by Glenda Larke
The remark came not from Ardhi, but from Peregrine, who had come up behind them with Gerelda and Pontifect Fritillary. “There was more than just the smutch of Fox’s touch on the princess,” he explained. “When I first saw her body, I knew there had been something sorcerous alive inside her.”
He was blushing and it took her a moment to understand what he was too embarrassed to say. “Oh, sweet Va. Another Fox,” she whispered. “She was pregnant.”
None of them said anything.
“Hang me for a muckle-top. She knew.” Sorrel hid her face in her hands. “That’s what she was trying to tell me. She was terrified of giving birth to another sorcerer.”
“More than that, perhaps,” Fritillary said. “If she had another boy, Fox could have passed him off as Ryce’s, killed Bealina and Garred and put his own son on the throne as the supposedly legitimate king.”
Sorrel shuddered. “Oh, Va, that man is so vile.”
“Why don’t we shoot him?” Gerelda asked.
“It has been tried,” Fritillary replied. “And it doesn’t work.”
“Why not?” Peregrine asked.
“The would-be assassins killed themselves instead of him.”
“He coerced them from a distance?” Gerelda asked.
“None came back to tell us how he did it, but it is certain that he has built his power to a level that we really know nothing about. Fortunately, he doesn’t use it much because of the cost to him.”
“But if he’s in extreme danger from us,” Gerelda said, her tone dry, “he wouldn’t count the cost then.”
Sorrel walked away. On the other side of the oak, she stood and laid her forehead against the bark of the trunk, but there was no respite there. Her thoughts circled the same path: What if I had…? Or maybe if I’d…?
It was Fritillary who found her and laid a hand on her shoulder, saying, “We pay a terrible price for the gift of life: pain, grief, death and mortality.”
“Then is there any point to all this?”
“Of course there is. Life itself! Have faith in Va, my dear. We make a mistake when we expect Va to intervene in our lives. Belief gives us hope and strength. Witcheries give us help. The Way of the Oak and the Way of the Flow bring us peace and tranquillity and a glimpse of our eternity as part of creation. Expecting anything else is arrogance. In our arrogance, we pray for help, when what we should be doing is working on our moral strength to live good lives. Believe that, and you’ll be happier and your life will have more meaning. Perhaps Bealina knew that. She died a warrior and a hero, knowing she was offering Fox a defeat of considerable measure. If she had ever given birth to a son of his, she would not only have brought another sorcerer into the world, she would have condemned Garred to death, and she knew it.”
“She was so young.”
“Perhaps she was also wise beyond her years.”
“What will happen to Garred now?”
“I will take him to his father through the timeless paths. I will tell Prince Ryce her last words.”
“I could take Garred and tell him myself.” And I would see Piper…
“You are needed here still, whereas my presence is required in Throssel now. The Ardronese need to know I am alive.”
The words shredded Sorrel’s surge of hope.
“Garred clings to Horntail,” Fritillary added, “so I think it best that the sergeant comes with me. He has regained his memory, you know. In the meantime, I’ll send a nun who knows the timeless paths to take a letter to Ryce. He said he’d pick up messages at the Seaforths’ home in Throssel.”
Fifteen days after leaving Twite, Golden Petrel anchored in Throssel Water, a short row from the coast, just after dusk. Over the next hour, the ship’s boats ferried men quietly to land, where they began the ten-mile walk to Throssel city. Among those who left the ship were Prince Ryce and all his men, Lord Juster and half his crew, and Saker.
By dawn, separated into different bands, they had all reached the city’s walls, where they mixed in with the crowds entering through the five gates. Ryce’s men, dressed as sailors and with strict orders not to catch the eye of any of the town guard who might recognise them, joined the jostle of fringe dwellers, day labourers and hustlers surging into the city alongside the farm carts bringing produce to market. Throssel was a busy port, and sailors were no uncommon sight.
Saker and Grig Cranald travelled together, and once inside the city the two of them headed for the Barklee house. As they approached the docklands, an uncomfortable tightness developed in Saker’s chest. The closer he was to finding out how Piper had fared, the worse it grew.
