Conrig smiled. “She did indeed. Please be seated. May I offer you refreshment? I was going to have some malt myself.” He gestured at the table covered with papers. “I’m still hard at work, you see.”
“My poor beleaguered love. Yes, I’ll have a drink. Don’t be stingy pouring.”
She took the chair at the table opposite his, arranging her loose robe of tawny velvet trimmed with dark mink. Conrig handed her a crystal goblet, which she drank from liberally and then set down. He resumed his seat and sipped his own drink, keeping his eyes on her. She was two-and-twenty years of age and looked more beautiful than ever, her unbound auburn hair flowing down her back like liquid fire and her fair skin luminous in the candlelight. Bazekoy’s Brisket! If only she’d given him an heir…
“It’s true enough,” he said offhandedly, “that Kilian was convicted of treason through perjury. It’s also true that he was guilty as the devil himself. The evidence came to me through one of my most trusted men, who gathers intelligence for me secretly. I couldn’t possibly have let him testify before the tribunal and reveal himself, so the dissembling was necessary.”
She took up her cup again and stared into the amber depths. “You needn’t justify yourself to me, Con. I’m no friend of the Royal Alchymist. His evil influence on King Olmigon was deplorable. I’m quite sure Kilian got what he deserved.”
“No,” the prince said starkly. “Not yet. But one day he will, when I’m king. You see, we’re going to war against Didion. Kilian found out and informed Beynor of Moss, who has allied himself with the Didionite princes. The gang of them hatched a plot to foil our military operation and assassinate me after Father passed away. With that pudding-head Shiantil Blackhorse on the throne of Cathra, Kilian would rule the realm absolutely.” He gave a vulpine grin. “Until Beynor’s confederates in Stippen and Foraile launched an attack on our southern seaboard and Didion hammered us in the north. Presumably, Cathra was to be carved up like a roast ox, and I doubt Kilian would have been invited to the feast. Plots within plots, my lady! I’ve been hard put to keep up with them, but all’s well for the moment.”
She inclined her head without comment. Then: “Tell me about Ullanoth of Moss.”
Conrig’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, he kept silent, wondering how much she knew. Finally, he said, “She’s our secret ally in the war against Didion—the press for Sovereignty. Months ago, she came to Stergos and me at Brent Lodge and told us of a scheme by which we might invade Didion over Breakneck Pass at the end of the Boreal Moon.”
“Ah!”
“I must ask you to swear to keep this information secret.”
She said, “Do you really think I’d betray Cathra and send you to your death?”
He only stared at her evenly.
“Of course I swear.” Her tone was clipped.
He continued as though there had been no interruption. “Ullanoth pledged magical assistance that would enable us to enter Holt Mallburn without detection and seize King Achardus, his sons, and his high officials. I intend to implement this plan within less than two weeks. The announcement that my Heart Companions and I would go to Beorbrook Hold to help the earl marshal repel incursions over Great Pass is only a ruse. We’ll go to Castle Vanguard, where an invasion force led by the Lords of the North is gathering, even as we speak, and enter Didion through Breakneck Pass.”
“What reward did Princess Ullanoth ask of you for her assistance?”
“Money,” Conrig said. “A lot of it. And my solemn promise to set her on the throne of Moss when the Sovereignty is established, and declare her First Vassal— which means low taxation, among other things.”
Maudrayne swirled her liquor in the faceted cup. Her expression was unreadable. “That may not be easy, now that her brother is king and she’s barred from the succession.”
“When Moss is part of the Sovereignty of High Blenholme, its laws of succession will be as I decree. The princess is also a powerful sorceress, with her own ways of countering her brother’s claim to the throne. She’s a very formidable young woman.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” said Maudrayne. She was silent for a time, then downed the last of her drink and said, “Con, I wish to spend this winter in Tarn, with my suffering people. Red Ansel says that you plan to send grain ships to Goodfortune Bay, as payment for mercenary sealords to defend Cala. Let me go on one of the ships—and Ansel, too. I can return in the spring.”
“I’m sorry, my lady. Your place is here.”
