Guardian of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  Amberesh disappeared well before she approached the black archway that led to the private street and ultimately the Serjian Residence. Well, she wasn’t afraid of him, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be cautious when she went outdoors alone.

  Her route to her chambers took her past the harem’s chamber. Something was going on there, something that included a lot of loud arguing in Eskandelic. Curious, she turned down the hallway and walked to the door. To her shock, Janida and Maitea were shouting at each other. Maitea had a sheet of somewhat crushed paper in her hand and was using it to punctuate her sentences. Alondra sat nearby, watching the two wide-eyed. Giara stood with her arms folded across her chest, glaring at the room in general. And Catrela sat at a writing desk, scribbling rapidly.

  As Willow entered, Catrela shouted something that carried over the argument and brought it to an abrupt halt. In the silence, Catrela spoke at length, something Willow could tell was chastisement delivered in tones of barely contained anger. Willow took a few steps backward; intruding seemed like a bad idea. But her movement drew Maitea’s attention. “Stay, Willow North,” she said. “This for you is as well.”

  Willow approached her. “It sounds bad.”

  “It is bad,” Janida said. “Terence Valant has demanded Eskandel return Felix to him.”

  Chapter Seven

  “What?” Willow found herself breathless for the second time that night. “He can’t possibly—but he’s told everyone Felix is dead. How can he go back on that?”

  Maitea waved the paper in the air again. “He claims to have wrongly believed Felix to have died in a fire. He pretends great joy at Felix’s survival and protests that he would never have declared himself King had he known the truth. Felix is to return to his guardianship as regent. Immediately.”

  “Is that—will Eskandel agree?”

  “Eskandel has no vojenta mahaut,” Janida said. “No one to speak for the country in this matter. All depends now on who succeeds to that position when the Conclave ended is.”

  “Except Mahnouki will certainly force this to a vote in Conclave,” Maitea said, turning her fierce gaze on Janida. “And a vote may not go our way.”

  “Then we must ensure it does not happen,” Janida said. Her voice once again rose in anger.

  “And I say again it a fool’s endeavor is,” Maitea said, matching Janida in tone.

  “You have another plan? Let us hear it!”

  “Build support among the harems. Ensure the vote is ours.”

  “That too much work is. We have no time.”

  “Forget it,” Willow said, cutting them both off. “If Eskandel tries to return Felix to the uncle who will almost certainly arrange a fatal accident for him, I’ll take Felix and disappear.”

  “Leaving Tremontane in turmoil,” Maitea said. “You have no loyalty to your country?”

  “I care about my country,” Willow said, surprising herself, “but I care more about Felix. He’s still just a little boy and he deserves to have a life. If Eskandel is going to betray him, I see no point in staying here.”

  “Eskandel will not betray him,” Janida said. “I swear it.”

  “You swear something you cannot guarantee,” Maitea said. “Either we prevent this decision from being made until the vojenta mahaut is sworn—and that might not be Serjian Principality—or we sway the vote to our side. Either is a perilous task.”

  Janida’s expression was calculating, as if she were a cat creeping up on a mouse. “I wonder,” she said to Willow. “You will not fear speaking to the vojentas.”

  “No, I—what?”

  Janida cast a glance at Maitea. “You think we can arrange such a thing?”

  “Mahnouki Adorinda will insist on it,” Catrela said. She finished with one sheet of paper and moved on to another. “She believes she will win if she can force it to a vote. But first the vojentas must decide whether to allow such a vote to happen.”

  “Many will already believe the question should be deferred to the vojenta mahaut,” Alondra said. “We must convince the others of this.”

  “Giara?” Janida said. “You have done the most to gather support for our question. What do you say?”

  Giara shook her head. “We in a good position are not. But we have not lost. And I think she—” she pointed at Willow— “should speak.”

  “The vojentas may see it as an intrusion,” Maitea said.