He need not have worried. As soon as she heard his voice greeting Surgeon Barklee at the door, she hurtled out of the kitchen and raced into his arms. She snuggled there as if he had never been away, so loving and so totally forgiving of his desertion it was hard to believe she had a drop of sorcerer’s blood. The tenaciousness of her clutch, though, did indicate she would be reluctant to have him disappear again.
He looked over her head to where Barklee and his wife watched. “Thank you for taking such good care of her, both of you.”
“She was no trouble,” Mistress Barklee said with a tender smile. “A little charmer, she is. Just smiles and my boys do anything for her. She’d be welcome to stay for ever. I’ll miss her when she goes, for sure.”
“I’m afraid we will be leaving Throssel soon,” Grig said. “I’m sorry we have to take your husband away again. And Banstel too.” He grinned at the ship’s boy, who had followed Piper from the kitchen. “That is if the lad still hankers after the sea.”
“Aye, sir!” Banstel said.
Mistress Barklee tousled his hair. “He’s mad keen on being a privateer, this lad. Barklee is another, chafing for a deck beneath his feet! That’s sailors for you.”
Saker looked down at Piper and touched the Chenderawasi circlet she wore. “Did you remember not to take it off, sweetheart?”
She nodded, her curls bobbing in her enthusiasm. “Papa not go away again? Never, ever, ever?”
“Not Papa, dearest,” Mistress Barklee said, and blushed. “I’m sorry. She’s been hearing the children talk to Barklee, and so she started calling him Papa too. Then of course, the bairns told her he wasn’t her papa, so she decided you were.”
“You my papa!” Piper cried.
He smiled at her. “Oh, not exactly. In fact, you’re a lucky girl. You have lots of papas. Lord Juster and Ardhi and Mate Finch and Mate Cranald and—”
“And you?”
“And me too.”
“I want Mama. Where’s Mama Sorrel?”
“You’ll be with her soon, sweetheart. And she won’t go away again, I promise.” Va forbid.
“Time to go,” Grig Cranald said. “We’ve business in the city. Barklee, Banstel, you’re wanted too.”
Five minutes later they were on their way to the Seaforths’ townhouse on the other side of Throssel, where everyone was to reassemble.
Originally, Saker had wanted to leave Piper with Mistress Barklee, thinking she would be safer there, but Ryce had insisted that she be brought to Seaforth’s residence. “Saker, if we fail,” he’d explained, “Barklee’s house won’t be a safe place for her.”
That was a disputable excuse if ever he’d heard one, but Ryce had made it an order.
Saker chatted with Piper as they walked through the city, but he was preoccupied, his thoughts churning. Pox on’t, what was that canker of a prince up to? He’d always thought Ryce needed to assert himself more and take charge – but now that the man was showing leadership, well, his intentions were worrying.
When they arrived, Ryce requested his immediate presence, so he left Piper with Barklee and was conducted by a servant to the library, an impressive room lined from floor to ceiling with shelves of leather-bound books. When he entered, he found the prince leaning against the mantel of the fireplace, talking to Juster. Both of them had evidently been fitted out with clothes from the Seaforth family’s wardrobe, because th
ey looked immaculate in outfits that had seen neither a siege nor a sea voyage. In fact, Saker thought they’d both not only had the benefit of a bath, but had received the attentions of a barber as well, rot the two of them.
“You wished to see me, Your Highness?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed. Brandy? Seaforth’s cousin keeps a splendid cellar.”
“No, thank you.” Unless he had sadly misjudged, this was a meeting better attended cold sober.
“I’ve decided on the best way to get into the palace with my men,” Ryce said, “without killing too many people. I want to dress Piper up as Prince Garred, and tell the guards on the gate that I am surrendering my son into the king’s care, thereby relinquishing my own claim to the throne, as he has requested.”
He gaped at the prince, his rage rising.
