Zachary, Zachary, where are you? For all her knocks and injuries, the re-dislocated shoulder, it was her heart that hurt most of all, for she knew not whether he lived or was dead.
Her progress through the castle was painstaking. How she hadn’t been killed by the aureas slee, she did not know. Somehow she had avoided broken bones. She’d bumped her poor skull, of course, but she was alive. After the queen had been seen to, Vanlynn ordered Ben to heal her, but in increments so he did not exhaust himself, should the queen need him. For Laren, he’d first taken care of her head, but it was the shoulder he would work on over time. Despite the healing help, she was stiff and exhausted, and she’d been doing poorly enough that Gresia excused her from arms training. For the time being.
When they reached the entrance to the royal wing, they halted. The way was blocked by four Weapons, two of whom were unfamiliar enough that they were likely tomb guards.
“I guess this is where we part,” Connly said. “If you need anything at all, if you get tired, send for me.”
“Thank you, Connly, I will.”
The Weapons permitted her entrance, Willis still trailing her, and she made her way down the corridor and then to a flight of stairs. She halted and gazed at all the climbing she’d have to do.
“Do you require assistance, Captain?” Willis asked.
She was tempted to ask him to carry her, but pride and the ridiculous image of herself being thrown over one of his broad shoulders overcame her exhaustion. “No, thank you. I’ll manage.”
It seemed to take hours to climb the stairs. When she paused on the top landing, she found the corridor blackened by more Weapons than she had ever seen assembled in one place before. They all looked angry and bristling for a fight, and she found herself relieved to be escorted by one of their brethren so she would not be mistaken for an enemy. They were, she knew, taking the disappearance of their king, and the impersonation of him by the aureas slee, very personally, and had no real way of venting their fury. No one had any idea where Zachary had been spirited to, if he was alive, or where to even begin searching. Someone had suggested going to Eletia to find out if they knew how to reach the slee’s domain, but entering Eletia was a problem in itself. No mortal had found a way in for hundreds of years, except Karigan, and even then by means improbable—if not impossible—to duplicate.
There were more Weapons in Estora’s apartments. She could feel their intensity as a physical thing. Estora was not on her sofa in the sitting room as had been customary, the burned one having been replaced. Laren was led all the way back to the bed chamber. There she found yet more Weapons, and Estora in bed propped against pillows. She spoke quietly with a moon priest.
“May the blessed ones be with you,” the man said, and he made the sign of the crescent moon. “I will make offerings in the king’s name during tonight’s rituals.”
Laren wondered what Zachary would think of that. Following the Clan Wars, his Hillander predecessors had removed the influence of the moon priests as far away from the throne as possible, and limited their powers in other ways, an arrangement Zachary embraced. He did celebrate high days and attended chapel, but he sought no counsel from priests in matters of state, or anything else as far as she knew.
Was that what Estora was doing? Ignoring two hundred years of tradition and seeking counsel? Laren chided herself for jumping to conclusions, recalling where Estora came from. The east coast of Sacoridia tended to be more traditional, parochial. It would be natural for her to seek succor from a priest, under the circumstances.
“Blessings to you, as well, Prime Brynston.”
The luin prime? Laren gave the priest a second look as he bowed to Estora, and she kissed his ring. Laren had heard a new priest had recently ascended to prime and been installed in the Sacor City chapel of the moon. He was relatively young, in his late twenties, perhaps, and not difficult to look upon. As he left Estora’s bedside, his long ivory robes of silk flowed silently behind him. She watched after him as he exited the chamber and a Weapon closed the door.
“Captain,” Estora said, “I am so glad you have come, but may I say you look . . . unwell? Please sit and rest.”
Laren bowed. A chair was brought forward and she dropped into it with relief. Estora looked healthy, her cheeks rosy, and she, like the Weapons, emanated energy. Not bad for a woman in her gravid condition whose husband had gone missing, and with a kingdom to run.
“I believe the bed rest is unnecessary,” Estora continued, “but Vanlynn insists. I am fine. My children are fine.”
Laren, who wouldn’t have minded trading her the chair for the bed, replied, “I have found it easiest to acquiesce to that woman’s demands, my lady. I’ve had enough experience of late to know better.” She rubbed her shoulder.
Estora’s expression softened. “Yes, for all that we know, Vanlynn is in charge around here. I am, however, glad she has been looking after you.”
“So that was the new luin prime?” Laren asked.
“Yes, the youngest ever elevated. He is from Coutre.” Estora smiled. “I suggested him last year when I heard the old prime was retiring. No doubt the Assembly wished to please me.”
No doubt, Laren echoed, they would do the utmost to attain the favor of the throne.
Estora asked her polite questions about how she was doing, but Laren replied, “With respect, Your Majesty, I will mend in time, and I suspect there are more urgent matters on your mind.”
“Yes. Once more I find myself responsible for the realm.” She gazed down at her hands clasped on her lap. “With my husband missing, the responsibility weighs on me. I have been praying to the gods for his return.”
Laren, who normally had little time for the gods or an inclination to pray, had been, as well. “You may rely on your counselors to help in any way possible.”