  “Then she will have to convince them otherwise.” Giara approached Willow and walked around her as if weighing her possibilities. “This Tremontane’s affair is as much as anyone. She—”

  “Could you not talk about me as if I’m not here?” Willow said.

  “You the King’s eskarna are,” Giara said. “You have a right to speak on his behalf. Adorinda will wish to unsettle you, to make you believe you an illegitimate participant are. Will you allow her to convince you so?”

  “No,” Willow said. “I’m just not sure what to say.”

  “We will decide that together,” Janida said. “Go. Eat. Tomorrow we will see what Adorinda does, and match her step for step.”

  The dining room was empty when Willow arrived, the table cleared of dishes. She passed through the little door the servants always used and found herself in a narrow hallway from which good smells still emanated. She followed her nose to the kitchen, where with gestures and a few words she convinced one of the cooks to give her a nouhut, creamy and delicious. She folded it on itself and strolled out of the kitchen, chewing happily. Eskandel had all sorts of compensations for being away from home, much as she missed eggs and bacon in the morning.

  She was almost to the stairway leading to her and Felix’s room when she heard someone coming down it. She tensed, but it was only Kerish. He seemed surprised to find her there, which she found odd—it was her room too, wasn’t it?

  “I’ve just put Felix to bed,” he said. “He wasn’t happy that you were gone.”

  “I had to speak to Giles about the assassin. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I explained to him what you were doing. He just feels safer with you around.” Kerish’s lips compressed into a tight line, and he looked away.

  “Kerish, he trusts you, too.”

  “It’s not the same.” He shrugged. “I’ve spoken with the carriage driver and the bodyguards. Haroush is going to be fine, but Mother assigned a different guard while he’s recuperating. And we’re going to be more careful of the route we take.”

  “That black gateway is dangerous. It’s the only place you always have to go.”

  “Then what, Willow?” Kerish exclaimed. “Do we tell Felix he can’t do the one thing that makes him happy? Make him stay in the Residence until heaven knows when?”

  “We just have to be careful—”

  “I thought we were.”

  “More careful, then.”

  Kerish swore and turned away from her. “I thought Terence loved Felix,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t understand how he could want to kill him. Why didn’t he just adopt the boy? It’s not as if he has children of his own. I’m just a stupid foreigner, but even I can see that solution.”

  “I don’t know. Probably because so long as Felix is alive, he’s a better claimant to the Crown, and Terence is ruling illegally. Besides, I’m not convinced Terence is behind the assassination attempts. It’s just as likely to be a Principality.”

  “I want to believe you, but I know Terence too well.”

  Willow laid her hand on Kerish’s arm and squeezed gently. “Will you stop blaming yourself? Felix is alive, and he’s going to stay that way.”

  Kerish laughed, a short, bitter sound. “If I blame myself,” he said, “I at least have the illusion that I could have acted. I’ve been so caught up in what I’m learning I haven’t really thought about Felix at all.”

  “Well, I bet Hilarion would have something to say about that.”

  This time Kerish’s laugh actually sounded amused. “Hilarion would say blaming yourself makes
as much sense as trying to lift yourself by your bootlaces and is just as productive.”

  “And everyone knows how wise he was. Kerish, if you’re worried about Felix’s safety, you’re not going to make him safer by thinking about whatever failings you believe you have. You’ve kept him safe even when you had a three-inch hole in your side, or have you forgotten fighting off those bandits who attacked us?”

  “Actually, I had forgotten that. I was sure we were both going to die.”

  “And you killed that man for Felix’s sake. I don’t think anyone can ask more than that.”

  Kerish turned back toward her and put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. “You’re the most sensible woman I know.”

  “I’m not that sensible. Most people would call me crazy for half the things I’ve done since I left Aurilien.”

  “And all of them were in Felix’s service. It’s no wonder he loves you.”

