Weight of the Crown

by A. C. Cobble

  “I don’t think many ladies are climbing mountains,” suggested Ben.

  “You’ve never worn a dress?” wondered Serrot. “Not even for spring dances and the like?”

  “We didn’t have spring dances,” replied Prem.

  “What do the young folks do for fun in your village?” inquired Serrot.

  Prem blinked at him. “There weren’t any young folk in my village.”

  Serrot frowned.

  Ben interrupted them. “You two can compare life stories later. We need to be focused. Amelie is the one claiming her rights, but we’re here to support her. We watch her back, study the highborn she’s talking to, and be ready for anything.”

  Serrot scratched his head, and Prem tapped the knives hanging from her belt. On top of the elegant silk dress that she was wearing, they looked ridiculous, but Ben wasn’t about to tell her to leave them behind. Besides, he looked just as out of place with the worn longsword he had on his hip.

  “Ready?” asked Tutor Garliage, looking to Amelie. “I just received word Lord Dronson and the others are in the council chamber. Confronting them there is a risk, but if we wait, we may lose our chance.”

  “I know it’s a risk, Garliage, but it is one that we must take.”

  “Much of what I taught you about dramatic changes in power involved successful attempts,” warned Garliage. “That doesn’t mean there were no unsuccessful ones. There were far more, in fact. The difference is that the heads of those individuals decorated pikes outside of the gates instead of the pages of my history books. You are the rightful heir, but many highborn believe you are dead. They won’t welcome your return.”

  “You think there will be resistance?”

  The former tutor shrugged uncomfortably. “Lord Dronson and the other council members are in the chamber. So is Lady Inslie.”

  Amelie’s painted lips pursed together. “She was always ambitious.”

  “If you were dead, she has a legitimate claim to Issen,” reminded Garliage.

  “Only if I was dead,” replied Amelie crisply. “Is it possible Lord Dronson is in league with her? If I was dead, stripping my mother’s title is more likely to help Lady Inslie and House Tand than anyone else.”

  “House Tand?” asked Rhys.

  “You know the name?” questioned Amelie

  Rhys offered her a grim nod.

  “It is possible they are allied, but I cannot say for certain,” responded Garliage.

  “I still do not understand what is happening,” muttered Prem.

  “My family has ruled Issen for centuries,” explained Amelie. “Leadership passes by bloodline. The eldest, direct descendent inherits the throne. If there isn’t one, then the closest relative. Over time, there are marriages, cousins, and other offshoots of the family. At least half of the noble houses in Issen share some of my family’s blood. It makes things complicated when there is not a clear line of succession.”

  “And they think you’re dead,” said Prem.

  Amelie nodded.

  “Isn’t there a cousin or something?” questioned Ben. “In the stories, there is always an evil cousin.”

  “There are some cousins,” acknowledged Amelie. “My father had several siblings, and they had several children each. I don’t believe any of them are evil, though. Lady Inslie is one of my cousins, and while she is not evil, she is highly ambitious. If she and her family see a path to the throne, they will take it.”

  Ben frowned. “Does she have an uncle? Evil uncles are pretty common, too.”

  Amelie rolled her eyes while Garliage muttered, “Vikram Tand.”

  “There is an uncle!” exclaimed Ben. “I knew it.”

  “I do not know what’s been spoken behind closed doors,” said Garliage, turning to Amelie and changing the subject, “and behind closed doors is where these things are always settled. So far, no one has publicly declared a claim to rule Issen, but they are in the council chambers…”

  “They’re probably deciding it right now,” said Amelie.

  “That’s likely,” agreed Garliage. “Something spurred Dronson to act, and now that he has, there is no reason to wait.”

  “The Veil,” explained Rhys. “Her fingers are all over this.”

  Garliage’s eyebrows rose in shock.

  “I have a feeling we’ll be dealing with that woman’s machinations for a long time,” muttered Amelie. She reached up to rub her face in frustration, but Ben caught her wrist.

