Fires had been lit in the two great hearths, and dozens of lamps and candles added their stains to the smoke-blackened rafters. The furniture had been pushed aside to make way for more pallets, and Thomas had to climb over a couple of tables to reach the other end of the room. It brought back less-than-pleasant memories of the Bisran War, of border villages overrun and taken before the inhabitants could scatter into the forest, and of the aftermath of battle.
Dr. Lambe stood near the long draw table where bags of instruments and jars of medicinal herbs were laid out. He looked exhausted and considerably the worse for wear. He looked up at Thomas's approach and said, "Captain, when can we leave?"
"As soon as it's daylight. The Host won't be able to form then." Thomas made himself sound sure despite his own doubts.
Lambe didn't look reassured. "And how sure are we of that?"
"I have it on fairly good authority." He had to admit, "What might be wandering the streets is another matter, but they won't be after just anyone."
Lambe glanced upward. The King was on one of the upper floors, guarded heavily. "You're right about that."
The palace was a trap, and they couldn't afford to be caught in it. Ravenna and Roland would have to be gotten to safety. Whether Ravenna likes it or not, Thomas thought. His first choice was to get them out of the city and to Villon at the Granges--and they would have to be together. Roland would be swept under by the chaos and lose his throne to the first opportunist with a troop. Ravenna could ride the storm.
Galen Dubell crossed the room toward them. Like Dr. Lambe, the hem and sleeves of his robe were stained with dried blood. "What sort of protections are we employing for the evacuation?" he asked.
Before Thomas could answer, an Albon knight stepped up to them and said, "His Majesty requires an audience, Captain Boniface."
Thomas looked at him, but the knight's face betrayed nothing. After a moment he said, "Very well," and turned to Dubell. "Doctor, could you send a message to my lady Ravenna and let her know I'll be unable to attend her for a short time?"
Startled, Dubell looked from Dr. Lambe's stricken expression to the other Albon knights who had suddenly appeared in the room. He said, "Yes, of course."
Thomas followed the knight to the bottom of the narrow stairwell that led up into the tower, where there were two more Albons waiting for them. He took in their appearance without comment and they started up the stair.
It was a long way up to the fifth level of the tower, the many lamps that illuminated the stone steps making the air smoky and close. There were knights standing guard at each level.
On the landing there were two more Albons at the wide oaken door. The knight who had come after Thomas smiled and said, "His Majesty has requested that you disarm before coming in to him."
Thomas met his eyes. As a member of the Queen's Guard and an appointed officer he had the right to go armed in the royal presence, and he also knew what any sort of protest to that effect would mean to Roland, and what would happen if they searched him inside and found a concealed weapon.
In silence he handed over both pistols, his main gauche, boot dagger, and unbuckled the rapier from his baldric.
One of the knights opened the door and they went inside.
The room was far too warm and too crowded. The gold threads in the red tapestries caught the candlelight and cast it back. There were more Albon knights, all showing signs of the past battle. Some of Roland's younger courtiers were playing cards at a table in a corner, and somewhere out of sight a musician played a soprano recorder. Renier wasn't present. Roland was seated in a tapestry-draped armchair, Denzil at his side.
As Thomas bowed, Roland said, "Kneel, Sir."
Even though he was hearing the latch of a trap snap shut, it was second nature to make it look like an easy gesture.
Denzil smiled lazily and said something inaudible to Roland that made the young King giggle and redden with embarrassment. Thomas realized Roland was not drunk yet, but he was definitely well on the way, and he would have bet anything it was Denzil's doing.
Roland fiddled with a torn piece of lace on his cuff, his eyes large and dark. "What is my mother doing now?"
"She's resting, Your Majesty." Thomas kept his expression even and his voice level. The room had quieted, and the courtiers were watching with a fascinated intensity that combined sly amusement at someone else's misfortune and fear for their own necks.
"And my Queen? My cousin has said she refuses to attend me here."
