by Rob J. Hayes
“My condition is that I am pregnant, Seigneur Daron. I am still more than capable of sitting in on my husband’s audiences and providing him with my counsel. Also, my son will be King one day…”
“You are having a son?” Renard interrupted before he could stop himself. “Are you certain? Have the doctors confirmed it?”
The Queen turned a knowing smile on Renard. “I am having a son, Seigneur. I have no need for a doctor to confirm it. A Turlain woman is able to tell.”
‘Despise’. Renard decided that was the correct word for it. He despised the Queen not just because of who she was but also because of where she was from and the position in Sassaille upon which she perched. The idea that women from Great Turlain were somehow different and able to magically sense the sex of a child within their womb was absurd. At least Renard sincerely hoped it was.
A heavy silence descended onto the audience chamber complete with some of the most vicious eye contact Renard had ever been privy to. He tried his very best to convey to the Queen just how uncomfortable he was standing there, especially with his fake limp, but the woman at no point offered him the simple comfort of sitting and it would be considered beyond rude to do so without her leave so instead Renard shifted from one foot to the other and sated himself by imagining just how satisfying it would be when he was finally rid of her.
“Are you cold?” the Queen asked in a voice as sweet as sugar. Renard hated sugar.
“No, my Queen,” Renard said in a voice as rough as gravel. Renard loved gravel.
“I’ve been getting terribly cold of late,” the Queen continued. It was actually verging on uncomfortably warm in the little room. “Your doctors seem to think it is simply a side effect of the pregnancy. Altered blood supply or some such. I think I would like a fire.” The infuriating woman nodded to one of the servants and within minutes there was a roaring blaze which quickly turned the room into a veritable furnace. Renard tried his very best not to sweat but even he lacked such control over the natural processes of his body. To make matters even more deplorable the Queen seemed to be perfectly comfortable in the heat.
They lapsed back into silence for what seemed to Renard like forever. At some point the Queen ordered herself a cup of tea and offered nothing to him. Her treatment of him was going beyond rude to the point of insult. Even prisoners of war received common courtesies these days. Of course they were often executed shortly afterwards but that point was neither here nor there.
Eventually the door behind the Queen’s chair slid open and King Félix Sassaille breezed through into the audience chamber and into the chair next to the Queen’s. He was wearing an understated purple outfit of silk that likely cost more than every item of clothing Renard owned and he owned quite a few items.
The King waved a hand in front of his face. “Creator! It’s a sauna in here. Someone do something about that fire. Anyone would think it was winter already. Renard, why are you standing? You look awful, sit down before you collapse.”
Renard plastered a grateful smile onto his face and lowered himself into a nearby chair. He didn’t have to fake the pain in his knees as he did so.
“Much better,” the King continued. “Now what’s this about, Renard? I was sleeping and you interrupted me with this urgent audience of yours. Do you see the bags under my eyes? I’m supposed to be playing Rinrin against Admiral Piccolo and his two sons tonight. I’ll not stand a chance against them if I’m not properly rested.”
The King had in fact never lost a game of Rinrin and it was certainly not indicative of his skill at the game. Renard decided not to point out that it would take much more than the disturbance of an afternoon nap for anyone to risk winning against the King.
Renard was just opening his mouth to speak when the Queen got there first. “What if my husband was to lose his prolific undefeated streak, Seigneur?” she asked patting the King on his arm. “You would be solely responsible for a travesty both to the game of Rinrin and to the King of Sassaille.”
The King looked at his wife in something approaching bemusement. “I’m not certain we need to go quite that far, Kat. I’m sure Renard has something important to discuss, don’t you, Renard?”
“Yes, your grace,” Renard said in the most respectful tone he could manage. “But it is something of a delicate subject. Perhaps the Queen would be better off…” He let the suggestion hang knowing full well the dreadful woman couldn’t help but respond.
