Elise worried but she knew that would have to be good enough. If his meeting lasts too long, we’ll just have to make a scene, but that can wait until Dorian gets here, she thought to herself.
***
James was gritting his teeth again. It was a habit that Ginny had frequently cautioned him about, warning that he would damage his teeth over time, but since he had taken the throne he found it difficult to stop. Today he did it because he was meeting with the more powerful lords of Lothion, men whose lands and power made them important, and while each of them owed their allegiance to the king, any one of them could be a source of serious problems if they decided to rebel, especially if the others didn’t unite behind their sovereign.
His eyes narrowed as he came to the double doors that protected the small conference chamber. Four men stood guard there as usual, but their livery was that of Hightower rather than the royal design. “Who are these men?” he asked Mathias, the guard captain who was escorting him.
“Many of the guardsmen are down with the flux this morning, Your Majesty. Possibly something they ate last night. Lord Hightower sent a large contingent of his men to manage palace security until things get back to normal,” replied Mathias promptly.
James stopped, “How many are ill?”
“Almost three in four, Your Majesty, everyone who ate at the barracks mess last night. I’ve recalled those that were on leave. Luckily I usually eat with my family, or I’d be down with it too.”
“How about the other staff?” asked James.
“They seem to be fine. I have men looking into it, but at the moment it seems to have only been the barracks food that was affected. Those eating at the common tables haven’t had any sickness.”
The King resumed walking, “Do you have enough men to guarantee the palace security?”
Mathias nodded, “For now, Your Majesty. Lord Hightower’s men have allowed me to cover the essentials, though I imagine the city guard may be shorthanded now.”
“Let us hope the city doesn’t come under attack then,” said the King wryly.
One of the guards held the door as they entered, announcing James’ entrance loudly to the men gathered within. The room held a moderately sized table with eight chairs. Behind four of them stood some of the most powerful lords in the realm, waiting for their monarch to take his seat before they themselves could take their places: Lord Andrew Tremont, Duke of Tremont; Lord John Airedale, Count and landowner of massive tracts of forests in the east; Lord Martin Balistair, Earl of Balistair and owner of some of the most productive farming regions in the nation; Lord Brad Cantley, Duke of Cantley and master of almost half of the kingdom’s shipping trade; and Lord Lyle Surrey, Baron of Surrey and many other coastal estates.
Three seats had no one standing behind them, those of Count Malvern and Lord Hightower, as well as the seat belonging to the Duke of Lancaster. Count Malvern had been unable to make the journey to the capital because of age and declining health. As for the Lancaster seat, while Roland had recently been given the title of Duke, he had requested a pardon to be absent from this meeting. He was still ill at ease with his new responsibilities, a matter that probably worried his father.
James hadn’t expected Lord Hightower to be missing. Turning his head he spoke to Mathias, “Where is Hightower?”
“I’m afraid he is also ill today, Your Majesty,” responded the captain.
The eighth seat (actually the first seat, according to protocol) belonged to the King himself. James sat carefully while Mathias held his chair. Once he had taken his place, he motioned to the other men in the room, “You may be seated.” Mathias stood behind and slightly to the right of the King, his job being to safeguard James’ well-being.
“I’d like to thank everyone for their trouble coming today, especially those of you who had to travel,” began James. He didn’t bother using the royal ‘we’ for this occasion. The yearly meeting of the High Council, attended by all the noblemen of Lothion would begin in another week, but this meeting was reserved for those with the most influence. It had started centuries before as a way of ensuring that the greater powers of the kingdom agreed upon major matters in preparation for the more general gathering. Despite the layers of tradition that had settled upon it, this meeting was still far more informal.
Andrew, Duke of Tremont, interrupted, “I cannot help but notice your son’s absence. Malvern is understandable, but Lancaster is not so far, especially when you consider the new World Road your pet wizard built.”
To speak out of turn, without invitation, was a major breech of etiquette, eliciting a gasp from the other men in the room. Mathias tensed at the insult, but James held up his hand, “You overstep yourself Tremont. Do not think your position shields you from the responsibilities of protocol.”
Andrew Tremont stood, sliding his chair back. It was an even greater insult to rise without permission, but it didn’t seem to worry the man. “I think we’ve all had just about enough of your protocol, James,” he replied, sneering as he referred to the King by his first name. While the two men had been friends once, in their youth, it was beyond the pale now for him to take such liberties.
James Lancaster’s eyes took in the table with a glance. John Airedale seemed visibly affronted at Tremont’s behavior, but the other notables seemed different—nervous rather than shocked. That alone told him that Tremont’s behavior was anything but reckless, the man was planning something.
James stood. “What’s your game, Andrew? You wouldn’t stick your neck out like this unless you thought you had something to gain, so why don’t you go ahead and get it out in the open.”
Andrew Tremont laughed, “No game, old friend. You’ve had a good run, but your time is done. Your wizard is gone, and the gods are angry with you for your blasphemy. It’s as simple as that; the people need a ruler who will respect the gods.”