“But I have set my heart on going! I’ve nursed King Olmigon devotedly for months. Now he’s at ease as he approaches his end, but I’m dog-weary. I must find some way to refresh my battered spirits. Let me see my own country again! If you wish, I can even speak to my uncle, the High Sealord Sernin, of your plan for Sovereignty—”
“No. That would be… premature and contrary to my wishes. And a voyage could be perilous, with the season of storms nearly upon us. No, you must remain here, Maude. If all goes well with the war, you shall visit your homeland next year, as consort to the Sovereign of High Blenholme and its Lady Ambassador to Tarn.”
She leapt to her feet, sea-blue eyes blazing. “But I want to go now! How can you object to my absence? You’re never here! And now you talk of going off to conquer Didion, leaving me once again. Do you have any idea of what my life is like? I’m nothing but an object of pity and derision to these noble Cathran snobs! Conrig’s barren, oh-so-unsuitable wife! They whisper about me and snicker when they think I don’t notice. I have not a single friend at court! My chief lady-in-waiting reports my every action to Queen Cataldise—and she patronizes me and invents things to quarrel about when she’s not ignoring me altogether. Only your father treats me like an intelligent human being, and he’s dying. I’m suffocating here, Conrig! Let me go!”
“I cannot,” he said, rising and taking her hand. “The times are too critical. You must remain in the palace and perform your duties cheerfully—or at least willingly. As your loving husband and lord, I command it.”
“Faithless cock-hound!” She tore her hand from his, seized her empty crystal goblet, and dashed it onto the hearthstone where the shards scattered like fiery sparks. “You dare speak to me of your love?” she screamed. “Liar! I know you’ve betrayed me with that Mossland slut. I know everything about you! Everything, Conrig Wincantor.” A ferocious triumph shone in her eyes. “Remember that, when you meet again with the witch Ullanoth.”
She whirled about and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
“Futter me,” said the prince wearily, slumping back into his seat.
My dearest one. If I were only there to console you.
He started up from the table, nearly upsetting the decanter of liquor over the papers. “Is it you, Ulla? Were you watching?”
Yes, and waiting. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to bespeak you. And what do I descry? A wife threatening her husband—and king-to-be—with revelation of his deepest, most perilous secret. Even though my lip-reading ability is minimal, that part of her tirade was plain enough.
“Ah, God, no!” Conrig let his brow fall onto his knuckles. “She can’t have meant that. She knows nothing of high magic and the indicators of talent. And she’d not tear the crown away from me, knowing it would go to one so unworthy as Duke Shiantil… would she?”
It’s evident that she eavesdropped upon our meeting last night. I think she hoped to return to Tarn and there divorce you without fault. But now—who knows? You must do something about her, Conrig. Before you go off to war.
He sat bolt upright, addressing the empty space that Ullanoth seemed to inhabit. “I will not harm her,” he said. “Never!”
So. You still love your wife.
“No!” he cried. “It’s over between us. But now is not the time to publish the breakdown of our marriage. It would alienate Tarn and put the entire scheme of Sovereignty at risk.”
She might violate her oath and betray your invasion. Her silence must b
e assured.
“I can manage that. Stergos can supply the proper potion. It’ll be no surprise that she falls slightly ill, after such an arduous journey. Later… everything can be resolved.”
My dearest prince. Maudrayne will run away. And the Tarnian shaman Ansel will help her.
He thought furiously. “I’ll have her sailboat disabled. Send Ansel off with the grain ships—if I ever get the cursed things organized. Take my mother and Lady Sovanna into my confidence and leave them to deal with Maude while I’m away in Didion. It can all be worked out.”
What’s this about sending grain to Tarn?
“We need mercenaries to help defend Cala, in case Beynor incites the Continentals to launch an attack. The sealords agreed to send twenty double-tier frigates, but they demand to be paid in food, not gold, and won’t set sail for Cathra until grain-ships arrive in Goodfortune Bay. I’ll arrange it, even if I have to empty the treasury.” He paused. “But tell me how you are faring, lady. I know of your father Linndal’s accidental death—”
No accident! It happened as soon as he signed the decree granting Beynor the right of succession. The little pismire tried to have me arrested and confined, but I escaped him using two of my sigils. I’m still secure in my tower, but I won’t remain here for long. As soon as I’ve conjured the appropriate enchantments, I’ll leave for Didion, where I’ll assist you to enter Holt Mallburn Palace and seize the king. We’ll drink a victory cup together, my prince.
