Who had loosed those arrows in the first place? How had this assassination attempt proved so successful?
Laren pushed back the rising tide of tears. All the dire consequences for the realm she could think of did not diminish the loss of one who was so dear to her.
SCHEMES
They were met by a phalanx of Weapons that roiled down the street in a wrathful tide of black, carrying along Master Destarion and an assistant with them. When Destarion reached the wagon, he ordered Donal out so he and his assistant could have room to work. Ben still lay unconscious in the bed of the wagon and Destarion shook his head.
He put his ear to Zachary’s chest and peeled back his eyelids. He barked orders at his assistant who tore into his kit.
“Move!” he bellowed at Fastion, and they were off again.
A little hope surged in Laren. If Destarion was so urgent, could it mean there was still some life left in Zachary?
By the time they reached the castle, Robin was exhausted, but Laren’s Riders were there to take him from her and care for him.
“The king?” Connly asked.
“I don’t know.”
Menders bearing stretchers rushed out of the castle. Zachary was carried away, and then Ben. A blanket was laid over Lord Coutre in the wagon. Lady Coutre and Estora’s sisters ran out the castle door wailing. Laren paused on the top landing, gazing back toward the gates of the castle wall. The rest of the king’s party should be coming up behind them—she hadn’t even given a thought to their safety. Was Lady Estora all right?
She would know in time, but for now her thoughts centered on Zachary.
He was taken to his apartments and she and several others waited in the main parlor as menders traveled back and forth to his bedchamber. Colin and General Harborough stood off by themselves, heads bowed in intense discussion. Weapons turned the walls black with their presence.
While they waited, word arrived that Lady Estora and the rest of the party had returned unharmed. That was some good news, at least. Soon other reports came in that it had been a single assassin, apparently with his own warped agenda, who, after loosing his arrows into Zachary and Lord Coutre, took his own life with a draught of poison.
“Coward,” General Harborough said when he heard. “Coward of the worst sort.” The parlor had become crowded with persons who thought themselves important enough to hear the verdict on Zachary firsthand. Weapons kept them away from the private sections of the apartments. Aides came and went.
Connly reported to her that Ben was still unconscious and ensconced in the mending wing.
“It is the opinion of the other menders he’d spent too much of himself fixing Sperren’s hip,” Connly said. “Trying to mend the king put him over the edge.”
Laren nodded. “Just what I thought.”
“They will keep watch on him,” he assured her.
Speculation and rumor about an heir drifted through the crowd, the repercussions of the king dying, all the things Laren had thought but could not voice herself. It hurt to hear them speak of Zachary as if he were already gone, a piece of history discarded. Perhaps he was, and she feared they would never have so fine a king again.
The hours passed and servants brought wine and food to those who had congregated. A death watch it was, though some conversed and laughed in the corners as though attending a party. Others, like Laren, paced with worry clenching their guts.
The door to Zachary’s private quarters cracked open. One of Destarion’s assistants poked his head out and spoke to Fastion. Fastion nodded curtly, then made his way through the crowd to where Laren stood.
“Captain, would you come with me?”
Laren trembled. Were they taking her to see Zachary? Would it be as witness to his life, or his death? Colin was pulled in as well and they were led down a long corridor to Zachary’s dressing room. Destarion emerged from the bedchamber and closed the door quietly behind him, his expression grim and exhausted.
“I have ordered the death surgeons to ready the preparation room,” Colin said. “Have you a verdict for us?”
“A verdict, no,” Destarion said. “The next couple of days will be critical. He’s held on this long because of his own strength and Ben Simeon’s application of his true healing ability. It’s a messy wound—the arrowhead was barbed. It did damage internally, but Ben’s work repaired a pierced lung and began healing the tissue around it.”
“Then there’s a chance he’ll make it?” Laren asked, hope surging.
Destarion remained grave. “The wound is still very serious. It appears the arrowhead was tainted with poison, no doubt the same the assassin used to kill himself. Whether or not my menders can fashion an antidote remains to be seen.”
“I’ve sent some Weapons to question the herbalist who sold it,” Colin said. “If there is an antidote, it will be found.”
“I have concocted a draught that may help counteract the poison,” Destarion said, “but it’s already in his blood. It’s up to him to fight it.”
Exhausted by it all, Laren sagged into the nearest chair. He still lived, he still had a chance, and that was something.
“What of Ben Simeon?” Colin asked. “Can he do no more to help?”
“It depends on when he recovers,” Destarion replied. “My menders tell me the lad poured a great deal of himself into Sperren’s healing this morning, and now the king. More than we’ve seen him do before. Even when he wakes up, it may take yet more time for his ability to recover.”
Colin turned his gaze on Laren. “Do you have any idea of how long?”
Laren shook her head. “We haven’t had a true healer in my lifetime until Ben, and I’ve no documentation on this sort of thing. Any records have not survived the years.”
She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but it was because the realm was phobic of magic that its existence had to remain hidden, the history of the Riders had been suppressed, and now that loss of knowledge endangered the king’s chances for survival.
“May I ... may I see Zachary?” Laren asked.
