincing a little in pain from his bent knee, but he replaced his vexed look with a caring one and slowly stroked Isybelle’s hand. “The Argentines have never been a patient family, have they?” he teased.
“You married one too, Father,” she reminded him. “I don’t think you regret it.”