Thomas wondered if Falaise knew she had refused to attend Roland. Probably not. "She isn't well, Your Majesty, and your mother required her to stay in her rooms." This was a lie, but he wasn't going to throw the young Queen to the wolves to save his own skin. If the matter doesn't become academic in the next few moments.
Roland said, "Oh." Even at this time, he realized Falaise was not likely to ignore a direct order from Ravenna. But Denzil nudged him with an elbow, causing the knight standing guard behind their chairs to tighten his grip on his sword-hilt. Thus prompted, Roland said, "And my sister?"
"She's in the Guard House, Your Majesty."
Denzil idly twisted one of his rings. His hands were trembling slightly, probably from excitement. He said, "She was seen smearing blood on the lintels and cornerposts of the Guard House. Now why was she doing that, we wonder?"
How the hell should I know? "I don't know, Your Majesty." Thomas directed his answer to Roland, just to see Denzil's expression tighten with anger. It was hardly likely to be anything detrimental; even Kade wouldn't put a curse on a house and then settle down in it for the night. And she obviously hadn't made a secret of what she had done. It sounded more like a feast-day practice one of the foreign cults in the city performed.
Roland absently rubbed the carved arm of the chair, thinking over his next move. Denzil leaned toward him familiarly, watching Thomas out of the corner of his eye, and whispered something. Roland giggled and looked guilty.
Thomas allowed himself to look just slightly bored. Denzil's attempts to prey on his nerves were having more effect on the Albon who was standing behind him and could hear what he was saying.
Finally Roland said, "Perhaps you told her to do it."
"Why would I do that, Your Majesty?" Thomas had always known that if he had to die to please a royal ego, he wanted it to be as scandalous, messy, and politically inconvenient for as many persons as possible. Disappearing into the depths of the Albon Tower was not a scenario he preferred.
Roland didn't answer immediately. He bit his lower lip and looked at his cousin.
Denzil stood and strolled around the room, behind Thomas and out of his sight. He said, "We don't know what part she had in this attack."
Thomas kept his eyes on Roland. "She was almost killed in the retreat from the main hall." Defending her this way could be dangerous for both of them, but he wasn't sure what Denzil was after.
Roland looked surprised. "She was?"
Standing too near him, Denzil brushed Thomas's hair aside to reveal the pearl drop in his right ear. "That's a gift from the Dowager Queen, is it not?"
The door opened and a knight bowed his way in. "Pardon, Your Majesty."
Denzil stepped away from Thomas. Roland shifted in his chair nervously. "What is it?"
"The Queen... The Dowager Queen has sent a messenger requesting Captain Boniface's immediate presence."
All eyes in the room went to Roland as most of those present realized the implications of this. Thomas thought, Don't provoke her, boy, not now. Ravenna was exhausted and angry and sitting on top of the best-organized force left in the palace with an armory at her back. But if Roland pushed her into a civil war just because he could, then he didn't deserve to be King, let alone to live.
Roland stared at the knight. Denzil started to speak but abruptly Roland waved him to silence and said, "Fine, then, go on. I'm tired."
Thomas stood, bowed, and left the room. He collected his weapons in complete silence from the knights on t
he landing, then went down the stairs. Martin was pacing restlessly near the outside door.
Reaching him, Thomas said, "Tell her you saw me outside and I'll be there in a few moments."
Martin said, "Yes, Sir," and bolted back across the court. Thomas went the other way, along the tower's wall, until he came to a place in deep shadow but with a good view of the door.
He pulled his cloak around him and stood with folded arms, watching the cloud-strewn sky. The cool wind lifted the hair off the back of his neck, and he thought for a few moments about treason and murder.
But he had learned more from Denzil than the Duke had from him. He thought He had me. He was sure of it. He had tried to provoke Thomas to fight. He wanted Ravenna and Roland at each other's throats; he wanted the palace in chaos.
Denzil was confident. He had expected the attack.
