The Scrivener's Tale

by Fiona McIntosh

  From the window of her chambers, the gaze of Princess Darcelle absently wandered over the bailey while Cyricus and Aphra plotted.

  ‘We should stay together,’ Aphra argued.

  ‘No. I need the body of a male. I regret losing Gabriel. I was too hasty.’

  ‘But in Darcelle you have the power you need,’ she pressed.

  ‘Not entirely, Aphra. As the princess we have some power to command, but at the queen’s word, everyone bows, including Darcelle.’

  ‘Stick to your plan, my beloved,’ she cooed. ‘I’ll be your Darcelle and you be my Tamas. Then we have power.’

  He yawned as Darcelle. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right, although you seem very trusting of the king.’

  ‘He has no reason to mistrust his bride-to-be. I thought he was very tender toward her just now,’ she soothed.

  ‘Did you?’ She didn’t reply. ‘I was sure I detected a false note in his words.’

  ‘No,’ she said, firmly.

  ‘You didn’t get the impression that he was eager to be away from Darcelle?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she admitted. ‘Besides, what possible reason could he have for being suspicious of her? He was distracted if anything, by his concern when they found Gabe’s body … or what they thought was Tentrell’s body.’

  ‘Yes, I do have to agree with you. Tamas was shocked and profoundly concerned for Darcelle in that courtyard. I also agree that unless Gabe sat up and spoke,’ he jested, sounding amused now, ‘I see no possibility that Tamas could know about any other threat.’

  ‘That’s right. And Gabe was very dead, my love. We got rid of him long ago,’ she assured him.

  He hesitated, allowing Darcelle’s eyes to scan the bailey, where there seemed to be an inordinate amount of activity. He knew Darcelle’s pretty face was frowning while he absently pondered Tamas and what he was looking at.

  ‘And yet, still I had this sense that the king was being careful.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Do you not think that a man would at least wish to kiss the woman he intended to marry when he had her alone in a room?’

  ‘I suspect he is being highly respectful of the Morgravian Crown’s as its guest.’

  ‘He’s a man, Aphra! Men have needs.’

  She giggled. ‘So do you, my love. I can’t wait to service them when you are flesh again.’ She sighed. ‘He wouldn’t have been intimate in front of the boy.’

  ‘The boy … yes, indeed, the quiet child with the steady focus and all-seeing gaze,’ Cyricus mused.

  ‘He was a servant, nothing more,’ she said dismissively.

  ‘But I sensed a lot more. I sensed scrutiny from the shadows. I sensed knowing. I sensed …’

  ‘What?’

  Cyricus gave a soft groan. ‘Ah, it was the child … the child! I had all my concentration on Tamas.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about that stealthy, quietly spoken, bowing boy, who said the right things in the right places but he was gathering information. He knows!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. It’s his knowledge that my instincts were sensing. Nothing to do with Tamas!’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Aphra bleated.

  ‘No, I know you don’t, which is why you are my slave and I your lord. And why, if I decide to move out of Darcelle’s body, I will not need your permission. The boy knows, believe me in this. Oh, I can’t imagine why I was so slow to realise it. I’ve been duped into feeling safe. Who is he? How can he know anything about me?’

  ‘Cyricus, I think Tamas is —’

  ‘Don’t, Aphra! Don’t placate me. I follow my own intuition and it is growling that the child who came with Tamas was far more than a simple messenger boy.’

  ‘But, the king —’

  ‘I said, don’t,’ he murmured so quietly it was definitely a threat. ‘Don’t even speak just now.’

  He made a low, growling noise of frustration — which issued as a mewl from Darcelle — as he gave his attention in a more focused way to the bailey. To his astonishment he saw Tamas, sitting in the saddle of the beautiful pearl-coloured horse that Florentyna had donated from her personal stable for the king’s use. Although Cyricus could ride, he barely knew a smattering about horse husbandry, but even he could appreciate the glowing beauty of the pale horse, whose coat shimmered with two colours beneath the sunlight. And though he knew so little, there was no doubting that horse, and certainly no doubting that glorious fur-lined cloak of King Tamas, brightly flashing azure blue in its silken lining against the gold of the horse’s flank.

