“When I evicted the priests and forbade Deacon Tomas from preaching about what happened in Dahlgren, the people revolted. They set shops in Gentry Square on fire. I could see the flames from my window, for Maribor’s sake. The whole city could have burned. They were calling for my head—people right in front of the castle burning stuffed images of me and shouting, ‘Death to the godless king!’ Can you imagine that? Just a few years ago they were calling me a hero. People toasted to my health in every tavern, but now … well, it’s amazing how fast they can turn on you. I had to use the army to restore order.” Alric reached up and pulled his crown off, turning the golden circlet over in his hands.
“I was in Alburn at the court of King Armand when I heard about that,” Arista said, shaking her head.
Alric laid the crown on the arm of the throne, closed his eyes, and softly banged his head against the back of the chair. “What are we going to do, Arista? The Imperialists will return. As soon as they deal with Gaunt’s rabble, the army will come back.” His eyes opened and his hand drifted absently toward his throat. “I suppose they’ll hang me, won’t they? Or do they use the axe on kings?” His tone was one of quiet acceptance, which surprised her.
The carefree boy she had once known was vanishing before her eyes. Even if the New Empire failed and Melengar stood strong, Alric would never be the same. In many ways, their uncle had managed to kill him after all.
Alric looked at the crown sitting on the chair’s arm. “I wonder what Father would do.”
“He never had anything like this to deal with. Not since Tolin defeated Lothomad at Drondil Fields has any monarch of Melengar faced invasion.”
“Lucky me.”
“Lucky us.”
Alric nodded. “At least we’ve got some time now. That’s something. What do you think of Pickering’s idea to send the Ellis Far down the coast to Tur Del Fur and contact the Nationalist leader—this Gaunt fellow?”
“Honestly, I think establishing an alliance with Gaunt is our only hope. Isolated, we don’t stand a chance against the empire,” Arista agreed.
“But the Nationalists? Are they any better than the Imps? They’re as opposed to monarchies as much as the empire. They don’t want to be ruled at all.”
“Alone and surrounded by enemies is not the time to be choosy about your friends.”
“We aren’t completely alone,” Alric said, correcting her. “Marquis Lanaklin joined us.”
“A lot of good that does. The empire took his holdings. He’s nothing more than a refugee now. He only came here because he has no place else to go. If we get more help like that, we’ll go broke just feeding them. Our only chance is to contact Degan Gaunt and form an alliance. If Delgos joins with us, that may be enough to persuade Trent to side in our favor. If that happens, we could deal a mortal blow to this new Nyphron Empire.”
“Do you think Gaunt will agree?”
“Don’t know why not,” Arista said. “It’s to our mutual benefit. I’m certain I can talk him into it, and I must say I’m looking forward to the trip. A rolling ocean is a welcome change from that carriage. While I’m away, have someone work on it, or better yet order a new one. And put extra padding—”
“You aren’t going,” Alric told her as he put his crown back on.
“What’s that?”
“I’m sending Linroy to meet with Gaunt.”
“But I’m the ambassador and a member of the royal family. He can’t negotiate a treaty or an alliance with—”
“Of course he can. Linroy is an experienced negotiator and statesman.”
“He’s the royal financier. That doesn’t qualify him as a statesman.”
“He’s handled dozens of trade agreements,” Alric interjected.
“The man’s a bookkeeper!” she shouted, rising to her feet.
“It may come as a surprise to you, but other people are capable of doing things too.”
“But why?”
“Like you said, you’re a member of the royal family.” Alric looked away and his fingers reached up to stroke his beard. “Do you have any idea what kind of position it would put me in if you were captured? We’re at war. I can’t risk you being held for ransom.”
She stared at him. “You’re lying. This isn’t about ransom. You think I can’t handle the responsibility.”
“Arista, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have—”
“Shouldn’t have what? Made your witch-sister ambassador?”
“Don’t be that way.”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, what way would you like me to be? How should I react to being told I’m worthless and an embarrassment and that I should go sit in my room and—”
“I didn’t say any of that. Stop putting words in my mouth!”
“It’s what you’re thinking—it’s what all of you think.”
“Have you become clairvoyant now too?”
“Do you deny it?”
“Damn it, Arista, you were gone six months!” He struck the arm of the throne with his fist. The dull thud sounded loudly off the walls like a bass drum. “Six months, and not a single alliance. You barely got a maybe. That’s a pretty poor showing. This meeting with Gaunt is too important. It could be our last chance.”
She stood up. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I apologize for being such an utter failure. May I please have your royal permission to be excused?”
“Arista, don’t.”
“Please, Your Majesty, my frail feminine constitution can’t handle such a heated debate. I feel faint. Perhaps if I retire to my room, I could brew a potion to make myself feel better. While I’m at it, perhaps I should enchant a broom to fly around the castle for fresh air.”
She pivoted on her heel and marched out, slamming the great door behind her with a resounding boom!
She stood with her back against the door, waiting, wondering if Alric would chase after her.
Will he apologize and take back what he said and agree to let me go?
She listened for the sound of his heels on the parquet.
Silence.