He took the keystone, or he ordered it done. Never mind how he knew where it was; I'll work that out later. He may have killed Braun himself. And I don't have a shred of proof against him.
There was only one thing Denzil could want in return for treason of such a magnitude.
The young Duke of Alsene had so much already from Roland. Would he abandon a secure existence on a chancy bid for the throne, based on such infirm ground as the help of a foreign sorcerer? But is Denzil's existence secure? Thomas asked himself. Or more importantly, does he think his existence is secure? Roland was still Ravenna's son, and Fulstan's. He could have Denzil killed on a whim, at any time. And he was still a young man; he could become as changeable in later life as his father had.
As a patch of moonlight illuminated the court, a swift smooth shadow crossed it. Something large enough to be flying above the wards yet throw a man-sized shadow on the pearl gray paving stones.
Thomas leaned back against the wall, his dark clothing blending into the rough stonework. A reminder from the Host.
As it passed out of sight and the clouds crept back over the moon, the Albon knight he had suspected was following him stepped quietly out into the court from the door of the tower.
Thomas waited until the man gave up and disappeared back inside, then started back to the Guard House.
Denzil was in league with Grandier, and regardless of the consequences, he was going to have to die.
* * *
In the Guard House, Kade was sitting on the floor near the stairs. She turned over another card from the deck she had found, winced, swept the scattered cards together, and reshuffled them. Something was happening in the Albon Tower, something interesting, and no one would tell her about it. Who can I pry it out of, she wondered, looking speculatively around the quiet hall and laying out the cards again.
No one seemed to find her presence objectionable. The refugees had brought her everything from amulets to prayer books to bless for luck, and she had collected several apples, an egg, a few ribbons, and a battered daisy as propitiatory gifts. The guards were all nobles and so less superstitious, but treated her as a sort of mascot, which was better behavior than she had had from anyone connected with the crown in a long time. They knew who had been on the wrong side of the bastion's siege doors with them, and were acting accordingly.
Falaise had sent her a pair of boots. The woman who had brought them had said they were a boy-page's boots, made for a masque last month and brought along accidentally in the trunk the Queen's ladies had hastily packed before leaving the King's Bastion, but the Queen had "thought they would suit best." She meant they looked big enough, Kade thought. Falaise and her ladies had small perfect feet, not ugly long-toed things better suited for walking on tree branches. But the boots were soft, blue-stamped leather with gold stitching, and she liked them immensely.
She rubbed the bruised lump on her head thoughtfully. That is, no one objected to her presence openly. She still didn't know what she had been hit with in the retreat to the King's Bastion. An object that small of wood or stone would have certainly startled her, but not knocked her reeling and half-conscious against the banister. No, the object had been cold iron, and no fay had cast it at her.
And Thomas Boniface had carried her up the stairs.
That had triggered a memory, a tactile child's memory. She had been six or seven, playing on the warm dusty stones of a palace court with servants' children, and suddenly found herself among a forest of sharp hooves and tall equine legs, horses snorting and dancing around her. For a moment she had found it wonderful. But just as fear had time to set in, a strong arm had caught her around the waist and lifted her out of danger with a muttered "And what do you think you're doing." She had been deposited on the side of the court out of harm's way, and left with a memory of a deep voice and a masculine scent combined with the musky sweat of horses.
Her father had heard about it somehow. He heard about everything somehow. He had called her a whore. When she had told Galen about it, he had slammed things around his small study and muttered to himself for an hour, but he was not quite worldly enough to realize what was bothering her and explain it away. It wasn't until weeks later when a scrubwoman had explained to her what a whore was that she understood she couldn't possibly be one. A whore, she thought, old stale anger rising again. At that age and about as alluring as an awkward puppy. It's a wonder that I'm not mad as a wool-dyer. It was a wonder she wasn't as helplessly at sea in the world as Roland was.
"Excuse me, my lady?"