“And I’ll bet you think you’re the man for the job,” said James. “We’ll see whether your opinion changes after you’ve been in prison a while.” The last thing he needed at this point was to be forced to jail the most prominent of his nobles, but Tremont had left him no choice. “Captain, have him taken away.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Mathias before signaling the hidden watchers to send in the guardsmen.
Andrew Tremont merely laughed, a smile on his lips. The doors opened as the guardsmen on duty entered, but rather than putting hands on him, they raised crossbows, pointing them at James Lancaster.
Chairs clattered as the men seated at the table abandoned their chairs, moving to the sides of the room—out of the line of fire. Captain Mathias stepped in front of his king, sword drawn. Lord Airedale had stepped back, but seemed visibly confused, shifting his gaze repeatedly between the crossbowmen and his monarch.
The air was taut with tension while Tremont smiled triumphantly at James Lancaster. John Airedale was the first to break the silence. “What are you doing Andrew?” he said, addressing Duke Tremont. “Have you lost your mind?!”
James answered him in even tones, “It’s pretty clear what’s happening, John. Tremont is planning to take the throne of Lothion. The first step is regicide.”
Andrew Tremont laughed. “It appears you have a choice to make John.”
Earl Balistair spoke then, “You told me Airedale was with us.”
The Duke of Tremont glared at him angrily, “He will be. I knew John would vacillate, so I felt it would be better to present our proposal as a brute fact, rather than a vague possibility. It’s amazing how people’s opinions will firm up under pressure.”
“How very like you, Andrew. You lied to each of them didn’t you? Telling each in turn that the others had already agreed to your plan; do you think they’ll be happy with such a treacherous king?” said James loudly. He could sense some hesitation in the other lords, and he knew the longer he kept them talking, the more likely they would be to lose their nerve. “You need not side with him gentlemen. I will pardon your treason now if you abandon his
conspiracy.”
“It’s rather too late for that, James,” replied Andrew Tremont, gesturing to the men with crossbows he ordered, “Shoot him.”
No one moved. The guardsmen holding the weapons looked visibly shaken. “No one said we’d have to kill the King,” announced one of them nervously.
Andrew swore and took one of his guardsmen’s swords from him. “I’ll do it myself then, since no one else has the balls.” Facing Mathias he ordered, “Out of the way!”
The captain of the royal guard refused to step aside. “One step closer and I’ll gut you like the pig you are Tremont!” he shouted back.
The Duke of Tremont looked at his bowmen, “Kill him.”
His men had no problems shooting non-royalty; four bolts appeared in the captain’s chest. He collapsed with a wheezing sigh, unable even to cry out, his lungs having been pierced. He died quickly.
John Airedale’s eyes were on James, and the former Duke of Lancaster could see desperation in them. In that moment James wondered if his own eyes looked like that. He wants to live, and he knows if he sides with me they’ll kill him. Looking back at the man James silently tried to forgive him, before reaching down to reclaim the guard captain’s sword.
The guardsmen’s weapons were empty, for they had all fired on the captain, and Andrew Tremont knew better than to let the King arm himself. Both Tremont and Lancaster had trained with swords since their youth, but he doubted his own ability to overcome his old rival in a one on one confrontation. Leaping forward he stabbed the King of Lothion as he tried to pry the sword from his dead bodyguard’s hand.
The long blade passed through James’ midsection, missing his lungs and heart though it tore through his liver and stomach. With a surge of adrenaline he made it to his feet, sword in hand, even as his shirt turned red from a wash of blood. “You were always afraid to face me weren’t you Andrew?” he said, spitting the words at the Duke of Tremont. “You are a coward even to the end.”
“This is your end old friend, not mine,” said Andrew Tremont with a sad smile before adding, “It isn’t Ginny’s end either. I’ll be paying her a visit soon.”
James’ eyes went wide, “You bastard! She won’t have you.”
“I won’t give her much choice, and the people will accept the transition better if the old queen marries the new king,” gloated Andrew.
James Lancaster took a step forward, trying to reach his murderer, but Tremont danced back nimbly. The other man knew it was only a matter of time now, better to let blood loss and fatigue do its work.
The next minute was a grotesque mockery as James tried to reach his opponent, bleeding and turning paler by the second as he lost blood. He gripped Mathias’ sword in his right hand, while holding his belly wound with the left, vainly trying to keep his intestines from pushing outward as he moved. John Airedale stood to one side, silent even as tears streaked his cheeks.
Eventually James could no longer maintain his posture and grabbed a chair, trying to remain on his feet. Andrew stepped forward then, thrusting through the cushioned seat-back to pierce the King’s chest once again. Falling backward in a futile attempt to escape the steel that had already wounded him, James collapsed on the floor.
Leaning over him, Andrew looked down with a pitiful expression. “How the mighty have fallen,” he announced dramatically.
The King’s eyes were glazed now, but he still managed to speak, “Spare my children, Andrew, please…”
Tremont smiled, “Your children are dead, and I’ll be fucking your wife before your blood finishes cooling.”
“I’ll see you in…”
Andrew silenced his monarch with another thrust of cold steel, driving through the base of James’ throat. “Fools should be dead and not heard.”
Wiping the blade off with James’ cloak, Andrew looked up at Count Airedale. “Have you made up your mind yet, John?”