  For a couple of Darcelle’s heartbeats he was struck silent and still as a statue. And then he moved, his voice emerging as Darcelle’s shriek. ‘No!’ he cried, forming the lips of the princess into a helpless snarl. ‘No!’

  ‘Cyricus, it’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The king is leaving!’ Aphra said, stating the obvious and enraging her demon companion.

  ‘Ride!’ Wentzl roared to his men. ‘As fast as the wind. Protect our king!’ he yelled, standing up in the saddle as his horse, leading the charge from Stoneheart, reacted to the knee dug into its side.

  The men of Cipres rode, kicking up dust, scaring the women servants who happened to be crossing the bailey, scattering chickens and dogs in their wake. They didn’t leave by the road either. Wentzl led them cross-country, determined to cut many hours from the journey by going over the rougher terrain. He would not spare the horses that way, but clearly that was not his intention, Stoneheart’s gatekeepers mused between themselves as they watched the fast-flowing column of men disappearing, the king in their midst.

  Those same gatekeepers heard shattering glass, and when they looked up they saw Princess Darcelle with fists bloodstained from battering at the windows and, like her, they had wondered why King Tamas was riding away from Stoneheart in such frenzy.

  Darcelle spun on her heel, flushed, furious and heedless of the blood spattering her fresh gown. Servants rushed in, having heard her cries. They gasped and wanted to fetch water and bandages, but she swatted them away like gnats. Darcelle ran, heedless of who she bumped into or offended in her hasty passage to the stables.

  She arrived, breathless, her unpainted lips pale and thin. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded of the man who approached, doing his best to effect a bow but managing to achieve only an awkward stoop. He looked awestruck by her presence. ‘I said …’ she screamed at him.

  ‘Cl— Clef, your highness. I am the stableman.’

  ‘Where’s the stable master?’

  ‘Burning two horses,’ he replied baldly. ‘Er … your highness.’ He pulled his cap off, realising too late he’d forgotten his manners. He lowered his eyes, but Darcelle barely registered him.

  ‘The king just rode out,’ she said, her breath ragged and angry. ‘Did he say to where?’

  ‘They said to the harbour, your highness. That’s what I was told,’ Clef replied.

  ‘Harbour?’

  ‘Where the ships are,’ he said uselessly.

  Darcelle let out a groan of despair. ‘Get away from me, you simpleton. Fetch me a horse!’

  ‘A horse?’

  ‘Are you deaf as well as dumb?’

  ‘No, your highness.’

  ‘Then saddle my horse this moment or I will have your ears cut off and your tongue cut out so you might never offend me again.’

  Clef looked ready to weep. He began to stammer but somehow rallied his nerve. ‘Please, your highness. If you’d wait out there,’ he gestured to the hitching rail, where a step was positioned for riders to mount their horses easily. ‘I’ll bring your Gold immediately.’

  Darcelle stomped from the stable entrance, her resident’s rage making him careless. Consequently, Cyricus didn’t notice the hooded rider ease a grey from the side and emerge into the sunlight leading a second horse — a chestnut — toward the gate. At the gate, he raised a hand to the gatekeepers, who barely paid him more than
a glance, their attention still riveted on the cloud of dust the Ciprean party was kicking up as they disappeared over another hill, heading to the west of the realm.

  The hooded rider walked both horses onto the main road, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the endless human traffic, carts, animals that flowed into and out of Stoneheart’s great bailey. Once he’d cleared the bottleneck and had taken the bend that would lead him north, he leaned down to mutter to the lad who sat in front of him hiding beneath the old, dun hooded cloak that the rider had pulled around him.

  ‘Ready, Ham?’

  ‘I am, your majesty,’ he said, clambering down to take the reins of the second beast. ‘Nicely done.’