“Oh she can stay if she wants, Renard,” the King said in a bored voice. “Whenever she misses one of these things she spends hours grilling me on the details. Easier just to let her listen in. Besides, Kat occasionally has some interesting insights. Did you know in Turlain, the King holds an open court once a month for just anyone to come and bring issues before him. Kat claims that peasantry and nobles alike get equal voice for that one day a month.”
Renard felt his mood darken. “And your grace is entertaining the notion?”
“Oh Maker no,” the King exclaimed. “I can’t imagine anything more dull.”
“Quite right,” Renard agreed. “That is what the Government is for, after all. They handle the smaller, inconsequential issues so your grace has time to consider the truly important ones.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I was telling her!”
“I had thought they might have been your words, Seigneur. My husband is usually so much more eloquent,” the Queen said with a sinister smile that the King did not turn to see.
“So what is this important issue, Renard?” the King asked. “I must of course deal with the problems of my Kingdom before I thrash Piccolo and his sons for a fourth straight encounter.”
Renard put on his grave face. “I believe there may be a conspiracy against the crown in progress.”
He let the statement hang heavy in the centre of the small room and watched as the King went from confusion to horror to anger to righteous indignation in just a few seconds. The Queen, however, remained studiously passive as was truly befitting a member of royalty.
“Who… who would do such a thing?” the King asked in a voice that cracked on the border of hysteria. “Why would they? I’m the King. Their King. I give them everything. Who is it, Renard? You tell me, tell me right now and I’ll… I’ll have them shot. Yes. Shot. Or hanged. No. Shot.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know any identities as yet, your grace. I…”
“How can you not know?” the King asked. He was absently rubbing at the fashionable stubble on his cheeks. “What if it’s Piccolo? He could be planning to do away with me tonight during our game of Rinrin. I’ll have to cancel. No, I should have him arrested. Would that mean my forfeit of the game or his?”
It was all Renard could do not to grin at the fool’s reaction. “There are limits to my authority, my…”
“Who are they, Renard? I have to know!”
“I don’t know, your grace.”
“What should I do?”
The Queen cleared her throat to interject. “If you do not know of any particular person’s involvement, how can you be certain that there is any conspiracy at all?” Her timing was perfect and Renard would have very much enjoyed thanking her for the question.
“I have it on good authority that some members of the nobility have been secretly meeting and discussing negative reactions to the Queen’s pregnancy.” He watched for the woman’s expression to change but it held firm, perhaps a little too firm. “My source was unable to provide me with any names, or any specific details of the conspiracy and I do not have the authority to arrest, detain or interrogate people of noble standing.”
“Why the Ruiner not?” the King asked incredulous. One of the Queen’s handmaids gasped at the King’s curse. “Oh, get out you superstitious quim. And if you speak of any of this to anyone, even that hideous cat-beast you keep, I will feed you to it!
“Arrest someone, Renard,” the King continued. “Find the culprits and, um, shoot them or something. I’ll not stand for any of this. I’m t
he King!”
Renard bowed his head. “As you wi…”
“Félix,” the Queen said in a calm voice. “You cannot give the Seigneur the power to make random arrests and interrogations based on nothing but rumour and hearsay.”
The King went from furious rage to childish uncertainty in the space it took to blink. “I can’t?” He looked to Renard.
Renard shrugged.
“Why not?” the King asked his wife.
“These people are your subjects,” said the Queen. “The nobility are your strongest supporters. Without them there could be no Kingdom and you could not be King. The job of a ruler is to protect the citizens of his Kingdom, not to harm them. If the threat is against me and our child,” she placed a protective hand on her bulging stomach, “then protect us.
“If the Seigneur can provide proof of this conspiracy and of the conspirators then, and only then, should you make the arrests.
“A King should be strong and just and never more so than to his subjects.” She finished by leaning across the gap between their chairs and kissing her husband on the cheek.
Again the King looked at Renard with the question plain on his face.