“At least no one is pushing for me to remarry,” Estora said with deceptive lightness. “Not yet, anyway, though Javien is advocating for the pretense that all is well so word doesn’t get out that Zachary has disappeared.”
“I am afraid that with all the guards on high alert, that any illusion of normality has been dispelled.”
“Yes, I have heard that Prince Tuandre is alarmed, and he’d already been put off by the behavior of the one who we thought to be Zachary. I have no idea what this is going to do to relations between our two realms.”
“Perhaps the best path is forthrightness. Rhovanny is, after all, our friendliest ally.”
“I agree,” Estora said, “but the others resist.”
So that was why she had asked Laren to visit, to see if she would provide counsel that countered the others. “You are the queen, and you can proceed as you wish. As much as this hurts to say aloud, we may never—” and here her voice quavered, “—see Zachary again, and you will be faced with making all sorts of decisions. If you feel it is in Sacoridia’s best interest to be forthright with Prince Tuandre, then it overrides anything Javien or the others say.”
Estora spread her hands across her quilt. “How am I to convey this to the prince while in my confinement? Vanlynn will not permit me to even leave this chamber.”
“Invite him to tea.”
“Tea? Here?”
Laren shrugged, which sent a shock of pain through her bad shoulder. She winced and asked, “Why not? I’m sure your servants can attire you as befits your station, if that’s what concerns you. The prince knows your condition. He’d probably deem it a great honor to be summoned to see you, and it might go far to mend any affront he has felt by how his visit has transpired thus far.”
“Yes . . .”
Laren could see Estora latching on to the idea, but Donal stepped forward. “Your Majesty?”
“What is it, Donal?”
“I protest bringing outsiders into your chambers.”
“This is a royal prince we are talking about,” Estora repl
ied.
“He is still an outsider, a foreigner, and a possible danger to your person.”
“I will not be ruled by fear, Donal. I realize it is your task to protect me, but to give in to fear is to lose the battle before it is even engaged.”
“If it helps,” Laren said, “I can use my ability to read the prince.”
“Yes,” Estora said fiercely. “I say we do it. I think Zachary would approve.”
• • •
The next day, the prince arrived for tea at the appointed hour. As predicted, Javien had protested vigorously against the scheme, and Les Tallman had expressed his misgivings, but their queen overruled them.
As the prince and two select counselors entered Estora’s bed chamber, it was to a room lined with Weapons and several of Estora’s ladies in attendance. Two Hillander terriers panted beside the bed under the watchful eye of the kennel master. Her personal staff, including Anna, Laren was pleased to see, were at hand. She was less pleased to see Prime Brynston, but tried not to let her personal feelings about moon priests prejudice herself against the man. Ben was also present, which Vanlynn had insisted on, should Estora experience any distress. Laren, and counselors Javien and Tallman, completed the Sacoridian complement.
Laren had to hand it to Estora. Not only had she corralled an impressive retinue to be present for the prince’s visit, but she and her chamber were outfitted in regal adornment. She wore her royal raiment, her crown and jewels, and bore her scepter. Gone from the canopied bed were the feminine drapes of fabric. They were replaced by material ornamented with clan heraldry in brocade, silk, velvet, and silver thread. The top quilt featured a meeting of the Hillander terrier with the cormorant of Coutre. These, Estora explained, had all been meant for her marriage bed, but had arrived well after she had wed Zachary following the assassination attempt, more in line with the original wedding date.
As if this was not enough, Zachary’s swords had been brought in and prominently displayed on the wall, as if to represent him in his absence.
Prince Tuandre and his counselors bowed deeply to Estora.
“We welcome you, cousin,” she said.
“Most gracious queen,” Tuandre replied, “I am honored to meet you at long last, and that you have permitted me entrance to your most private sanctum during your confinement.”
“Please be at your ease,” Estora said with a sweeping gesture.
Servants brought forth cushioned chairs for Tuandre and his counselors, and a sumptuous tea of cakes and candied fruit was laid out and served. At first the conversation was of a cautious, polite nature of inconsequentialities, but Laren, peering at Tuandre over the rim of her teacup, sensed the prince gathering his courage to broach topics of greater import. His mind felt open, if wary, and absent of ill intent.
“Madam,” he said at last, “I would ask after the welfare of His Majesty the King. One hears the strangest rumors.”
“What you have heard likely has an element of truth in it,” Estora replied. Javien’s pained expression at this admission was of no surprise, but it was as Estora and Laren had discussed.
“But it is so utterly fantastical,” the prince replied. “Too difficult to believe.”
“Rhovanny clearly has not been as affected by magical irregularities as Sacoridia has been,” Estora said. “It grieves me to tell you that this castle, my home, was breached by an entity the Eletians call aureas slee, an elemental being. It abducted my husband and then took on his form and pretended to be him. The Zachary you met was this changeling creature, not His Majesty.”
Tuandre’s counselors leaped to their feet as though to protest this misuse of safety on the prince’s behalf, but he waved them back to their seats. Laren sensed only honest concern and alarm from him.
“This is most extraordinary, my lady. Overwhelming. I offer my fullest desire that he be returned.” He paused, then added, “Do you not fear that if word of this gets out that your enemies will view this as some victory and think Sacoridia weak?”