  ‘It may buy us some time,’ Tamas said. ‘On your horse, then. We must ride until our backsides are numb,’ he said and winked at his young companion.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Cassien had ridden hard for as long as he could keep pushing the horses. He’d deliberately drifted east and brought them into the town of Micklesham, northeast of Farnswyth, whose three roads all led up the winding gradient to a small convent built at the hill’s summit. On the way they threaded through streets with tall houses leaning precariously inward, and yet it seemed a light-filled town.

  ‘I’ve not heard of this place,’ he admitted, choosing not to address Florentyna by her new nickname, but knowing he could not even think to utter her title.

  ‘Really. Where have you been living, Cassien?’ she replied. ‘My father was always very proud of Micklesham.’

  ‘Is that so? What’s it famed for?’

  She smiled wearily. ‘For being planned. He designed it.’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, he had lots of help, of course, but he wanted to leave behind a plan for future towns in Morgravia. It’s his legacy.’

  ‘I appreciate the broad lanes.’

  She nodded. ‘He wanted carts, wagons, animals and people to be able to share the streets of towns without clogging them. He wanted lots of light and he hated to chop down trees.’ She gave a sad twist of her mouth. ‘It’s why you’ll see they’ve left these grand plane trees intact,’ she said, pointing to the side of the street. ‘Father said that in his dreams he could hear the trees screaming their protest over the centuries as forest gave way to towns.’

  Cassien smiled. ‘I wish I had met the king.’

  ‘You and he would have got along famously, I suspect.’

  ‘I’m glad you think that.’

  ‘Why is that important?’

  ‘Because I know how much your father meant to you.’

  She eyed him, controlling her horse expertly with a light touch on the reins. ‘You mean because he would like you, that means I like you?’

  Cassien blinked. ‘That wasn’t really what I was getting at, but it sounds reassuring.’

  Florentyna grinned. ‘You’re a strange one, Cassien.’ She looked around. ‘It is a quiet town,’ she said, easily returning to their previous conversation. ‘It’s probably most famous for its kite festival.’

  ‘Kites. As in things that fly?’

  She giggled deliciously. He’d never heard her laugh like that before. ‘Yes, I do. Truly, where have you been living? Or, let me guess. You’re going to say the forest, aren’t you?’

  He gave her an intense glance. ‘Yes. It’s been my home for a while now.’

  ‘And you came out of the Great Forest for me?’

  ‘I came out because Fynch urged me to protect you with my life.’

  ‘Fynch,’ she pondered. ‘I wish I’d listened to him.’

  ‘Fortunately for us, I did,’ he replied. As he watched the queen frown and the next obvious question forming, he continued. ‘Don’t ask me how he knows what he knows. I know so little about him other than that he is deeply committed to the realms that you now preside over.’

  He could see the queen bite back the question that he’d neatly dodged. ‘So we’re going to just live out in the forest?’ she said brightly, but he could hear the dry note of bemusement. ‘I’ll rule from a secret camp somewhere perhaps?’

  He couldn’t help the look of scorn that he knew was ghosting into his expression. ‘That isn’t my plan, no. The forest is safe and we shall go there as a precaution and to give us time to organise our thoughts, plan what is the next best step. Your sister has become a demon — we must never lose sight of the ever-present danger to you.’

  ‘No, forgive me, Cassien, if I sound in any way ungrateful.’ He shrugged. ‘Everything has been happening so fast, I have scarcely drawn breath. In fact, I can barely think, almost trying not to … it’s so painful when I consider what has been lost this day.’

  He nodded understanding.

  ‘And King Tamas. What if he has succumbed too?’

  ‘I will be warned,’ he said, thinking of his wolf, of Fynch … of Ham. Be safe, Hamelyn, he cast into the void.

  ‘By whom?’ she asked and he wished he hadn’t sounded so mysterious.

  ‘By my instinct,’ he replied, a tad too fast to be convincing he thought. He relaxed his expression. ‘We’ll both know, your majesty, I’m sure of it.’

  She straightened in the saddle, a mood of resignation showing in the thinning of her lips. ‘It won’t come to that. Tamas was fully warned. I know he would be very careful in that thing’s presence.’ She frowned and then sounded beaten. ‘Cassien, how are we ever going to beat the demon?’

