There was only one thing Marceline could think of that he might have been referring to. “You mean when they arrested that boy here, don’t you?”
“Aye, that whole mess. Haven’t had a fright like that in years, I promise you.”
“So how did it happen?”
“If I knew that … well, perhaps I’d sleep easier and perhaps I wouldn’t. I caught the eye of someone, though I can’t say who, or how. I must’ve lost it, though—believe me, I wouldn’t be talking to you now if I thought I was still being watched. The tales rustling through the low places of this city have been of a different sort lately, so perhaps Elgar’s shifted his gaze to other concerns. Perhaps whoever watched me before assumed it wasn’t worth a second try. Perhaps they were merely perceptive enough to notice I have naught to do with my old friends anymore.”
Marceline frowned. “Nothing to do with them?”
“Aye, who could blame them after what happened? I wasn’t eager to have them come round again anyway, so I was just as glad they had the sense not to.”
If he was telling the truth, that didn’t bode well for what she might learn from him. “What do you know about the rest of them—the ones who aren’t your friends? Or about what they’ve got planned?”
He shrugged. “Enterprising rats can burrow surprisingly far, you know. Iron’s Den is positively infested, and I hear … well. They have more coin than a group of layabout commoners ought, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the purse strings stretched east. Even as far as a place they once called Lanvaldis.”
“There are Lanvalds financing the resistance?” If that was so, they had to be more powerful than Tom and the rest believed. Even though the Lanvalds had plenty of reason to hate Elgar, you didn’t empty your pockets and risk treason unless you were fairly certain you’d see some return on your investment.
“Who knows?” Peck said, his face infuriatingly calm. “All I can say for certain is that there were many nobles in Lanvaldis when Elgar conquered it, and there are few creatures more determined to have their way—whatever the cost.”
“But what would make Lanvaldian nobles have such faith in a group of common Valyanrenders?”
After a few moments of silence, Peck smiled. “Did you really expect me to answer that? That would be a very dangerous thing for me to know indeed. And really, the less I know about them, the better. For them, but above all for me.”
Perhaps he was lying, and perhaps he wasn’t. But Marceline had done enough bartering to know he wasn’t going to tell her any more, whether he had anything worth telling or not. She could empty her pockets before him, and it wouldn’t do her a bit of good.
“One more question,” she said, “and then I’ll leave you be. Can you buy candles here?”
Peck looked confused, but she didn’t need him to understand why she was asking—in fact, it was probably better that he didn’t. “They’re a bit too mundane to sell here,” he said, “but there’s a chandler’s shop right off the square where you can buy them—it’s on the Ashencourt side.”
“Thanks,” Marceline said, giving him her best attempt at a disarming smile, and cast a departing glance at the coins she had given him. “Glad to do business with you.”
“I hope we will both remain so,” Peck replied, keeping his eyes on her as she turned to walk away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The last of the mist had burned away by early afternoon, so Kel could stand on the battlements and watch Elgar’s retinue make its leisurely way forward, small and struggling against the trees so far below. The gate was open to receive them, but it would be as long as half an hour, perhaps, before they all passed through it, and still longer before they were settled in their temporary accommodations. Lady Margraine, who’d left earlier but had farther to travel, would probably arrive at nightfall, or perhaps the day after.
Eirnwin had told him much of the numbers game that would ensue; if this was to work at all, everyone had to have enough guards inside the walls of Mist’s Edge so that they felt secure, but not so many that they threatened anyone else’s security. Fortunately or unfortunately, Mist’s Edge was a large fortress, capable of housing hundreds of men comfortably, and there was no way they could convince a man as distrustful as Elgar that they did not in fact have hundreds of men lying in wait for him. The easiest thing to do was to allow him to bring a hundred men of his own and try to accommodate them as best they could, but that meant they had to have at least a hundred men in case Elgar tried any foul play once he arrived. If Lady Margraine had been similarly paranoid, mathematicians and philosophers alike might have despaired at ever finding a balance of numbers acceptable to all three sides, but luckily for them, she seemed as easygoing as Elgar was uptight. She’d accepted the contingent of soldiers Kel had sent to escort her to Mist’s Edge from the border, and she had brought, if reports could be believed, fewer than a dozen soldiers of her own. “Foolhardiness,” Eirnwin had muttered, but they both knew Lady Margraine was no fool. And, well, she wasn’t wrong—they weren’t planning to kill her. There were few people it was in Reglay’s better interest to keep alive, and she doubtlessly knew it.