Again Renard shrugged.
“Perhaps I should send you to the royal retreat on lac de la Caché now,” the King mused.
“An excellent idea,” Renard jumped in. “The royal retreat is a veritable fortress.” For hundreds of years almost every King of Sassaille had been born at the retreat and those that weren’t tended to have short, violent tenures. The Queen had only a couple of months of pregnancy left and would soon be moved there whether she liked it or not.
“I would feel much safer by your side, Félix. Who better to protect me than my King?” the Queen pleaded.
The King turned to his wife and took hold of her hand. “My dearest Kat, by sending you to the retreat now I will be protecting you. No one gets within, um, anywhere near to the retreat without my own royal guard arresting them. You could not be safer anywhere else.” He turned his gaze on Renard. “And by the time our son is born Renard here will have got to the bottom of this conspiracy and stamped out all those involved. Won’t you, Renard?”
With a significant show of effort Renard pushed himself to his feet and sketched a very awkward bow. “I shall make it my sole pursuit until all those who threaten the crown are uncovered and dealt with, my King.”
The Queen gave Renard a thin smile and he took his queue to leave knowing full well he had accomplished his task perfectly and the Queen could not have played her part better even had she known she was playing it.
Chapter 17 – Fight Night
“What do you mean he isn’t available?” asked Jacques.
Franseza sighed. “I mean he doesn’t want to see you. He has important things to do and you’re not one of them. He is indisposed. Busy. Not available for an audience with you.”
Jacques snorted out a breath of angry air and glared at Franseza who only made it worse by laughing at him. “I can’t tell if he’s angry of constipated,” she said to Isabel who simply continued to busy herself with picking the perfect outfit.
“I suggest the blue, dear,” Jacques said offhand. “We already have an interesting night ahead of us we don’t want to look antagonising and the burgundy is too close to red, it makes you appear hostile.”
“You’re right,” Isabel agreed with a sigh. “But I look better in burgundy.”
“Very true.” Jacques turned his attention back to Franseza. “What if I have news? Urgent news that he needs to know.”
“Do you?” she asked.
“Yes! Or at least I think I do. I definitely have news.”
“Hmm,” Franseza climbed onto the windowsill and perched there like a vicious animal contemplating whether or not to strike. “It can probably wait. He’ll want to see you tomorrow, I suspect, after your big fight tonight.”
‘Big fight’ was something of an overstatement. They were simply to get into a pre-arranged argument in order to establish part of Baron Bastien Bonvillain’s character. It was necessary but hardly a major incident.
“Perhaps,” Franseza said, “you should worry less about seeing the Seigneur and more about getting ready for tonight. Act more like de Rosier, she has the right of it.”
“I’ve recently come to the conclusion that arguing with you, Franseza, is much like berating the chamber pot,” Isabel said with a grin. “It doesn’t listen and still smells foul at the end of it.”
Franseza burst into wild laughter that was quickly mimicked by Isabel. Jacques took a moment to look thoroughly offended then decided it was going to get him nowhere and instead took Franseza’s advice to prepare for the coming evening.
It was the night of the Sassaille Independence Ball, the social event of the season and not even the most backward member of the Kingdom’s nobility would dare to miss it. It was precisely because of this that Jacques and Isabel had studiously avoided even the possibility of attending such an affair. The problem lay with the fact that over the years they had met, under many different guises, many of Sassaille’s nobility and robbed quite a few of them to boot. There always remained the possibility, no matter how complete their disguise, that someone might recognise them. This time, however, they simply had no choice; if the Bonvillains were to miss the Independence Ball it would likely damage their social standing beyond repair and that was something Seigneur Daron could not allow.
“Word has it King Félix will be in attendance,” Franzesa said with a lopsided smirk as Jacques busied himself selecting jewellery for Isabel. “I hear he has a splendid new suit just for the occasion.”