Conrig felt himself going boneless with relief. The invasion would not have to be postponed after all.
He found his goblet, refilled it, and swallowed half its contents, ignoring the flames in his gullet. “Thank heaven you’re safe, Ulla! I feared for your life.”
It’s about time you thought to mention it.
He groaned, putting his heart and soul into it. “Ah, lady, this day I’ve been tried like a blade in a forge. Forgive me my distraction. The good news is, I’ve disposed of my old enemy Vra-Kilian. He’s convicted of high treason, his talent is extinguished, and I’ve sent him off to lifelong exile in the Abbey of Zeth.”
Well done. And I also have news to cheer you. Your northern allies have begun to send groups of fighters toward Castle Vanguard, according to your plan. So I’ve instructed my magical partners to bring down the first of the fog.
To hide the troop movements?
Exactly. At the appropriate time, I’ll blanket all of northeastern Cathra, from Beorbrook Hold and the Great North Road to the eastern shore, and as far south as Swan Lake and Lake Brent. For now, there’ll be small areas of mist—just enough to confuse Beynor or other hostile windwatchers of the Glaumerie Guild. If they spy warriors on the move, they’ll assume they’re converging on Great Pass. Incidentally, my brother seems thus far to have accepted the fiction that you intend to invade via that route.
“Thank God.”
I have a sigil able to spy through any enchantment Beynor may try to hide behind, vouchsafed me by the dead hand of my mother. It is not yet empowered, because it is one of the Great Stones that afflicts its owner with considerable suffering. But I will bring it to life when the proper time comes and use it to remove my brother from the throne he stole.
Conrig caught his breath. “But—you told me you would not resort to Beaconfolk magic, save to conceal and protect yourself, and visit me!”
I do what I must do. I have seven stones, just as Beynor does. Two of my Great Stones are not yet alive, because the thaumaturgical debt to the Lights increases with each sigil made active. And so does the danger of having the creatures… intervene in the magic, as my poor mother discovered.
“What happened to her, Ulla?”
We won’t talk of it now. Be assured that I intend to be far more cautious than she. The stones are perilous, but so is a sharp sword in the hands of a child. I’m no child, my love. I know how to control the power of the Coldlight Army, and so does my damned little brother. He only has six stones left now, after losing Concealer, but three of them are capable of tremendous magic. Our war is against Beynor as much as against Achardus of Didion.
“And… you also possess sigils capable of tremendous magic.”
What if I do? I won’t be hamstrung by your ignorance or fear, Conrig. If you aren’t willing to trust me, then tell me to be gone.
“Ah, lady! What else can I do but trust you?”
You do have other options, of course. Call off your invasion! Command your brother Stergos to bespeak the windvoices of your allies and recall the troops. Try to make peace with Didion by freely sending them food to ease their famine. Perhaps sweet charity will accomplish what your high-handed Edict failed to do! Or else abandon your dream of the Soverignty of Blenholme until you conceive another scheme more likely to succeed than this one I gave to you—along with my love.
“Ullanoth, don’t be angry with me. I must trust you and continue as we’ve planned. I can do nothing else, God help me!”
I will help you, Conrig. I! Holdfast to that certainty and lead your Heart Companions from Cala Palace on the appointed day. You’ll triumph in Didion, and in time you’ll unite all Blenholme.
He uttered a harsh laugh. “If my royal father rises from his deathbed.”
What? Are you making mock of me?
“Hardly. That’s the answer Emperor Bazekoy’s oracle gave to King Olmigon’s Question. Father asked if I would succeed in unifying the island. The oracle told him: ‘Only if you rise from your deathbed to assist him.’”
I— knew nothing of this. Why didn’t you tell me?