They had done all they could to clean and order Mist’s Edge, but there were still entire towers that hadn’t been seen to, and no one seemed capable of navigating the fortress for long without getting lost. No matter how many people they brought to occupy it or how many rooms they cleared out, however, the gloomy, grave character of the castle remained unchanged. Kel did not believe in ghosts, and probably still wouldn’t if one popped out of his morning porridge and bit him on the nose. But it was easy to see how someone might come to believe in them, if he had to spend any length of time alone here. Every evening the mist descended, like a plague from some ancient tale, and every morning it lingered after sunrise, sometimes smothering the castle all the way through the following dawn.
Kel believed what he’d said to Eirnwin: this was his place, his rightful place, and no part of it could ever mean him harm. Even if he hadn’t believed it, though, it was important that Elgar believe it, and so he had to play his role. He’d allowed Eirnwin to deck him out in finer clothes today, a black silk doublet and trousers with elaborate whorls traced in silver thread. He had a short cape, also black, but no crown—not yet. That final piece must wait for the coronation, when it would come to rest on his head under the eyes of all.
Well, he reminded himself, not all—Issamira, as they’d feared but somewhat expected, had rebuffed him. He’d received a pleasant enough letter from Princess Adora—or perhaps Queen Adora, he still wasn’t quite clear about that. Please accept my deepest condolences about your father, she had written in a neat but unremarkable hand; it was not so very long ago that I lost my own. I am afraid, however, that we will not be able to grant your wish. I must not leave my people at this time, and while I would normally send my brother Hephestion in my stead, he received a superficial wound while out on patrol, which he then aggravated by refusing to rest. He is currently remaining in bed only at the repeated urging of myself, our mother, and our captain of the guard. In closing, she had written simply, May the crown rest lightly on your brow all the days that you wear it, and may those days be long.
Kel knew that she had written it only to be polite, that it was foolish to set too much store by her words, but there was a melancholy in them that reminded him of her lost brother. He was left with the feeling that the crown did not rest lightly on her brow, and never had. Reading the rest of the letter, he’d tried to picture what remained of their family: the mother and the elder sister clucking over the wayward youngest. “Who is the captain of the guard in Eldren Cael?” he’d asked Eirnwin.
Eirnwin had frowned, his eyebrows lifting. “Do you know, I have no idea. It was Ohrun Girt when King Jotun was alive, but I think he was killed trying to find Prince Landon.”
Cadfael, from where he leaned against the windowsill, had snorted. “Probably some hardened graybeard with a half-decent swordarm and a carrying voice. That�
�s the kind they usually like, in Issamira as much as anywhere else.”
He’d kept his word, sticking by Kel’s side in the days leading up to the coronation. There was no way to ascertain whether Elgar was bringing Commander Shinsei along with him or not, so that was yet another wrinkle to worry about. If he was there, Kel had no doubt that Cadfael would try to kill him, no matter the cost to himself or anyone else. But that was his right, and the deal they’d struck; if it did come to pass, Kel would just have to suffer the repercussions then. If Shinsei did not come … well, then Cadfael would leave, and that would be that.
Elgar’s party had reached the edge of the forest by now, and Kel leaned forward against the stone, wondering which one of them was Elgar himself. He couldn’t see much more than the tops of a bunch of heads, though, and none of them seemed especially noteworthy. He’d heard that Elgar wore no crown, not even in his own halls. Apparently the people of Hallarnon had stopped setting any store by such things long ago, and its past several rulers hadn’t bothered or dared to claim the title of king; Elgar’s “Imperator,” of course, was his own invention. Though she didn’t wear a crown either, the opposite was true of Lady Margraine: marquise was the supposed title, but queen was the reality.
