“We could run away . . . Make a new life, somewhere else . . .”
“No, we couldn’t,” said Malcolm. “First, because they’d find us. Second, because . . . we both know our duty. The responsibilities that come with our positions. We always knew there’d be a bill, someday, for all the things we’ve enjoyed. Catherine . . . how could we hope to be happy, knowing how much death and suffering we’d be responsible for?”
Catherine raised her face to meet his. “It’s not fair, Malcolm! It’s not fair!”
“No, it isn’t,” said Malcolm. “People like us shouldn’t fall in love, Catherine. We’re not allowed to have happy endings. Only responsible ones.”
• • •
Back in the Court, King William declared the day’s session to be over, and everyone bowed and curtsied quickly, then left as fast as their feet could carry them, so they could get on with the serious business of discussing everything that had just happened and dissecting every last morsel of meaning out of it. The courtiers had enough new material to keep them going for months, and the politicians even longer. King William sat stolidly on his throne, watching them all go, keeping his thoughts to himself. The Prime Minister didn’t move from his side. They had many things they needed to discuss, but not while there was anyone left in the Court to hear them. There was public business, and then there was private business.
Prince Christof would have liked to stay behind, with his father. There were a great many things he also would have liked to discuss with the King, public business and private business. But he only had to look at the expressions on the faces of his father and the Prime Minister to know which way the wind was blowing. So he just bowed courteously to his father, ignored the Prime Minister, and strode unhurriedly out of the Court. One of his closest friends and supporters, the fiercely fashionable and professionally languid Reginald Salazar, had deliberately hung back to walk with him. As always, Reginald was dressed to the very height of fashion and just a little bit beyond. He moved in close beside Prince Christof so he could murmur in his ear.
“Well!” he said. “I say, old thing! Really must congratulate you. Excellent idea of yours, to suggest the arranged marriage during the negotiations, and then push it through the Court, and Parliament, without anyone ever suspecting you were the moving force behind it! So amusing! And now, with one giant leap, our hero is free of his chains. His annoying older sister is gone, and nothing stands between him and the throne he so rightly deserves—”
He broke off, looking down at the knife Prince Christof had just stuck, surreptitiously, into his side. The point had pierced the padded jerkin and nicked the skin over his ribs. A small circle of blood was forming on the jerkin. Reginald Salazar made a little whimpering noise, but kept on walking as Prince Christof urged him along.
“Keep walking, old thing,” said Christof. “Don’t draw attention to us; there’s a good chap.”
Salazar nodded quickly, and kept going, staring straight ahead. Christof removed the knife from his friend’s ribs and made it disappear back up his sleeve again. He leaned in close, so he could murmur in Salazar’s ear.
“Even whisper that thought again, dear Reginald, and I will have you murdered in your sleep. Treason is treason, and must not even be hinted at. Daddy . . . would not approve. Go now.”
His young friend all but sprinted for the doors. Other friends and supporters of the Prince were waiting there for him, but one look at Christof’s face, and Reginald’s, and they quickly decided this was not a good time to bother him. They gathered the tearful Reginald into their arms and led him away in search of a safe haven, to do some serious drinking and discussing of their own. Christof slowed his pace, to give them some time to get well ahead of him. He paused in the open doors, to look back at the King and the Prime Minister, already deep in discussion.
“Sorry I had to do that to you, Malcolm,” said Christof. “But she had to go. And now maybe you’ll pay more attention to me. My love.”
He finally allowed himself a real smile, then left the Court.
• • •
King William and Gregory Pool were left alone at last, in a quiet and deserted Court. The vast hall seemed so much larger now that there was no one to fill it, and the smallest sound seemed to echo on and on, like ghosts whispering in the corners. King William settled back on his throne, silently blessing Good King Viktor for having the good sense to install a comfortable seat of power. William would have liked to install a pillow for his lower back, but it would have sent all the wrong signals to his Court. Couldn’t have them thinking he was getting old and decrepit, even if it felt like that some days. No, they’d take advantage, the bastards. He patted one arm of his throne fondly, like a pet that had done well. It was good to have something he could depend on.
Gregory Pool allowed himself to relax, as much as he ever did, and let out a deep sigh of contentment as he undid several of his waistcoat buttons. He would have liked to invest in a corset, for the long standing-around periods on public occasions, but he couldn’t. Someone would talk. Someone always did. Fat men were allowed to be jolly, but they weren’t allowed to try to hide their state. People would point, and laugh. It was important that the Prime Minister should appear statesmanlike and yet humble when in the public eye, but he found it more of an effort every year. He produced a small silver snuffbox from his sleeve, flipped the lid open with a practiced gesture, and then tipped just the right amount of finely ground cocaine onto his wrist. He sniffed it, delicately, and then offered the box to the King, who shook his head sternly. Pool shrugged, closed the lid, and made the box disappear back up his sleeve.
“Try not to look so openly disapproving, William,” said Pool. “We all need a little something to lean on.”
“And some days . . . seem so much longer than others,” said the King.
“I thought it all went rather well,” said Pool. “Or at least, as well as could be expected.”