  “You’ve got face paint on. And when it comes to the Veil, we defeated her. We can defeat whatever snares she’s set,” declared Ben. He paused before asking, “When you show up alive, what will happen?”

  “Hopefully, they recognize her claim and all is settled peacefully,” answered Garliage. “Lady Inslie and her family represent a significant threat, though. Ever since Lord Dronson acted, they’ve been throwing parties, offering trade alliances, and engaging in new business dealings which involve generous terms for their partners. While they haven’t made a public claim, they’re laying the groundwork for one.”

  “Have the assassinations begun?” wondered Rhys. “The palace did not seem secure enough if blood has already been spilled.”

  “So far,” replied Garliage, “matters have been conducted civilly. When Amelie makes herself known, House Tand and many others will find they have wasted enormous resources to take a position which is no longer available. It’s not hard to imagine them deciding one more payment could reopen the succession discussion.”

  “Blades will be gathering in the city, even if they have not been given targets yet.”

  “The history of how rule changes hands is not always pretty,” agreed Garliage.

  “We will proceed,” stated Amelie, drawing to her full height. “There will be risks, but without Issen, we have no leverage with Saala and Jason. Without making myself known, we cannot gain Issen.”

  “We’ll be right behind you,” assured Ben.

  Amelie drew a deep breath then turned and swung open the door. She appeared confident even if she didn’t feel it.

  Ben walked quickly after her, taking her right side while Rhys took the left. In their borrowed clothing, they didn’t look exactly like guards who would be flanking the Lady of Issen, but they put on a better show than they did when they first arrived. Behind them, Prem, Serrot, and the scholar Garliage completed the entourage.

  Ben looked over his shoulder at Prem, and she offered him an assured smile. They were counting on the former guardian to alert them to any unseen attacks. No one would recognize her, which meant she would be ignored. She would be free to monitor the crowds for danger.

  As they strode down the hall, Ben watched the faces of those they passed. At first, they saw palace staff and professionals who would be employed by the highborn. Scholars, physics, and other men and women of knowledge lived in the quarters near Garliage. Several of them stopped the moment they saw Amelie, shock in their eyes. Some sketched hurried bows, and others looked to Garliage where they saw the confirmation in his face.

  Amelie held her chin up, her eyes straight ahead, and kept walking at an even pace, ignoring the occasional gasp of surprise or breathless question.

  Before long, a train of people had begun to follow them. These were not highborn, but they’d served in the palace long enough to recognize Amelie. They knew what her return meant.

  At the tall, arched opening that separated the west wing from the other sections of the palace, they saw the first guards. Four men, draped in Issen’s pale blue, turned at the sound of the marching feet. Ben guessed there were fifty in the train behind them now, and the guards must have been unused to such a crowd in the halls. They glanced suspiciously down the marble-floored corridor, hands resting on weapons.

  “What’s going on?” barked one of the men, stepping into the center of the hall, trusting he and his fellows were sufficient to intimidate a group of scholars.

  Amelie kept her eyes ahead and kept walking at a steady pace.

>   Rhys hurried in front of her. He spat out, “Acknowledge the lady!”

  “What are you—”

  The rogue swung a fist and connected with the guard’s skull, snapping his head to the side and sending him crashing to the floor in a clatter of steel on marble.

  The others guards moved to draw weapons, but Amelie stopped. She demanded, “Who leads this squad?”

  The men blinked back at her. All of them were young, and Ben suspected they’d just barely graduated from working the patrols at night. It was quite possible they’d never seen Amelie up close before she left for the Sanctuary. Finally, one of the guards pointed to the unconscious man on the floor.

  “Instruct your captain to discipline this man until he learns to show proper respect to his liege,” commanded Amelie. “Now, you three will accompany me to the council chamber and ensure there are no other incidents which require such brutish examples to be made. I’ve been away for a year and a half, and it is unfortunate to see the guard has lost the proper respect for leadership.”

  The men stared back at her, open-mouthed.

  “Protocol is to offer a short bow to Lady Amelie,” instructed Rhys.