Then Lessa was at his elbow, her long hair fluttering in the wind that skirted the edges of the tall towers. “Eirnwin wants you to come downstairs. You have to be ready to greet Elgar and his men when they arrive in the courtyard.”
Kel hummed softly, some vague pitch he could hardly hear himself. “I know.”
“Will you be all right getting down there on your own? It’s a lot of stairs. More than you’re used to.”
He would’ve frowned if anyone else had asked him that, but with Lessa he only smirked. “Stairs are the least of my worries today.”
He hadn’t really thought it would succeed in reassuring her, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. She bit her lip. “We’re inviting the snakes to supper—wasn’t there an old story like that?”
That sounded familiar; Eirnwin had probably told it to them. “I think I’d almost rather have real snakes. Then at least I wouldn’t have to be polite.” He cocked his head at her. “Make sure you stay close to Cadfael, all right? He’s the best of our men; I know he’ll keep you safe if anything happens.”
“If anything happens, his first priority is keeping you safe,” Lessa reminded him.
Kel grimaced. “Let’s hope it doesn’t, then. I’m a bit tired of being protected, and it doesn’t look good in a king.” He touched her hand. “We’ll go together?”
Lessa smiled at him. “Together,” she agreed.
Kel allowed himself one last look over the battlements, and then he propped himself up on one arm, reaching for his crutches. Lessa trusted him enough not to try to help, or to grab on to him as he walked, but she kept pace, staying at his side.
Eirnwin met them in the hall; Cadfael was idling by the door, leaning against the frame and wearing as dour an expression as usual. “There are quite a few of them in the courtyard already, but Elgar hasn’t made himself known yet,” Eirnwin said. “You can wait here until he arrives if you wish; it would not look amiss.”
Kel shrugged, trying to feel as nonchalant as the gesture would indicate. “I have to get out there sooner or later. Might as well be sooner.” He turned to look at his sister. “Lessa, you stay inside with Eirnwin.”
She hesitated. “But—”
Cadfael pushed off the wall, his gaze alert. “Your brother’s right, my lady. Those soldiers filling the courtyard right now are common gawkers and lickspittles; it’s no place for one such as you.” He nodded to Kel. “His Grace and I’ll see to it.”
Kel nodded back, and then once to Eirnwin and Lessa. He adjusted his grip on his crutches. “Here I go,” he said.
He blinked when the doors first swung open, but more out of habit than anything else; the glare wasn’t unduly harsh. There must’ve already been thirty or forty unknown soldiers in the courtyard, ambling awkwardly among Kel’s own men. They all wore the same blue-black uniforms, with nary a bit of silver or gold to be seen. They caught sight of him in twos and threes; some bent their heads respectfully, and some merely stared. Several started sniggering to one another, but their whispers grew muted when Cadfael glared at them.
Kel could not have said how he knew the next man to pass through the gate was Elgar; he wore no ostentatious garb or air of command. He had no uniform, true, although his clothes were the same blue-black as his soldiers’. The color matched well with his hair, itself a deep black, except for a few strands of gray above his ears. His beard was small and neat, his eyes narrow and colorless, his body slim and unremarkable. Most of his soldiers hadn’t even seen him yet; they were too busy looking at Kel. And yet Kel did not need to see them bow to this man to understand who he was.
At Elgar’s side rode the only person not wearing that mournful color; his robes were red, and they picked out the hints of red in his long brown hair. He was younger than Elgar, though he looked a bit worse for wear. That couldn’t be Shinsei, could it? He carried no weapon, and he certainly didn’t look like a warrior. All the same, Kel felt Cadfael tense beside him; perhaps he was wondering the same thing.
As they watched, Elgar and his companion dismounted, handing their horses off to the waiting attendants. His soldiers had begun to notice him by now, and their deep bows would have eliminated the last of Kel’s uncertainty, had he had any left. Elgar walked right up to him, his steps measured and calm; it felt like it took an eternity for him to get within speaking distance. Then he inclined his head, holding out one thin, pale hand to Kel.