Juster had the grace to look abashed but Ryce was unfazed. “Juster has not long informed me that she is my niece, rescued by you and Sorrel from all that Lowmian codswallop about twins and devil-kin. For which I am very grateful. I was seeking a way to enter the palace without a fight, and this appears to be our only chance to have the guards open the gates for me and a group of armed men. Edwayn declared Garred his heir, and the heir to the throne is granted a company of forty guards.”
You bastard, Juster. “You would risk her life?”
“If there is a fight, I risk my own, and those of my men. However, everybody knows that the king has ordered me to deliver Prince Garred to him. If I arrive at the gate with a child in my arms, I think there is a good chance he will grant me entry. In fact, there’s a chance I could persuade the guards on the gate to open it without even consulting the king.”
He stared at Ryce, aghast. “May I point out that Piper is a year older than Prince Garred. She’s also a girl, and surely the palace guards are familiar with Prince Garred’s visage!”
“Piper is small for her age, and Garred is large,” Ryce said calmly. “Their colouring is not dissimilar. They are cousins, after all. Moreover, it is over a year since anyone here saw Garred, and growing children of his age alter rapidly. And who’s going to look in the pantaloons to see if the child is a boy when I tell them it’s my son?”
He tried to subdue his fury. “What if the king has already heard that Prince Garred was taken to Vavala?”
“Oh, he has heard. Fortunately Seaforth’s brother is still welcome at court in spite of his connection to me, and he knows what happened. Edwayn sent an outraged letter to Fox, who denied the rumour and said Bealina and Garred are still in Gromwell with me. The king believed that denial. He has not yet heard that the siege has been lifted – we are about to inform him.”
The idea of Piper being used with such casual disregard for her safety was an abomination. He swallowed back his bile. “Your Highness, what will happen to Piper if your plan fails?”
“What do you think will happen to any of us, Saker? We die.”
“Piper is a child, and she doesn’t have a choice. And as you’ve said, she is a legitimate royal princess of the Vollendorn line.” It wasn’t often he uttered such outright lies to a friend, but he didn’t care. Piper mattered.
“We are all in Va’s hands, isn’t that what you clerics tell us? May I remind you, Saker, that you do not have any say whatsoever in Piper’s well-being. She is evidently my niece. In the absence of her mother, and given King Edwayn’s madness, I am her nearest relative. I am also your liege lord, I believe, seeing that you have arraigned yourself at my side rather than my father’s. She goes with us tomorrow to the palace.”
In desperation, Saker shot a glance at Juster, but he appeared to be studying his newly manicured nails and would not meet his eye.
Nor had the prince finished. “You will stay here tonight. Neither you nor Lord Juster will accompany us to the palace tomorrow. You are both too well known as traitors.”
He had to put his hands behind his back, else he might have been tempted to swipe a fist at the prince’s jaw. “Who will take care of Piper?”
Juster spoke then. “Surgeon Barklee. He’s not known at the palace, and Piper adores him.”
Ryce gave a curt nod of acquiescence. “I am sure Piper will be quite safe, Saker. None of us will put her in any unnecessary danger. As soon as we are inside the walls, Barklee can take her somewhere safe. For all the king’s madness, his guards are sane enough, and not in the habit of harming tots any more than I am of not caring for the welfare of my blood relatives.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Saker inclined his head.
“As early as possible,” the prince continued, “you and your eagle will tell me all you can about the positioning and number of guards within and outside the palace walls. The more we know beforehand, the safer everyone will be.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Perhaps I could send Grig Cranald with Barklee,” Juster suggested. “To keep an eye on Piper’s safety. He’s not known to any of the palace guard any more than Barklee is, and he’s a good man in a tight spot.”
“Very well, if it makes you happier.” With that, Ryce drained the last of his brandy, and left the room.
Juster eyed Saker warily.
He said, keeping a fragile hold on his rage, “Leak on you, Juster, what did you have to tell him for? It was Regala Mathilda’s secret, for her to divulge if she wanted, not our prerogative to do so.”