  “Lady…” muttered one of the guards.

  “She’s dead!” exclaimed another.

  Rhys favored them with a hard look and cracked his knuckles menacingly. The young guards eyed the crowd of scholars behind Amelie then performed perfunctory bows and spun, marching quickly down the hall. Rhys winked at Ben and Amelie before starting after the guards. Amelie and the scholars followed, now appearing as if they had an official escort.

  Not all of the scholars and palace staff had decided to follow them, though, and quickly, they started to see evidence that some must have taken off running. People began to appear in the hallways ahead of them, watching the group pass by and talking frantically to each other behind their hands. At first, it was staff, off-duty guardsmen, and others, but the closer to their destination they got, it looked as though minor highborn were joining the throngs.

  Amelie kept her eyes forward through all of it, but Ben studied the crowds and grew nervous when he saw more armed arms men lining the way. None of the soldiers moved to stop them, but they had been sent by someone. They were there for a reason.

  “They’re not joining us,” muttered Rhys, his voice pitched low so only Ben and Amelie could hear it. “That’s a bad sign.”

  “A more forceful reminder of who I am may be in order,” responded Amelie. “Prepare yourselves.”

  Ben looked down the hall and saw towering bronze doors covered in intricate designs of flowering trees and plants. It must have taken the artisans years to finish such a huge design. Then, his gaze fell to the men in front of the doors.

  Two dozen of them, wearing Issen’s pale blue, joined by another score who wore a variety of other tabards. Guards for the highborn on the council. They were armed and armored, and none of them were moving to throw open the doors to the council chamber.

  The watchers in the hall around them grew sparse, and some of the scholars sounded like they were peeling off, choosing a safer place to learn what would happen.

  “Hold there,” instructed one of the guardsmen. He wore Issen’s place blue. Two tassels on his shoulder denoted his rank.

  “Captain Whan,” said Amelie, stopping a dozen paces short of him. “It is good to see you again.”

  The man winced.

  “What is the problem, captain?”

  “The council of lords is meeting, m’la…” the man trailed off and then gathered himself and began again. “The council is meeting, and they have asked for no interruptions.”

  “No interruptions, even from me?”

  “From anyone,” replied the captain. He looked pained as he added, “I am sorry, m’lady.”

  “Captain Whan,” responded Amelie, “my family has been ruling this city and this castle for hundreds of years. You served under my father for, what, at least ten of those years? You know me. You know I am the rightful heir to Issen. Who is able to command you to exclude me from this room?”

  The captain swallowed nervously, and for a moment, Ben felt a moment of sympathy for him. He was just following orders.

  “I was told the instructions came from Lord Dronson, m’lady,” the captain paused, glanced at the men to his sides, and continued, “The council of lords is meeting with Lady Inslie. She’s… I am loyal to your family, m’lady, but I have my own to look after.”

  Amelie uttered a curse, and the guard’s eyes widened in shock. Ben, despite the tension of the situation, couldn’t stop a grin. Magic wasn’t the only thing the previously sheltered lady had learned during her time in the world. Magic was what she decided to show them, though.

  “Captain, I apologize to you and any of your men who are injured, but I must go inside.”

  “I don’t think so!” exclaimed one of the other guards.

  Several in red tabards stepped forward then were flung back as a howling gale roared to life in the dozen paces of space between Ben’s party and the men. They were flung like leaves in a storm and crashed hard against the wall and the huge copper doors. Startled gasps and screams erupted from behind them. In front of them, it was all pained groans and mumbled confusion. Amelie flung her hand again, and the two huge doors burst open.

  On the other side, a giant, circular table was surrounded by well-dressed men and women. They stood, mouths open, fingers pointed, several of them shouting for guards. A handful of armed men stepped into view, but they paused when they saw how many of their fellows lying stunned on the floor outside.

  Amelie took advantage of the confusion and strode purposefully into the room, Ben and his friends tight on her heels. The three young guards that had been accompanying them came as well, fear evident on their faces as they stepped around their fallen brethren.