Destarion nodded. “Be brief. He is not awake, but I often think the presence and words of friends can sometimes reach the unconscious mind and be of great comfort.”
He led Laren and Colin through the door and into Zachary’s chamber. She was struck by the light. She’d expected darkness, a somber aspect to the room, but Destarion had left the heavy drapes open to the balcony outside, and afternoon sunlight fell softly into the room and across the still figure lying on the bed.
Laren strode to the bedside and sank into the chair there vacated by one of Destarion’s menders. Colin remained at the foot of the bed with Destarion. There was another Weapon on guard in a dim corner.
Blankets were drawn up to Zachary’s chest where bandages bulged. The freshness of herbs in the poultice over the wound, and others steeping in a bowl of water on the bedside table, spread aromatically through the room.
Zachary’s expression was placid and unfettered by the concerns of his life and his kingdom, and she saw the young boy she remembered. A young boy at play with his dogs, or chasing around with other castle children. She saw the studious young man who spent hours in the library poring over books. The strength was in his face, too, of the man, the warrior king. As Destarion said, he would need all that strength to survive the damage done by the arrow, and perhaps more.
She took his limp hand in her own and it was warm. Too warm? “I am here, Moonling,” she said, calling on the nickname she used for him when he was little and tagging after her around castle grounds. “I’m here, and so is Colin. We’ll take care of everything.”
She rambled on in a similar vein, trying to keep her voice calm and light, reassuring. She half heard Destarion and Colin whispering together, but she did not let it distract her, not even when the two stepped out.
“You’ve got to hold on,” Laren said more firmly.
The king’s eyes fluttered open and she gasped.
“Laren.” Her name barel
y made it past his lips, as though he hadn’t the breath left in his body.
“Yes, I’m here,” she replied, leaning closer.
He swallowed and rested so he could summon the energy to speak. “I did not . . . I did not want her to go.”
“I know.” Laren did not need to ask who.
“Tell her ...” He drifted off leaving the rest unsaid and his eyes closed. He exhaled a long rattling breath as he settled back into unconsciousness.
Laren squeezed his hand knowing how he’d finish the sentence. “I’ll tell her.” If he lived, she would tell Karigan nothing. If he died, she wouldn’t hesitate to tell Karigan everything, because then those feelings would do no harm to the realm. This wasn’t even taking into account whether or not Karigan survived Blackveil.
Laren sighed. Too much death on her mind.
The door opened and Lady Estora appeared still wearing her riding habit, but with a black shawl drawn over her shoulders as a sign of mourning for her father. There was a querulous voice in the anteroom and Estora quickly shut the door to mute it. Laren stood and strode over to her, observing that Estora looked numb, not yet overcome by grief. None of it had sunk in for her yet.
“My father’s body is but cooled and my cousin wants me married now,” Lady Estora said, “while my intended still has a breath in him and is king.”
Of course Spane would. Laren ground her teeth, but instead of speaking her opinion, she took the woman’s hands into her own.
“My lady, I am so very sorry. What a terrible day you have had.”
“It was quite wonderful until . . . until . . .”
Laren thought Estora might crumble then, but the young woman stiffened, maintaining her composure.
“I have come to see Zachary.”
“Of course.” Laren led Estora to his side and helped her settle into the chair. “He awoke briefly and spoke.” She tried to sound hopeful.
“What did he say?”
Laren bit her lip. “Not a lot. My name. Nonsense, really. Destarion suggests speaking to him even if it appears he does not hear you.”
She then withdrew, leaving Estora with her head bowed. When Laren stepped into the anteroom, she found Colin and Spane in heated discussion.
“I want her married immediately,” Spane loudly demanded. “Lord Coutre would want it.”
Laren strode right up to him and jabbed her finger at his chest. “You will take your argument elsewhere. This is not the time or place.”
Spane’s mouth gaped, then he said indignantly, “This is absolutely the time, and I will not be ordered about by some common messenger. Estora must marry before that man in there dies.”
“He’s not even conscious,” Colin replied.
“It matters not. I’ve a moon priest waiting outside and I—”
“Enough.” The command in Laren’s voice was unmistakable and both Colin and Spane stared at her. “That man in there needs peace to heal. You will shut up or I will escort you out of here myself.”
“You will not speak to me in this manner. I do not take orders from you. It’s rather the other way around.”
Laren smiled. “I only take orders from the king. You are not he.”
Before he could open his mouth, she grabbed his wrist, wrenched it behind his back, and pushed him toward the door to the corridor.
“Get her off me!” Spane cried.
No one moved to aid him. The Weapons seemed to look on in approval, and Fastion opened the door to the corridor and said, much to Laren’s relief, “I’ll take it from here.”
Laren closed the door behind them, but could still hear Spane spitting venom all the way. Her actions had not been politic and now she had acquired a powerful enemy, but it was well worth it if she brought Zachary some peace and quiet. It had certainly brought her satisfaction.
Colin touched her arm. “Wish I’d done that myself.”
“He had it coming,” Laren replied. “The man is a snake.” She fantasized about putting her fist in his face.
“Snake or not, he represents the interests of Clan Coutre.”
“More like his own interests,” Laren muttered.