  His eyes were fixed on her, his lips quirked in a smile, and five-year-old memories crowded her mind, memories of kissing those lips and being held in those strong arms. She felt a sudden terrible urge to put her arms around him, draw him close and kiss him, and realized she was holding her breath. She let it out slowly and released him. His hand lingered on hers for a moment, then fell away. The smile vanished, and it made her heart ache.

  “Did you talk to Rafferty, then?” he said, as offhandedly as if they meant nothing to each other. Which was more or less true.

  “I did. He’s going to ask around, see if anyone has been approached by someone looking to hire a killer.” Did Kerish look disappointed? Or was that just wishful thinking? “Or if he can find out the identity of our assassin.”

  “Good.” Kerish looked past Willow down the hall. “I don’t want to keep you up. I’ll see you in the morning, all right?”

  “Kerish—”

  “Yes?”

  He was still so close, and she wanted him so badly—not with physical desire, but a longing to once again feel cherished, part of something greater than the two of them. And that was impossible. “I’ll…let you know what I learn,” she said.

  “Thanks.” He smiled at her, but without feeling, and strode off down the hall. She watched him go until he turned the corner, then slowly ascended the stairs to her room. Felix was asleep, sprawled out on his bed as usual, but Ernest lifted his head to look at her as she entered.

  “We probably shouldn’t let you sleep on the bed,” she whispered, but she couldn’t find it in her to evict him. “Felix ought to be training you.”

  Ernest sat up straighter and let out a small yip that didn’t disturb Felix at all, then snuggled down next to the boy and rested his head on his front paws. Willow shrugged. She had only so much energy to go around, and she didn’t feel like expending it on Ernest.

  She undressed and put on her nightgown, then dragged a chair to where she could look out the window at the Residence gardens. The black sky, studded with white stars like shattered glass, extended past the limits of her vision, but she could imagine it meeting the ocean; this new room didn’t have the ocean view of the first. The fronds of the tree bobbed in front of her, silvery in the light of the nearly full moon. If she hadn’t tested their strength earlier, she might have imagined herself reclining in their embrace, rocking to sleep under the stars and the moon with the smell of the sea caressing her cheeks. Knowing they would crack and break under her weight destroyed the romance.

  The thought made her curl up on herself more tightly. She’d come so close to kissing Kerish just then, and that could lead nowhere good. It was true, she still cared about him, but love wasn’t enough, and she wasn’t sure how he felt about her, anyway. Not that it mattered if he still loved her. She rested her head on the padded side of the chair and closed her eyes.

  It wouldn’t make a difference if he did, she told herself, and let the sound of the fronds moving in the wind carry her off to sleep.

  ***

  Someone, possibly Caira, had sewn the new gold satin dress so it fit better in the bodice than the first had, but Willow still felt uncomfortable—itchy, as if the dress were lined with copper, and over-warm. Kerish’s suggestion of a Device that might remove the heat from a room seemed like an excellent idea at that moment. Janida had called the room a reception hall, but it looked more like a funnel lined with uncomfortable wooden seats that were almost all occupied by women dressed in satin in every color imaginable.

  Willow tried to shut out her awareness of the jewelry they wore, which was making her a little drunk. She needed to stay focused if she wanted to address these women with clarity and reason. All the golden bracelets the vojentas wore burned her senses like sheets of fire and made her warmer. She surreptitiously scratched under her arm and hoped she wasn’t sweaty.

  Janida sat next to her, also gowned in the gold satin of a speaker. “It good is that you will speak last,” she murmured. “But Adorinda gave in too quickly. She has a deeper plan, and that worries me.”

  “We can but do our best,” Catrela said from Willow’s other side. “You have nothing to fear.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Willow said. Apprehensive, maybe. Possibly anxious. But not afraid.

  Janida nodded at her, then rose and stepped to the raised platform at the base of the funnel. It was circular, made of honey-blond wood and only about three feet in diameter. It didn’t raise a speaker very high and seemed more symbolic than utilitarian. Janida stood, waiting for the quiet voices to still, then said, “We have an unusual request to consider. The usurper Terence Valant has requested we return his nephew Felix, King of Tremontane, to his—”

  “You use inflammatory language,” a woman about midway up the funnel said. “Terence King of Tremontane is.”