  ‘That’s why I need the forest … it helps me to think.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘If giving you a clear mind means I sleep on the forest floor tonight, lead the way.’

  Cassien smiled dryly. ‘Not tonight, your majesty,’ he said, glancing up at the sun that was lowering itself behind one of the tall houses.

  ‘Don’t hesitate on my account,’ she warned.

  ‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘We’ll overnight here on account of the horses. They need rest and watering as well as feeding.’

  ‘Get new ones. We have no reason to … Oh!’ she said, sounding understandably surprised when Cassien suddenly leapt off his horse.

  ‘Don’t move!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stay with the horses. Tie them up to that post and stand between them. Keep your head low.’

  ‘Cassien …’

  But Cassien was already moving. He knew he shouldn’t leave the queen alone, but he was sure he’d just spotted someone in the street ahead who might help them. He broke into a run.

  Florentyna eased out of her saddle, made very aware of the many hours spent on it when her back protested with a twinge of pain. It wasn’t wise to stand between the horses — they could cause her injury if they were spooked by someone or something and crushed her between them. Even so, she didn’t want to defy Cassien, who expected her to obey him without question; he was all that stood between her and a demon, so she told herself to behave graciously and do as he said. It was unnerving watching him run away as he had — after what or whom?

  People passed her by and barely gave her a second glance. This felt strange. She was used to gazes being riveted on her, not just because she was a queen, but because she was the queen that everyone was very curious about. It was her fault. She was far too remote. She’d let Darcelle usurp her in public show, and she could hardly blame her sister for such …

  ‘Oh, Darcelle,’ she muttered, faltering. She hadn’t lied to Cassien; until they’d stopped their mad dash away from Stoneheart her mind had been empty of everything except alarm.

  Gabe’s emergence; the guards in the cathedral; the blood she’d noticed on Cassien’s shirt; and then the way they’d had to thread a path to a local stable, where he’d insisted she hide beneath the hood of her cloak while he bought the horses. She’d moved through that time in a stupor of fear … no, not fear … it was shock. Everything from the moment she’d woken had been a shock. All those people dead in the palace. Why?

  Burrage! Florentyna gasped, covering her mouth for fear of crying out and drawing notice to herself. The horses shifted at the low sound, but
mercifully didn’t move toward each other and threaten to crush her. Burrage was dead. And now Darcelle. Florentyna swallowed. It was her fault. Her instincts had told her to listen to Fynch, but she’d been persuaded to ignore him — persuaded by two who were now dead and needn’t be. Even Saria was dead, along with two other brave, loyal men.

  Reynard had tried to counsel her otherwise in his gentle way, and her belief that Master Fynch’s warnings were not a genuine threat had forced him to take matters into his own hands.

  Too many deaths. She had no one to turn to.

  Florentyna’s breath turned ragged. Her cheeks were wet with tears and she felt herself crumbling under the burden of knowing all this loss and destruction rested on her shoulders and her poor judgement. She began to struggle to breathe and her vision was turning misty. Strong arms were suddenly beneath hers and she was aware of being lifted as she rallied, became more aware of her surrounds again. She looked up and could see Cassien’s worried face. He was carrying her and with such ease.

  He looked down and gave her a crooked grin. ‘Forgive me, I was gone just a few moments,’ he said.

  ‘You swooned, nothing serious,’ another voice said.

  Florentyna turned as Cassien released her to stand unaided.

  ‘You remember Tilda?’ he said.

  Florentyna frowned and then opened her mouth in surprise. ‘My infusions woman?’ Tilda laughed and the sound was warm and earthy, like a full barn in leaf-fall. ‘Tilda, of course!’ she said, trying not to sound weak or teary. She gathered herself swiftly. ‘I’m pleased to see a familiar face. How do you two know each other?’

  ‘Come, I shall explain more but first I think you need some food, some rest. Here, Tilda,’ he said, pushing coin into the woman’s hand, ‘could you get some rooms in that guest house you mentioned? I’ll see to the horses.’