“I presumed you learned of it already through your occult arts, Conjure-Princess.”
No. This is… a very interesting thing. I must think about it and consult my books of prophecy. No king of Cathra has Questioned the emperor for nigh unto three hundred years. I presumed the oracle was extinct.
“The king was convinced it was quite real. The Question’s answer can be interpreted several ways, of course—including the ruin of all my hopes! But Bazekoy did accomplish the unlikely reconciliation of my father and me, so I’m inclined to keep an open mind.”
Quite right, my prince. And so will I. Now rest and dream of the great triumph to come. I must be about my work.
“Calling on the Beaconfolk to make fog?” he suggested cynically.
Not at all. A simpler enchantment will accomplish that. Good night, dearest love.
He hesitated only a moment before responding, “And good night to you, princess of my heart.”
Since it was not yet the tenth hour of evening, Conrig went to the apartments of Queen Cataldise to make his peace with her and ask her assistance in dealing with Maudrayne. There was no time to waste, given the famous impulsiveness of the princess.
The queen’s principal lady-in-waiting, a battle-axe named Vandaya Gullmont, who had changed Conrig’s swaddling clouts when he was an infant, greeted him with a forbidding frown.
“Look here, my prince! I can’t let you in. The Queen’s Grace is most distressed by the events of the day and none too pleased with you. Come back tomorrow.”
“Vandaya, has Mother gone to bed yet?” Conrig demanded.
“No, but—”
“Then I’ll see her, by God.”
He pushed past the spluttering woman and went into the queen’s sitting room. Cataldise, wearing a nightrobe, sat on a footstool in front of her favorite fireside armchair. The chair itself was occupied by a long-haired white mother cat and four nursing kittens, which the queen stroked gently. Her eyes were puffy from weeping, but she looked up with a calm expression as Conrig came and knelt beside her.
“See how beautiful Syla’s babies are,” she said abstractedly. “Three snowy little girls and one coal-black boy. They’ll be wonderful fun now that their eyes are finally open.”
“Mother—” Conrig took her plump hand and kissed it. “I’m sorry for what you’ve had to suffer this day. So very sorry.”
A fresh tear appeared and trickled down the queen’s cheek. ??
?Your father will be gone soon. And now my dear brother as well. Not dead, but banished so far away that I’ll never see him again. And if I hadn’t been there to plead for him, poor Kilian might have gone to the block.”
Conrig was gentle but firm. “All of the charges laid against him were true. And you may as well know his motive, even though it wasn’t spoken of before the tribunal: He intended to put your silly nephew Shiantil on the throne after assassins had disposed of me, and rule Cathra through him.”
“Yes,” the queen conceded, her tears falling faster. “Kilian would do that. He hates you, my dear, because he knows he can never control you. I’m ashamed of him and regret with all my heart that he gave in to the base lure of illicit power. But I can’t help but love him still.”
He folded her in his arms. “I know. And thanks to you, he’ll live and do penance for his treason and perhaps experience remorse. If you wish, you shall visit him regularly. He won’t be imprisoned—only confined to the abbey grounds. His magical powers are abrogated, but he may still enjoy use of the library and socialize with certain of the Brethren, including his three close friends who were convicted with him. Their punishment is actually very lenient.”
She nodded, took a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve, and wiped her eyes. “I know, dear.”
“So you aren’t embittered toward me?” He held her at arm’s length, entreaty in his gaze.
“No, of course not. I understand what you had to do. You’re the Prince Heritor and soon you’ll be my king, and I’ll be your loyal subject until I die. But even more, I’ll love you because you’re my dear son. Whatever you do.”
He took a breath. “Mother, I need your help in a very delicate matter.”
“Only ask.” She had regained her composure and once again began to stroke the nursing cat.
“It’s a sad thing, regarding my lady Maudrayne. She begged me to let her travel to Tarn this winter with the shaman Ansel. But I can’t permit her to leave. Not while there’s danger of war with Didion. Maude was wildly angry when I refused her. She accused me of ridiculous acts of infidelity with Princess Ullanoth of Moss and threatened to run off on her own.”