“Your Grace,” he said. “I thank you for extending your hospitality to so many at such a momentous time.”
He did not smile, so Kel felt no need to smile back. He leaned on one crutch, freeing the opposite hand so he could shake Elgar’s. The imperator’s hand was dry, smooth, not overly cold. It felt just like anyone else’s. “Imperator Elgar. The thanks must be all on our part, I’m afraid. We have asked you to come rather a long way.”
Elgar looked about him, blinking up at the towers. “I had wanted to see Mist’s Edge with my own eyes,” he said quietly. “Now it seems I have been given the chance.”
Was he serious? If Elgar had truly wanted to see the castle, he’d had plenty of time to do so before he ordered it abandoned. Kel decided not to press the issue further. “We had thought to house you in the northwest tower, if such would be acceptable.”
Elgar pursed his lips, examining the tower Kel had indicated. “My men can all be contained in such a space?”
“The tower connects to the rest of the castle at its east and south ends; you may place some of your men along those corridors, if you please, or else leave them to guard the ramparts.”
Elgar pressed one finger to his chin. “As you wish.” He turned suddenly, as if he’d only just become aware of the man beside him. “Allow me to present Lord Varalen Oswhent, my strategist and advisor.”
The man in the red robes was palpably nervous, but that didn’t keep him from rolling his eyes slightly at the title. Kel nodded to him. “My lord.” Not Shinsei, then, but Kel couldn’t honestly claim to be surprised; the man looked an academic in every particular.
Lord Oswhent bowed. “Your Grace. Quite a … er, pleasure.”
“My sister waits to receive us inside,” Kel said. “If you would follow me?”
Elgar had been looking at the towers again, but when Kel spoke, he nodded vaguely and fell into step with him. His legs were much longer, but he kept to Kel’s pace as easily as Lessa ever had; how strange, to receive such courtesy from an enemy. “Has Lady Margraine arrived yet?” he muttered as they walked.
Kel shook his head. “My men sent word ahead once they’d reached Second Hearth; she should arrive this evening if they meet with no trouble on the road.”
Elgar nodded, accepting that, and before he could say more, they were over the threshold. Kel moved to Lessa’s sid
e, and she stepped forward with a curtsey. “My sister, Alessa,” Kel told Elgar, “and Eirnwin, my advisor, who will be the one to crown me on the morrow.”
Elgar bowed his head to them both, but his eyes lingered on Alessa for a few moments—not in anything remotely resembling lust, but almost in bemusement, as if he couldn’t understand why she was there. “I would prefer an hour or two in my chambers, if it please Your Grace,” he said, lifting his eyes again, this time to the rafters. Was there a reason his gaze always seemed drawn upward? “Our journey was somewhat more tiring than I had anticipated.”
Kel could not bow, but he inclined his upper body as best he could. “Of course. I’ll have the servants show you to your rooms. Shall I call you to dinner, or would you prefer us to … bring you something?”
The expression on Elgar’s face could almost have been called a smile. “Oh, I certainly wouldn’t want to miss dinner. I hope you won’t take it amiss if I don’t eat much, however; I am not in the habit of it.”
Well, that was a … somewhat odd thing to say, but Kel was starting to think Elgar was a somewhat odd man. Perhaps that was only to be expected.
Varalen Oswhent, however, seemed surpassingly normal; he scurried dutifully along after Elgar, his stride quickly easing as he came back into step with him. Kel waited to assert himself until after they had gone, calling Lessa, Eirnwin, and Cadfael to his own chambers.
Once they were alone, Eirnwin murmured, “To think we managed that with so little trouble! Elgar is supposed to be such a nervous man, and yet…”
“I know,” Kel said. “If anyone looked nervous, it was that Lord Oswhent.”
Cadfael cleared his throat. “Well, it doesn’t look like he brought Shinsei, anyway.”
Kel started. He’d almost forgotten about that. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I truly did think he would be coming.”
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