“She didn’t actually throw anything,” said the King. “Or try to stab anyone. I was impressed. Maybe she’s finally learning self-control.”
“I wouldn’t put money on it,” said Pool. He grinned suddenly. “It’s Prince Richard I feel sorry for.”
The two men shared a knowing smile, but it didn’t last long.
In front of the Court, and Parliament, King William and Gregory Pool were always careful to maintain a professional distance; it wouldn’t do for anyone to know just how close they really were. How closely they worked together. Politics was supposed to be all about checks and balances, with Parliament and Court debating both sides of an issue in order to arrive at a consensus. In fact, William and Gregory had been close friends since they were teenagers. It was William who’d first encouraged Gregory to get into politics, so he could have someone he could talk to honestly about things that mattered. They did argue, from time to time, but they got things done. And if that meant pulling the wool over the people’s eyes, and deliberately ignoring or even suppressing the occasional dissenting voice, they could live with that.
King William looked out over his empty, echoing Court and slumped back on his throne. He felt tired. He felt tired a lot these days.
“I’m sending my only daughter away,” he said. “I’ll never see her again.”
“Of course you will!” Pool said immediately. “Bound to be lots of Royal visits, back and forth, once the Peace Treaty has been signed and settled, and the marriage has taken place. Good thing too. Lots of money in tourists. And the people do so love a Royal marriage; it helps take their minds off things they’re probably better off not thinking about anyway. And you’ve always known she’d have to leave home eventually. Catherine could only marry another Royal, and that was always going to mean moving to another country.”
“Not necessarily,” said the King. “Viktor married his own Steward.”
“Yes, but that was then, and this is now,” Pool said firmly. “Your grandfather could get away with something like that, because he and she had ju
st saved the whole Castle from the threat of the Unreal. Anyone who might have objected was almost certainly drowned out by the roar of popular acclaim. And though I hate to put it so bluntly, William, you’re no Viktor. Everyone loved him. They respect you, but that’s not the same. These days Royals must marry Royals. Preserve the Blood. That’s what they’re for. We all do what we must.”
“My daughter hates me,” said King William. “After everything I’ve done for her.”
“Children never appreciate what you do for them,” said Pool. “It’s one of those unwritten rules, in the secret book about rearing children that no one ever lets you read before you have them. Because if you knew exactly what you were letting yourself in for, you wouldn’t do it. My two boys are just the same.”
“Of course, you and I were paragons of virtue, who never gave our parents a single sleepless night,” the King said solemnly.
“Quite!” said Pool. “Catherine . . . will get over it. All part of growing up.” He stopped there, and looked thoughtfully at the King. “I hate to bring this up, William, but I do have to ask. There are certain . . . requirements in an arranged Royal marriage. Catherine and Malcolm have been . . . really very close, for some time now. Are you absolutely sure she’s still . . .”
“Anyone else, I’d have them gelded just for asking,” growled the King. “But since it’s you . . . Yes, of course I know all about the requirements . . . You really think I’d let things get this far if I wasn’t completely sure? Catherine is quite definitely still a virgin. I had some very subtle, and very expensive, spells cast over all my children right after they were born, as my father did with me. Not strong enough to compel, or even influence behaviour; they’d have noticed. But strong enough that if anything . . . significant did start to happen, it would have set off all kinds of alarms. Up to and including loud bells and fireworks in the sky. Certainly enough to embarrass everyone involved, and attract the attention of everyone within a five-mile radius. Don’t worry; I’ll have it all taken off before she leaves the Castle.”
“But do the children know this?” said Pool.
“Of course they know! I sat them down and had a fatherly talk with each one of them the moment they hit puberty.” King William winced, remembering. “Not one of my easiest duties. Catherine hit me over the head with a ceremonial vase. Dented the crown. But . . . they all understood. She is quite definitely chaste.”
“Not quite the word I would have used to describe Christof,” said Pool.
“Christof is a good boy,” the King said gruffly. “And he’ll make a good man. Eventually.”
“But will he, can he, make a good King?” said Pool.
“Rumours,” said King William. “Gossip.”
“I know you don’t want to talk about this, William . . .”
“Then we won’t.”
The King looked sternly at the Prime Minister, who sighed quietly and let the matter drop, accepting that this was one of the few things he and William couldn’t talk about. Even though someday they would have to.
“They’d better take good care of my little girl at the Forest Court!” the King said abruptly. “Or there will be no agreement, no Treaty, and to hell with the border! I mean it, Gregory!”
“Of course she’ll be well treated,” the Prime Minister said soothingly. “They love their Royals in the Forest Land, particularly now they’re constitutional monarchs, with no real power. It’s all pomp and ceremony over there, with cheering crowds every time they show their faces in public, and everyone lining up to bow their heads and bend the knee just for the thrill of it. And everyone who is everyone, or thinks they ought to be, jostles for position at the Forest Court in the hope that some of the Royal glamour might rub off on them. Catherine will be very popular. They love a strong character . . .”