“I thought it would stop him from wanting to use Piper! He was going to do it anyway. I felt sure if I told him she was his niece, he’d think twice about it.” He held his arms up, palms outwards, in a gesture of surrender. “I was wrong. I am sorry.” He looked towards the door, and the expression on his face was one of reluctant admiration. “Va knows whatever happened to the Ryce we used to know, because fiddle-me-witless, the man has become a king while we’ve been away!”
“If that’s how kings behave, then damn them all to beggary!”
“Whoa, my friend! Be careful who you say that to, or your head will be on the chopping block.” He clasped Saker’s shoulder with a firm hand. “You aren’t a lackwit. You know that in order to rule, a monarch has to have a heart as cold as steel. Ryce would have been a terrible king when he was eighteen. Now maybe he’s a monarch strong enough to make good decisions, even when it means someone gets hurt.”
“The theory sounds fine. But when it involves his own niece, who’s not quite three—!”
Juster released his hold and turned to the side table in order to splash a measure of brandy into a glass. “Here, drink this and pray that Ryce succeeds tomorrow, because if he doesn’t, we’ll all be running for the border.”
32
Long Live the King
A flick of flight feathers, a tilt of the tail to change direction to pass over the Throssel Palace walls, a counting of guards, an assessment of how relaxed they were… The sensual feel of wind through feathers, the joy of flight, the shimmering vibrance of colours and their subtle gradation, the wide panorama of his field of vision.
That glorious world of flight, where he was always in danger of losing himself and his humanity.
Saker concentrated on the scene below. That rabble supposedly guarding the southern wall were playing dice behind the grapevines and there was even one fellow pursuing a housemaid across the pump yard, the lout. Horntail would have made short work of those layabouts.
Juster was right. If a king was weak and ill and almost blind, then good government crumbled. Ryce would have a tough task bringing Ardrone back to its former glory.
Idly Saker wondered whom the prince would rely on. He’d need a chancellor who could knock the civil servants into shape, a treasurer with a sharp eye for theft and waste and corruption, a Prime who could take on the mess Fox had left behind, a guard captain to bring the armed men up to a decent standard with a military command thinking in terms of guns and cannon rather than swords and crossbows. It was ridiculous that ships used gunpowder and yet most armsmen on land did not.
He was grateful that Ryce’s talk of Sake
r being his Prime was only a joke. The idea of having to deal with the horror of Fox’s chapel clerics and their hatred of Shenat… If he hadn’t been flying with the bird, he would have shuddered at the thought.
One last look to make sure he had all the information Ryce wanted and he closed his twinning connection to the sea eagle. When he opened his eyes, he was back in his body, lying on the divan in the library, where Barklee was keeping an eye on both him and Piper.
When the three of them rejoined Ryce, it was to find a crowded room. All the men who were to lead the foray into the palace were there: Juster and Grig, Sir Beargold and Lord Seaforth and members of their extended families, most of whom Saker knew at least by sight. He also spotted the king’s chief physician, Emerling. For a moment he puzzled over that, until he realised that if Ryce could persuade Emerling to say Edwayn was incompetent to rule, he would have a way of legitimately deposing his father.
Edwayn’s hatred of witchery healers, stemming from the death of his queen, meant that he never allowed them into the palace. Emerling was just a physician. Sadly, there had been no witchery healer to give a warning of, let alone treat, the king’s madness. Saker suspected that the hope of any cure was long gone.
“Ah,” the prince said on catching sight of Saker, “you have information for us?”
“Indeed, sire,” he said and told them all he’d seen through the eagle’s eyes.
With a grim smile, Ryce turned to the listeners, saying, “Are you ready?”
A rousing acclamation of assent rose from those in the room, with a number of the younger nobles drawing their swords and waving them in the air.
“Then let us go and reclaim a throne!”
Under cover of the enthusiasm, Saker murmured in Barklee’s ear that he hoped Prince Ryce was not overconfident.
“Whatever happens, I’ll make sure Piper’s safe,” Barklee promised.
“Let’s go,” the prince said, but as he turned towards the door of the room, one of the liveried servants entered, carrying a sealed letter and a letter opener on a salver.