  “Lord Dronson,” said Amelie, her voice crackling with tension. “So good to see you sitting here in my family’s council chamber. Sorry about the chaos, but it seems some of my own guards had orders to not let me enter. I choose to come in anyway.”

  “Amelie,” gasped a man from the far side of the table. He wore a heavy doublet, which Ben thought might be crimson underneath the mounds of gold brocade. Tight black britches encased his legs, and his silver hair was swept straight back from his head. Untamed, bushy eyebrows and a matching goatee gave his face a comically despotic mien. He looked like a stage actor who played the evil uncle.

  Ben crossed his arms in satisfaction.

  “It’s Lady Amelie,” she corrected the man.

  “I-I thought you were dead,” he mumbled.

  “I am not.”

  “How do we know this is Amelie at all?” snapped a voice from the other side of the table. A tall, pretty young woman was standing in front of a high-backed chair. She was flanked by two older gentlemen who had the grace to look embarrassed at her question.

  “Lady Inslie,” chided Amelie, “everyone in this room knows that tact will not work. Do you have anything better?”

  “Guards!” cried the tall girl.

  Ben had to admire her spunk.

  Behind them, he heard sounds of rustling steel, but he knew it would be several moments before the men gathered themselves enough to react to the girl’s commands. Whether they would have the inclination to listen to her remained to be seen. The men inside of the room were all wearing Issen’s colors, and they looked to Lord Dronson for instructions, ignoring the fuming Lady Inslie.

  “Do you presume to command my men, Dronson?” asked Amelie, letting her voice get quiet and dangerous.

  “They’re Issen’s men,” stammered the lord. “The council of lords has been convened to determine the legal line of succession…”

  “Oh, good,” remarked Amelie, suddenly brightening. “This should be quick because, as the only child, I cannot imagine anyone disputing I am the legal heir of my father and mother. What do we do, Dronson, have a quick vote?”

  “I, ah, your mother was
stripped of her title when she became Lord Jason’s queen. It… She lost any claim to the throne, then.” Dronson shifted uncomfortably, glancing around the room in search of support.

  “And as her heir, that would pass to me, correct?” asked Amelie, staring hard at the lord.

  “It-It—”

  “Yes,” called Garliage from behind Amelie. “As a matter of law, it is clear that should an individual parent lose a title or perish, the eldest child shall inherit. It is fundamental to our laws of succession, and it is by the same logic each person in this room holds their own titles.”

  A few muffled coughs answered him, and Ben saw several of the highborn men and women stirring in consternation. Ben could see it in their eyes. If they denied Amelie’s claim, then what were the chances of an event in their family history which might cause them to lose their own title?

  Lord Dronson shot a look at Lady Inslie and the men beside her, clearly beseeching them for assistance. The lady herself was growing red-faced and enraged, but it was a man, who Ben took for her father, that finally spoke. “Selene’s title in Issen was removed because she became Queen of the Coalition. As Jason is childless, and you are Selene’s heir, you stand to inherit her title in Irrefort. By the same logic that she can no longer hold the title of Lady of Issen, you are also disqualified.”

  The group of highborn shifted again, nervous eyes glancing between Lord Dronson and the scholar Garliage.

  “I hearby renounce any claim to Irrefort,” interjected Amelie. “I do not have a title to that city, and with no claim to one, there is no conflict in Issen.”

  “If Lady Amelie renounces her claim to Irrefort, then I see no reason she should not inherit here,” declared Garliage.

  The man beside Lady Inslie glared at the scholar, but he had no response.

  Lord Dronson squirmed in his heavy doublet, tugging on the rich fabric like he wished it was armor. “Given this new information, perhaps we should—”

  “The entire council of lords is here, is it not? Certainly a quorum,” said Amelie, glancing around the table. “You all know me. We have Garliage and the other scholars here if someone has a question of law. What else is it you plan to do with additional time, Lord Dronson? The Veil is no longer interested in the outcome of your charade. Have you heard she is dead?”