She wished she did know magic, because then no one could stop her from meeting with Gaunt. Alric was right: this was their last chance. And she was not about to leave the fate of Melengar to Dillnard Linroy, statesman extraordinaire. Besides, she had failed and that made it her responsibility to correct the situation.
She looked up to see Tim—or Tommy—leaning against the near wall, biting his fingernails. He glanced up at her and smiled. “I hope you’re planning on heading to the kitchens. I’m starved—practically eating my fingers here.” He chuckled.
She pushed away from the door and quickly strode down the corridor. She almost did not see Mauvin Pickering sitting on the broad sill of the courtyard-facing window. Feet up, arms folded, back against the frame, he crouched in a shaft of sunlight like a cat. He still wore the black clothes of mourning.
“Troubles with His Majesty?” he asked.
“He’s being an ass.”
“What did he do this time?”
“Replaced me with that sniveling little wretch Linroy. He’s sending him on the Ellis Far in my place to contact Gaunt.”
“Dillnard Linroy isn’t a bad guy. He’s—”
“Listen, I really don’t want to hear how wonderful Linroy is at the moment. I’m right in the middle of hating him.”
“Sorry.”
She glanced at his side and he immediately turned his attention back to the window.
“Still not wearing it?” she asked.
“It doesn’t go with my ensemble. The silver hilt clashes with black.”
“It’s been over a year since Fanen died.”
He turned back sharply. “Since he was killed by Luis Guy, you mean.”
Arista took a breath. She was not used to the new Mauvin. “Aren’t you supposed to be Alric’s bodyguard now? Isn’t that hard to do without a sword?”
“Hasn’t been a problem so far. You see, I have this plan. I sit here and watch the duck
s in the courtyard. Well, I suppose it’s not really so much a plan as a strategy, or maybe it’s more of a scheme. Anyway, this is the one place my father never thinks to look, so I can sit here all day and watch those ducks walking back and forth. There were six of them last year. Did you know that? Only five now. I can’t figure out what happened to the other one. I keep looking for him, but I don’t think he’s coming back.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she told him gently.
Mauvin reached up and traced the lead edges of the window with his fingertips. “Yeah, it was.”
She put her hand on his shoulder and gave a soft squeeze. She did not know what else to do. First her mother, then her father and Fanen, and finally Hilfred—they were all gone. Mauvin was slipping away as well. The boy who loved his sword more than Wintertide presents, sweet chocolate cake, or swimming on a hot day refused to touch it anymore. The eldest son of Count Pickering, who had once challenged the sun to a duel because it had rained on the day of a hunt, spent his days watching ducks.
“Doesn’t matter,” Mauvin remarked. “The world is coming to an end, anyway.” He looked up at her. “You just said Alric is sending that bastard Linroy on the Ellis Far—he’ll kill us all.”
As hard as she tried, she could not help laughing. She punched his shoulder, then gave him a peck on the cheek. “That’s the spirit, Mauvin. Keep looking on the bright side.”
She left him and continued down the hall. As she passed the office of the lord chamberlain, the old man hurried out. “Your Highness?” he called, looking relieved. “The royal protector Royce Melborn is still waiting to see if there is something else needed of him. Apparently he and his partner are thinking of taking some time off, unless there is something pressing the king requires. Can I tell him he’s excused?”
“Yes, of course you—No, wait.” She cast a look at her bodyguard. “Tommy, you’re right. I’m hungry. Be a dear and fetch us both a plate of chicken or whatever you can find that’s good in the kitchen, will you? I’ll wait here.”
“Sure, but my name is—”
“Hurry before I change my mind.”
She waited until he was down the corridor, then turned back to the chamberlain. “Where did you say Royce was waiting?”
CHAPTER 4
THE NATURE OF RIGHT
The Rose and Thorn Tavern was mostly empty. Many of its patrons had left Medford, fearful of the coming invasion. Those who remained were the indentured or those simply too poor, feeble, or stubborn to leave. Royce found Hadrian sitting alone in the Diamond Room—his feet up on a spare chair, a pint of ale before him. Two empty mugs sat on the table, one lying on its side while Hadrian stared at it with a melancholy expression.
“Why didn’t you come to the castle?” Royce asked.
“I knew you could handle it.” Hadrian continued to stare at the mug, tilting his head slightly as he did.
“Looks like our break will have to be postponed,” Royce told him while pulling over a chair and sitting down. “Alric has another job. He wants us to make contact with Gaunt and the Nationalists. They’re still working out the details. The princess is going to send a messenger here.”
“Her Highness is back?”
“Got in this morning.”
Royce reached into his vest, pulled out a bag, and set it in front of Hadrian. “Here’s your half. Have you ordered dinner yet?”
“I’m not going,” Hadrian said, rocking the fallen mug with his thumb.
“Not going?”
“I can’t keep doing this.”
Royce rolled his eyes. “Now don’t start that again. If you haven’t noticed, there’s a war going on. This is the best time to be in our business. Everyone needs information. Do you know how much money—”
“That’s just it, Royce. There’s a war on and what am I doing? I’m making a profit off it rather than fighting in it.” Hadrian took another swallow of ale and set the mug back on the table a little too heavily, rattling its brothers. “I’m tired of collecting money for being dishonorable. It’s not how I’m built.”