“Regardless, he was Lord Coutre’s confidant and aide, and Lady Estora’s chaperone. He has represented the clan here for several years and he is not without influence.”
“He should not disturb Zachary.”
“I do not dispute that, of course, but all our emotions are rather raw at the moment.” Colin paused, as if gauging whether or not he should continue. Finally he said, “Lord Spane does have a point.”
“What?”
“We don’t know if Zachary named an heir in the Royal Trust, and if he did, we don’t know who. We do know Lady Estora.”
“Zachary is sensible and he’s a scholar of history. I’m sure he named someone and it’s a good choice.”
“I’d expect nothing less of him,” Colin said. “But it will still lead to bickering and infighting, which we can ill afford right now.”
“I know,” Laren replied. “But do you think the lord-governors will accept a deathbed marriage any more favorably than someone Zachary picked himself? Do you think they will readily accede power to an untried woman?”
“Untried? She’s been trained to rule all her life and would be the next lady-governor of Coutre if not for the betrothal. She was born to lead, and Zachary’s been very good about including her in all that concerns the realm. We’d make it a thoroughly legitimate marriage. At least that which is in our power. I’m sure we can find persons willing to testify they witnessed the, um ...”
“The consummation,” Laren snapped. “Are you listening to yourself? Zachary can’t even speak for himself in the matter. It’s . . . it’s deceptive.”
“Treasonous?”
“You said it, not me.” Laren was beginning to feel light-headed from all the implications.
“It is an emergency,” Colin said. “You know as well as I Birch is planning to make a move. Second Empire is out there collecting its forces. Who knows what will happen with Blackveil? We need a transition sooner rather than later, and we both know Lady Estora has Sacoridia’s best interests at heart.”
“Good gods,” Laren said weakly. She stumbled to the nearest chair and Colin followed her. “Zachary can’t even speak for himself in this.”
“No, but who better to speak for him than us? Certainly not Lord Mirwell or Lord D’Ivary or Lord Wayman or any of the others. They will speak only in their own interests. Not for Zachary, not for the realm.” Colin leaned over her. “Harborough is in favor, and he has the army to back him.”
“You’ve been discussing this with others?”
“Yes. As soon as we heard the news, even before Lord Spane came to us.”
“This ... this is like a coup,” Laren whispered.
Colin’s expression was intense. She’d always seen him as professional and loyal, not as a schemer. The whole world had gone topsy-turvy.
“It’s a wedding,” he said. “One Zachary contracted for and intended to carry out. We’re just moving up the date. If he survives, all the better. We can have another wedding for the benefit of all those who could not attend the first.”
“I can’t agree to this,” Laren said. “Don’t you think you should consult with Sperren first?”
“As you know he is presently indisposed, but I think over time I have come to understand his mind. I believe he’d be in favor.”
“You do know my Riders will have to go to the lord-governors with the news of the king. I could certainly reveal your plan in the message they receive.”
“That would only incite turmoil.”
“Yes, but Colin, you know the nature of my special ability. I can judge the honesty of others, but the ability puts a burden on me and how I use the truth or falsehoods.” She paused, thinking how she manipulated the truth to keep Zachary and Karigan apart. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “I cannot draw my Riders into such a deception. They survive becaus
e message recipients trust that the Riders are doing honest duty, not partaking of some political trickery. I will not involve my Riders in your scheme. They will bear only the truth.”
“Would you consider delaying them?”
“No. That is another form of deception. Zachary would want the lord-governors notified as soon as possible. My Riders go out tonight.”
Colin straightened, looking thoughtful, and suddenly he was once again the level-headed advisor she had worked with since he took over from his predecessor, Devon Wain-wright. “You have made your position clear, Captain. You have given me much to think on.” He drifted away to speak quietly with Destarion.
“Thank the gods.” Laren was wrung out from the day’s events. As if the life-threatening injury to Zachary was not enough, all the conspiracies had infected even one of the steadiest men she knew. He might be right about an early wedding alleviating some of the turmoil that awaited the announcement of the king’s heir, but a deathbed wedding? It wouldn’t help much.
Please don’t let it be his deathbed, she thought. Tonight, after she sent her Riders out, she’d light a candle down in the castle’s chapel of the moon. She had not done that in what, years?
“Captain?”
She looked up, and there was Destarion with a teacup in his hands. “Any change?”
“Not yet. Lady Estora still sits with him. I brewed some tea—thought we could all use some. It’s been a trying day and I fear a long night ahead of us.”
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the cup and taking a sip.
Destarion smiled and made a small bow before stepping away.
Tea really was just the thing. The warmth of it soothed her. She wrapped her fingers around the cup and tried to relax as the menders came and went from Zachary’s bedchamber.
She gazed about Zachary’s dressing room. It was really a well-appointed drawing room, with dark wood paneling and furniture upholstered in pliant leather. Paintings of ships on the sea hung on the walls, along with portraits of Zachary’s beloved terriers. It was all very much him and she wondered what touches Estora would have brought to it, what life children could bring to the monarch’s wing. She had little doubt Zachary would have made a wonderful father. The loss of what was, and what could be, threatened to drown her.
Blackveil: Book Four of Green Rider Page 39