“The King has a new suit for every occasion,” Isabel said holding up the blue dress and looking longingly at the burgundy. “Rumours indicate he only ever wears each suit once and somewhere in the Kingdom there is a warehouse full of these once worn garments.”
Franseza nodded. “I heard his servants re-use them, every twenty suits or so they just bring him one of his old ones prettied up to look new.”
“I’d like to get changed now, Franseza. Do you mind,” Isabel said twirling a finger at the woman.
“Not at all,” Franseza replied making no move to turn around.
With a laboured sigh Isabel began stripping out of her house dress in order to begin the lengthy process of dressing for a high society ball. Franseza stared on with indifferent eyes.
Jacques selected a black obsidian earring that would look wonderful given Isabel’s complexion and a jade ring set in silver that would complement the sky blue dress, after a moment’s consideration he then picked out a gold hairpin alchemically treated to display a red finish, in certain lights it would sparkle in such a way that would draw attention to the deep blue of Isabel’s eyes. He would have to position it carefully as Isabel would never get it quite right but Jacques had no doubt it would make her look stunning.
“I hear Queen Julienne will not be attending,” Jacques said in the most casual of fashion as he laid the jewellery next to the blue dress and stepped back to make certain that the contrasting colours would work. They would.
“Oh really?” Isabel asked disappointed. “I was hoping I might get to meet her tonight. I hear she is the most beautiful creature ever to grace Rares.”
“She is that,” Franseza agreed. “But she has a definite Turlain look about her.”
“You’ve seen her?” Isabel asked incredulous.
Franseza laughed. “Only through a rifle scope.”
Jacques wasn’t certain if the woman was joking or not but the slight possibility that she was telling the truth worried him greatly. The more he learned of the situation they were embroiled in the more he was convinced that Seigneur Daron was not above having the Queen murdered and if he was willing to go that far to further his own ends there was little hope for Jacques and Isabel after they had outlived their usefulness.
“One of these days, Franseza,” Isabel said in a reproachful tone, “I may just teach you how to act like
a proper lady.”
Franseza snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“Remember your holster, Jacques,” Isabel continued, ignoring Franseza. “It’s doubly important you be carrying your pistol today. You’re going to need it for our big scene with the Marquis and Marquise Portho.”
Jacques looked over at the holster. “How far should I go, do you think?”
“Not too far, dear. Jennifer is our friend, remember, we don’t want to damage her standing too much.”
“No?” Jacques replied with a grin. “It would be simple payback for that fiasco with…”
“She is doing us a favour, Jacques Revou, and you will not go out of your way to make things uncomfortable for her or her husband.”
Jacques smiled at Isabel. “As you wish.”
After much consideration, and even more discussion on the matter, Jacques picked himself out a suit of brown suede so dark it almost appeared black. The jacket was overly long for the current fashion, almost down to his knees rather than simply his belt and the white shirt was a bleached bone colour that was only acceptable because of the red neckerchief that accompanied it. He completed the look with high black boots better suited to horse riding than dancing but that were polished to such a shine that made them an eclectic choice but not outrageous. After a brief foray into the idea of wearing his pistol on a shoulder holster he gave in to the insistence of both Isabel and Franseza that the hip holster was a far better choice. He looked provincial at best but given that the Bonvillains were provincial, it was the perfect look for a Baron who also happened to be a veteran gentlemen duellist.
By the time the carriage arrived and it was time to leave, the Bonvillains were far too far down the social ladder to be fashionably late, Jacques had just finished artfully arranging his hair to look effortlessly tussled and was waxing his horseshoe moustache.
Baroness Bonvillain swept up beside her husband, her endlessly blue dress sleek and somehow contriving to make her appear taller than she was, and took his arm. Then they marched gracefully down the stairs of their mansion, out the Lindle lock door and into the waiting carriage with only the slightest trepidation. They were, after all, about to cause a rather extravagant scene in a ball filled with people they had robbed.