“She’s got that, all right,” growled King William. “Gets it from her mother. I thought it was charming when I was courting my Lizzie, but I soon found out . . . Anyway, I’m still concerned about why the Forest Court didn’t send us a proper image of Prince Richard. I mean, there are any number of magical devices they could have employed to give us a proper look at him. Do you suppose he’s . . . ugly? One does hear rumours, that the Forest Line is just a little bit inbred . . .”
“Of course he isn’t ugly!” snapped Pool. “Give me strength . . . I met Richard when he was just a lad, when I was visiting the Forest Court with my father, back when we were still doing trade deals, before everything fell apart. Richard was a handsome little devil. And according to my expert intelligence people, who I admit are only utterly competent, he’s grown up into a fine young man.”
“Hold it,” said King William. “You have spies in the Forest Court?”
“Yes, I have spies in the Forest Court! I have spies everywhere. That’s the point of having spies. To tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it, and preferably before they tell anyone else.”
“But . . . do they have spies in my Court?”
“Of course! That’s why we do some things in public and others in private. Look, leave all this to me, William. You’ve never worried about such things before, and it’s a bit late to start now. All you need to know is that I am on top of everything. Now, Prince Richard . . . He has an excellent reputation as a fighter. Seems our Christof isn’t the only Prince who likes to get involved in the border skirmishes when he knows he’s not supposed to. Very popular with his own people. Something of a hero, in fact. You must have read some of the reports I gave you, William.”
“Some,” said the King. “I trust you, Gregory. You say he’s good material, that’s all I need to hear. You don’t think I’d marry my daughter off to a monster, whatever the price, do you?”
The Prime Minister changed the subject. “I’m still trying to find us a half-decent magic-user. Someone with real talent and power, who might be able to bring back some of the Unreal. Just enough to be useful. That marsh gas we found in the swamps isn’t going to last forever, you know. And the more real Castle Midnight becomes, the harder it is to heat and light and maintain the place.”
“I had noticed, thank you,” said the King. “Place is getting old, and grumpy. Like me.”
“Oh, stop it, or I’ll have one of the servants bring you a shawl,” said Pool. “The point is, none of my contacts have turned up anyone useful yet. It’s hard to find anyone of any real magical talent these days.”
The King sniffed loudly. “That’s because most of them go rushing off to that damned Hawk and Fisher Memorial Academy, down in Lancre, and we never see them again. I don’t think they should be allowed to do that, depriving the country of a natural resource . . . We should do something about that place. All it does is turn out troublemakers.”
“You leave the Hero Academy alone,” the Prime Minister said sternly. “They’re protected.”
“Really?” said the King. “Who by?”
“I don’t know! That’s what’s so worrying . . . Might I remind you that there is always my brother, the sorcerer Van Fleet?”
“Yes, yes,” the King said testily. “I know, you keep telling me: he’s very proficient, a very useful fellow. Very talented. Done a lot of useful things on our behalf. But when all is said and done, you know as well as I do that he’s High Magic. The Unreal has always had its roots in Wild Magic. Last I heard, Van Fleet had been all over Castle Midnight and hadn’t been able to detect anything he could get his hands on. Let alone try to call back and place under our control. Can’t say I’m that disappointed, really. The Wild Magic was always a harsh mistress, and an unreliable servant. By all accounts, Castle Midnight could be a really scary place to live, back in the day.”
“It’ll be a scary world if we don’t make this agreement work, William,” Gregory Pool said soberly. “So much depends on Catherine . . . If this should go wrong, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
THREE
ALL ABOUT THE PRINCE
On a colder than usual evening in early autumn
, somewhere in the Forest Kingdom, a Prince and his friends went riding in search of adventure. Even though at least one of them knew he wasn’t supposed to.
Prince Richard led the way, on his fine white horse, accompanied by his good friends Clarence Lancaster, who fancied himself a minstrel, and Peter Foster, who had never fancied himself as anything other than a soldier. Their horses weren’t white, or purebred, or even worth a second look, but they did their job just as well. Evening was sliding slowly into night, and the last of the light was going out of the day. The trees blazed bronze and brass all around them, and just the passing of three young men on horses was enough to shake the last leaves from the trees. The wide trail was already covered with a thick mulch of fallen leaves, muffling the beat of the horses’ hooves. Autumn had come early this year, as well as colder, and Prince Richard was quietly disputing with himself as to whether he might have left it just a bit late in the year to go out adventuring. Not that he’d ever admit that in front of his friends, of course. The Prince kept an ear out for wolves, who always appeared with the autumn, but there was hardly a sound anywhere. Just a few birds singing, some stubborn buzz of insects . . . In fact, the woods seemed almost unnaturally quiet.
“Are you sure we can’t take some time out for a break, for a bite to eat and a drop of something warming?” said Clarence, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle. He wasn’t really built for long rides, and he’d never been noted for his patience where creature comforts were concerned.
“We stopped for a hearty tea just a few hours back,” Richard said ruthlessly. “Where, I might add, you managed to consume more smoked meat, travel biscuits, and brandy than Peter and I put together. It’s a wonder to me that horse hasn’t collapsed under you. You do know the stable master keeps the other horses in line by threatening to give them to you?”