John Airedale’s voice warbled as he answered weakly, “The King is dead. Long live the King.”
The Duke of Tremont grinned insanely. “I like the sound of that. Now, I wonder what our good Queen Genevieve is doing this morning.”
Chapter 18
“If Your Highness would give me some more time, I’m certain we can sort out any discrepancies in the ledgers,” said Willard, rubbing absently at his bald pate. It was a nervous habit he had developed in the years after losing his hair, though some teased him that he’d lost his hair because of his constant fussing with his head.
Ariadne gave him a severe look, “I understand that you’d prefer to have anyone else look at these books, rather than someone who might actually add up the columns, but that is exactly why I’m here.”
The older man paled, “I hope you don’t think I’ve committed any indiscretions, Your Highness. I have served as the royal purser under three kings now, and I’ve never stolen from the kingdom!” He ran his hand across his bare head again.
Ariadne sighed. King Edward had been no fool, and she really had no reason to doubt the royal purser’s honesty. If he had been a thief, he would have been caught long ago, but she still believed it served a good purpose to keep those in charge of the gold honest. “I understand your worries, Willard. Rest assured that if all I find are minor mistakes or honest errors, there will be no problem, but my father has tasked me with reviewing your records. I will not come back next week. The whole point of this exercise is to check the books when no one is expecting it. Are we clear on this point?”
Willard let the air out of his chest with a defeated sigh, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Now, if you’ll fetch the factor’s ledgers as well, I can see if…” she paused, for a runner had appeared in the doorway, although the guard wouldn’t yet let him pass. “Do you have something for me?” she asked, interrupting the man’s explanation to her men.
He bowed deeply, “Yes, Your Highness, a note from Lady Thornbear. She seemed to feel it was quite urgent.”
She stood and crossed over to him, holding out her hand, “Let me see.” Her guards let him pass the folded sheet of paper to her. Opening it she scanned the brief message written there:
Act normally, but do not eat or drink anything until we have spoken. Please see me as soon as possible. I will be with your mother.
~Elise Thornbear
Puzzled she folded the paper and slipped it into a small purse she kept at her belt. “You’ll be relieved to know that I have to leave for a bit Willard,” she informed him, “but I will return as soon as I can.”
“Should I put the ledgers away for now, Your Highness?” asked the purser.
She smiled at him. “I hope to be back in an hour or two. Don’t pack them up until after lunch if I don’t make it back before then.” She turned to the messenger, “Thank you for the message, you may return to your duties now.”
The man waited until she and her bodyguards had started down the hallway. It would have been improper to walk ahead of the princess, even if he might have taken a faster pace. Instead he followed quietly a few feet behind them. As they went she heard a commotion ahead, from the direction of the stairs. It sounded distinctly like fighting.
The two men with her tensed, drawing their swords and moving to put themselves in front of her when the door to the stairs crashed open, and the body of a newly killed soldier fell through. He wore the King’s livery. From the noise it sounded as if quite a battle was unfolding on the stairs.
Ariadne Lancaster was stunned, and she stood staring dumbly at the bleeding form lying on the stone floor some twenty feet ahead. No one else had yet emerged, but from the sound of things, the fighting was fierce. Luckily her guards reacted more quickly. One of them did the unthinkable; grabbing her arm he began hustling her in the other direction. His companion followed close behind. “What are you doing?” she asked once her mouth caught up with her observations.
“Your pardon, Highness, but whatever is happening, we need to get you safely clear of the area,” answered the man who had her by the arm. The
other man was looking for an alternative route from the corridor, but the only thing close at hand was a small storage room. Thrusting the door open, the two of them rushed her within, shutting the door behind them.
The messenger was still standing in the hall when armed men started boiling out of the stairwell. Some of them were wounded, but most seemed unharmed. All of them wore Hightower’s colors. They rushed past the unarmed man without a word.
Inside the small room, Ariadne was feeling a bit claustrophobic. Dim light entered only from a large gap under the door, making it difficult to see. It was a small supply closet, barely five feet by five. The walls were lined with shelves holding parchment and vellum, binding materials and ink. “If there’s something happening out there, shouldn’t you be helping?” she asked her guards.
The one that had spoken earlier grimaced, “I understand, Highness, and I feel a coward hiding in here, but our first priority is your safety.” A piercing scream from the offices she had just left reached their ears.
“She isn’t here! A messenger came, and she left a minute ago.”
Ariadne recognized Willard’s voice. It was followed by a heavy sound, as if someone had struck something hard—or perhaps the sound of a body hitting the floor.
“They’re going to find us,” she cautioned her guards. “There aren’t any other ways up from this part of the keep.” The accountant’s offices were situated outside the royal treasury, and for obvious reasons, there was only one corridor leading in or out of that part of the palace.
The guard that had been silent finally spoke, “Well we aren’t just going to walk out and hand you over to them.” In his nervousness he forgot to include the proper form of address.
“From the sound of it, there are over a dozen men out there. This room will be one of the first places they check when they start searching. Even if you kill several of them, you will still die. Let me show myself. They will take me prisoner, and you may live,” she urged her guardians.