She looked up to see a nervous dark-haired gentlewoman on the stairs above, looking down at her hesitantly. Kade thought her one of Falaise's ladies, but she wasn't the one who had come before. Then the woman said, "My lady, the lady Ravenna would like to speak to you in her chamber."
"Oh," Kade said. She collected the cards and stood up.
She followed the woman up the lamplit stairs to the third floor. The rooms Ravenna and Falaise had taken were in a single suite. There was a group of Queen's guards and two Cisternans standing in the anteroom having a low-voiced, intense, and agitated conversation Kade was sure would have been quite interesting, but the gentlewoman opened the inner door to Ravenna's chamber for her, curtseyed, and fled.
Ravenna sat alone near the shuttered window, head turned to look down at the empty hearth. A few carved chests stood open, and richly embroidered robes and rugs were tumbled about and piled in the chairs. Kade fought a surge of anxiety that suddenly welled up in her gut; she was not a child anymore.
"I wanted to know your intentions." Ravenna turned to look at her, finally. "Why you are still here."
Kade looked down and noticed her feet again. She said, "Why shouldn't I be here?"
"'Why shouldn't I be,'" Ravenna mocked. "Your wit astonishes me. Of course, everything I've built with my life and my blood is tumbling down around my ears; why shouldn't you stay and watch?"
"If you already know then why are you asking?" Kade said it quietly, and looked up to deliberately meet Ravenna's eyes. That was good. I did that well.
"Oh, never mind." It was Ravenna who looked away. "I suppose if you actually had some sort of motive, you would give me an answer."
Kade sighed, then realized the old Queen's sharp eyes were on her again and felt a chill that didn't come from the air. Ravenna had set a trap for that telltale expression of relief. "Well," Ravenna said slowly. "Do you still want the throne?"
"No! I just said that; I didn't mean it." I should have known that would come back to haunt me. "Can't you just leave me out of your idiot power struggles?" But it was easy to talk about the throne. Ravenna couldn't understand how little it meant to her.
Ravenna's mouth hardened. "No, I cannot. I'm old, and frightened. I get angry when I'm frightened and your brother does not know when to stop pressing me. Or rather, he lets Denzil tell him that it is all some sort of game, and that his mother will forgive him anything, because she wants him on the throne. Well, I'm having second thoughts about that."
"Don't bother having first thoughts about me, because I won't do it."
Ravenna's hard eyes came back to her again, c
ynical and doubting. Kade said, "I'm serious. It's hard enough being a queen in Fayre, but this is...real."
"I wish Roland knew that. I tried to teach him to rule, but he doesn't understand. Our people aren't serf-slaves, like Bisran peasants. They'll riot in the cities and rebel over the vine-growers' excise in the country. The balances of power that must be maintained among the nobles of this city alone..." She tapped her fingers on the chair arm and shook her head. "I push Roland, to test him, to make him strong, but he backs away. Then he lets Denzil goad him into pushing me too far."
Kade looked at her curiously. Even in the soft candlelight Ravenna was all glinting sharp edges, her sharp profile, her jewels, her eyes. She wondered if her brother understood that someday his mother would be gone, and there would be nothing to cushion him from the battleground of the court. "If not Roland, and not me, then who?"
Ravenna seemed to ignore the question. She said, "I planned it so carefully. I let the Ministry gain power. The nobles," she invested the word with considerable contempt, "clung to each other in salons all over the city, alternately whining and shouting about it, but they couldn't stop me. I reduced the walls of their private strongholds, took away their private armies, so if the flower of nobility wanted to rebel against Roland they'd have a damned hard time doing it. And Aviler has some concept of how a state should function; he would have been able to keep Roland from making too bloody a fool of himself. I made an enemy of Aviler, even though his father was one of my closest friends, because if I had ever shown him favor Roland would never have listened to him. Of course, Roland never listened to him anyway. And now we don't know where Aviler is, or if he's alive." She stopped and looked away. "If not you, then no one."