  “That discussion for another time is, Sahaki Beppinda,” Janida said calmly. “The facts are that Terence has taken the throne and has claimed his nephew dead is. He now says he wrongly believed the boy to have died and wishes his regent to be. Serjian’s question on the adjeni states that Felix King is. We say Terence’s…request…should be deferred until there a vojenta mahaut is.”

  “This request needs no discussion. Terence Valant the boy’s rightful guardian is,” said another woman whose peach satin clashed with her dark skin. “We should return him.”

  “Again, that decision must be deferred,” Janida said.

  Mahnouki Adorinda, seated on the front row and also garbed in gold satin, spoke in Eskandelic. Catrela gripped Willow’s hand. “She says we should not accommodate you, as a foreigner, and this discussion is for Eskandelics only.”

  “It a Tremontane matter is as well,” Janida said, “and we must show hospitality.” She turned to address the gathering at large. “Serjian says this decision should wait for the vojenta mahaut to decide. But you the ones who must choose are. Choose well.” She stepped off the platform and returned to her seat.

  Mahnouki Adorinda rose and walked at a slow pace toward the platform, raising her skirts daintily as she stepped on to it. She once again spoke in Eskandelic, and Catrela’s grip became tighter. “She says nothing but what we knew she would. That Eskandel should not interfere in other countries’ politics. That Felix does not need our protection when he has his uncle’s. But speaking in Eskandelic is a slight to you. It means…she suggests you are not deserving of hospitality and should not be heeded.”

  Willow watched the crowd instead of Adorinda and had to make herself breathe slowly, calmly, because many of those heads were nodding and all of them were intent on Adorinda in a way that said they liked what they were hearing. When Adorinda finished speaking, and took her seat, there was complete silence. Janida nudged Willow. “You,” she said.

  Willow stumbled a little over her unfamiliar skirts and heard a whisper go round the room. Wonderful. She’d lost them even before she began. She stepped onto the platform and took a deep breath.

  “I know I’m—” Her voice was lost in the funnel. She was sure it didn’t reach the upper tiers. She cleared he
r throat and tried again. “I know I’m not one of you. I can’t tell you how to run your government. What I can tell you is that Terence Valant is lying. He told the world Felix was dead because that gave him a sliver of a claim to the Crown, but he knew the rightful King was alive.

  “What is it he said—that he believed Felix had died in that fire? Are we supposed to believe this was some magical fire that consumes even bone and every trace of a body? Terence wants you to believe he means well. He’s manipulating you. And I don’t think you—all of you—have become as powerful as you are by letting others manipulate you.” She pushed aside thoughts of Mahnouki Adorinda.

  “Here’s what I think,” she continued. “I think Terence is trying to convince you that you need to act on his demand immediately. But Terence knows damn well he should be dealing with Eskandel’s vojenta mahaut. And he also knows this is the middle of Conclave. So basically he’s showing a total lack of respect for your government by suggesting his demand override your traditions. Not to mention that he has the balls to make any kind of demand of a sovereign state. I don’t think Eskandel is subordinate to Tremontane. I’m not any kind of ruler, but I know something of how we trade with you, and I know it’s a relationship of equals. Terence wants to change that.”

  “You speak for him?” Adorinda said. “You know his thoughts?”

  “And you don’t?” Willow shot back. “I don’t think we need to know his thoughts to judge him by his actions. Look. I said I can’t tell you how to run your government. But I don’t think a nation ought to allow another country to dictate its behavior. Don’t give in to his manipulations. Let this wait until you have a vojenta mahaut who can deal with Terence as an equal. Maybe they’ll decide to return Felix. Maybe they’ll ratify Terence as King of Tremontane. I’d hate for either of those things to happen. But at least you’d make those choices as a nation. And I think you’d keep your self-respect.”