“My husband has managed this realm for strength, and it is his will that guides me. Sacoridia has never been stronger. As for the aureas slee, it is a force of nature beyond mortal ken. It deceived us all for but a time, and it has been ousted.”
“What of His Majesty?”
“We do not know.”
“It is grave and unsettling news,” Tuandre replied.
“Yes. Unsettling and upsetting in the extreme that the father of my children, this realm’s sovereign, has vanished. We do not know where to even begin our search for him. However, it was his desire,” she continued, with a slight shift in her voice, “that Sacoridia and its neighbor, Rhovanny, rekindle their alliance of old in the face of the rising of ancient adversaries. Prince Tuandre, I have told you the truth of my husband’s disappearance, so you may know the reality of what we are facing. The aureas slee, the elemental, was likely bespelled by a magic user of Second Empire to wound Sacoridia and its king. We were attacked, and if we could be so attacked, then Rhovanny may also be in danger.”
“We have had no direct grievance with Second Empire,” Tuandre replied. “My father has been skeptical of the claims of imminent danger that have come from King Zachary.”
“Blackveil Forest does not border King Thergood’s land,” Estora countered. “My husband has shared with the king the awakening of that dark place and its master. The rising of Second Empire is in response to the forest’s restlessness. Does King Thergood believe King Zachary has been inventing these matters?”
A blush bloomed on Tuandre’s cheeks. “No, madam.” He bowed in his chair. “No insult was intended. But there has been little evidence of danger in Rhovanny.”
“Counselor Tallman,” Estora said, “would you please share with His Royal Highness what we know of Second Empire?”
Les Tallman stood and recounted the intelligence and confessions that had been collected regarding Second Empire’s activities, finishing with, “Second Empire will have mixed into your population, pretending to be Rhovan citizens. Some will probably hold rank within your military and governing bodies.”
“It is known to me,” the prince replied, “that King Zachary had communicated as much to my father. Some preliminary investigations have been conducted into the matter, but I will advise my father that we must go deeper.”
Though Laren’s ability was to detect honesty, it sometimes amplified her ability to read other aspects of a person. Tuandre might appear calm on the surface, but she could tell he was deeply troubled by all he’d heard. She was certain he’d convey his concerns to his father, but as the youngest of seven sons, she had doubts about how seriously he’d be taken.
She turned her gaze to one of the counselors who had accompanied him, an older gentleman of quiet but attentive demeanor. On occasion, he spoke softly in Rhovan to Tuandre. This gentleman exuded years of wisdom, and she sensed his judgment might carry weight with King Thergood.
The other counselor was average in appearance in every way, and she nearly dismissed him, but when her ability rippled against his mind, she recoiled. His thoughts seethed dark as pitch, and full of ill intent. She stood.
“Captain?” the queen asked, drawn from her conversation with the prince.
The man stared at her and it brought to mind a viper about to strike.
“Donal!” she cried as the man lunged from his chair, a stiletto drawn from his sleeve.
A CALLING, OF A SORT
The man whirled on Tuandre to the sound of screaming servants. The terriers barked and strained at their leashes. He raised his stiletto to plunge into the prince’s chest. In a blur of motion, Donal tackled him to the floor, wrenched his arms behind him, and knelt on the small of his back.
The prince stood. It had all happened so quickly that everyone else, including Laren herself, had frozen in place. Then chattering broke out among those present. Weapons made a barr
ier of themselves around Estora’s bed while Ellen assisted Donal with lifting the assassin to his feet and restraining him.
“Garmell,” Tuandre demanded, “what is this?”
The assassin replied acidly in Rhovan and spat at him. Donal and Ellen dragged him out, but as they did, he shouted in the common, “We will defeat you vermin! The empire rises!”
Estora’s bed chamber fell into shocked silence before a babble erupted once more, Prime Brynston muttering a prayer and making the sign of the crescent moon.
“I told you this was a terrible idea!” Javien jabbed an accusatory finger at Laren. “This is your fault.”
Exhausted and head throbbing, Laren sank into her chair. She hadn’t the energy to argue, and perhaps Javien was right.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” the prince said to Javien, “but I say nonsense. This messenger flushed the assassin out, which would not have happened had we not met. You should be praising her as I intend.”
“She is our Green Rider captain,” Les Tallman said, “Laren Mapstone.”
To Laren’s astonishment, the prince bowed to her. “I thank you, Captain. I had no idea we harbored a snake among us. Garmell had always been exceedingly loyal, but now we know it to be a sham.”
“I cannot see!” Estora was complaining. It took some convincing, but the Weapons parted so her field of vision extended beyond her bed and they could see her in turn. “You are unscathed, Prince Tuandre?”
Now he bowed to Estora. “Yes, madam, with thanks to your Green Rider captain and Weapons.”
“Your Majesty,” Javien said, “this is exactly why I discouraged this meeting—it exposed your person to treachery.”
“Javien, I wished this meeting to proceed even knowing there was some risk. I am thinking that perhaps it has been made all the more successful for now, in the prince’s regard, the threat from Second Empire is made even more real.”
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