Royce glanced around. Three men eating a meal looked over briefly and then lost interest.
“They haven’t all been just for money,” Royce pointed out. “Thrace, for example.”
Hadrian displayed a bitter smile. “And look how that turned out. She hired us to save her father. Seen him lately, have you?”
“We were hired to obtain a sword to slay a beast. She got the sword. The beast was slain. We did our job.”
“The man is dead.”
“And Thrace, who was nothing but a poor farm girl, is now empress. If only all our jobs ended so well for our clients.”
“You think so, Royce? You really think Thrace is happy? See, I’m thinking she’d rather have her father than the imperial throne, but maybe that’s just me.” Hadrian took another swallow and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
They sat in silence for a moment. Royce watched his friend staring at a distant point beyond focus.
“So you want to fight in this war, is that it?”
“It would be better than sitting on the sidelines like scavengers feeding off the wounded.”
“Okay, so tell me, for which side will you be fighting?”
“Alric’s a good king.”
“Alric? Alric’s a boy still fighting with the ghost of his father. After his defeat at the Galewyr, his nobles look to Count Pickering instead of him. Pickering has his hands full dealing with Alric’s mistakes, like the riots here in Medford. How long before the count tires of Alric’s incompetence and decides Mauvin would be better suited to the throne?”
“Pickering would never turn on Alric,” Hadrian said.
“No? You’ve seen it happen plenty of times before.”
Hadrian remained silent.
“Oh hell, forget about Pickering and Alric. Melengar is already at war with the empire. Have you forgotten who the empress is? If you fought with Alric and he prevailed, how will you feel the day poor Thrace is hanged in the Royal Square in Aquesta? Would that satisfy your need for an honorable cause?”
Hadrian’s face had turned hard, his jaw clenched stiffly.
“There are no honorable causes. There is no good or evil. Evil is only what we call those who oppose us.”
Royce took out his dagger and drove it into the table, where it stood upright. “Look at the blade. Is it bright or dark?”
Hadrian narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The brilliant surface of Alverstone was dazzling as it reflected the candlelight. “Bright.”
Royce nodded.
“Now move your head over here and look from my perspective.”
Hadrian leaned over, putting his head on the opposite side of the blade, where the shadow made it black as chimney soot.
“It’s the same dagger,” Royce explained, “but from where you sat it was light while I saw it as dark. So who is right?”
“Neither of us,” Hadrian said.
“No,” Royce said. “That’s the mistake people always make, and they make it because they can’t grasp the truth.”
“Which is?”
“That we’re both right. One truth doesn’t refute another. Truth doesn’t lie in the object, but in how we see it.”
Hadrian looked at the dagger, then back at Royce.
“There are times when you are brilliant, Royce, and then there are times when I haven’t a clue as to what you’re babbling about.”
Royce’s expression turned to one of frustration as he pulled his dagger from the table and sat back down. “In the twelve years we’ve been together, I’ve never once asked you to do anything I wouldn’t do, or didn’t do with you. I’ve never lied or misled you. I’ve never abandoned or betrayed you. Name a single noble you even suspect you could say the same about twelve years from now.”
“Can I get another round here?” Hadrian shouted.
Royce sighed. “So you’re just going to sit here and drink?”
“That’s my plan at present. I�
��m making it up as I go.”
Royce stared at his friend a moment longer, then finally stood up. “I’m going to Gwen’s.”
“Listen.” Hadrian stopped him. “I’m sorry about this. I guess I can’t explain it. I don’t have any metaphors with daggers I can use to express how I feel. I just know I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing anymore. I’ve tried to find meaning in it. I’ve tried to pretend we achieved some greater good, but in the end, I have to be honest with myself. I’m not a thief, and I’m not a spy. So I know what I’m not. I just wish I knew what I am. That probably doesn’t make much sense to you, does it?”
“Do me a favor at least.” Royce purposely ignored the question, noticing how the little silver chain Hadrian wore peeked out from under his collar. “Since you’re going to be here anyway, keep an eye out for the messenger from the castle while I’m at Gwen’s. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
Hadrian nodded.
“Give Gwen my love, will ya?”
“Sure,” Royce said, heading for the door and feeling that miserable sensation creeping in, the dull weight. He paused and looked back.
It won’t help to tell him. It will just make matters worse.
It had been only a day and a half but Royce found himself desperate to see Gwen. While Medford House was always open, it did not do much business until after dark. During the day, Gwen encouraged the girls to use their free time learning how to sew or spin, skills they could use to make a bit of coin in their old age.
All the girls at the brothel, better known as the House, knew and liked Royce. When he came in, they smiled or waved, but no one said a word. They knew he enjoyed surprising Gwen. That night they pointed toward the parlor, where she was concentrating on a pile of parchments, a quill pen in hand and her register open. She immediately abandoned it all when he walked through the door. She sprang from her chair and ran to him with a smile so broad her face could hardly contain it and an embrace so tight he could barely breathe.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered, pulling back and looking into his eyes.
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