Reign of the eagle, p.3
Reign of the Eagle, page 3
“Is Father feeling better?” Alice asked, still with a fingertip in the corner of her mouth.
“Can we go down and see him?” asked Edwin.
“Let’s go,” said Jennifer. “You can come, too, Elwyn.”
They looked so hopeful. They were all so certain that good things would happen because they wanted them to.
For a few moments, Elwyn couldn’t find her voice. She wiped her eyes preemptively and pulled Alice onto her lap. “Oh, I don’t think it’s such a good idea. Father is very sick, you know.”
Alice tugged at Elwyn’s braid. “But he’s getting better, right?”
Elwyn considered her answer carefully. If Lord Aldred and Lady Jorunn and all the physicians were right, then the children were going to know the truth very soon, one way or another. Their smiles faded as she fought for words.
“Father isn’t getting better,” she finally said.
“Is he going to die?” Edwin asked.
“The physicians think he will,” Elwyn confirmed. “Lord Aldred thinks so, too.” They all started to cry, so she pulled them into a hug, including Jennifer. “It’s alright,” she said. “He’s going to Earstien’s Light, but Mother and I aren’t going anywhere. And you know we both....” Her voice failed, and all she could do was stroke Alice’s head as the little girl curled into a ball, sobbing.
Footsteps approached, and Elwyn, blinking away her tears, looked over the children’s heads to see Queen Rohesia glaring down at them. Huddled behind her were two of her ladies and Mrs. Ripley, the chief nursemaid.
“That’s quite enough, now,” said the queen. “Children, go with Mrs. Ripley.”
Alice, still sniffling, climbed obediently down from Elwyn’s lap, and the ladies gently led the children away. Elwyn stayed where she was, wiping her eyes and avoiding Rohesia’s gaze.
When they heard the door of the nursery shut, the queen spoke again. “What were you thinking, telling the children that?” she demanded. “What purpose could that possibly serve?”
“They need to know,” Elwyn said stubbornly, looking out over the Palm Court. “It’s only right to be honest. Edwin may be king in a few days, Mother.”
“There will be time to worry about that later. That Annenstruker physician is very optimistic about your father’s prospects.”
“Lord Aldred disagrees.”
“Lord Aldred may be an angel,” said the queen, “but last I checked, he hasn’t become Earstien himself. Your father must follow the physician’s regime, and we must pray. And in the meantime, we must stick together. You and I must carry on as if nothing is amiss.”
Elwyn turned and looked at her. “Are you joking?”
“Certainly not. Now, as you know, or rather, as you should know—I doubt you’ve been paying any attention to the palace bulletins—the entire privy council is here today. We must entertain them. Be sure to wear that emerald necklace the Duchess of Keneburg bought you for your 20th birthday. Now go select one of your best gowns. No, wait. Have Phoebe choose one for you. I don’t want you coming to a formal luncheon in a riding dress again.”
“Yes, Mother,” Elwyn sighed, and then she stomped off to her apartment.
Only Rohesia would think she could hold back the inevitable with court dresses and etiquette.
Chapter 3
Broderick only hosted Anne at his own chambers on rare occasions. But he had been up for hours, pacing the echoing halls, and when she had found him, well past midnight, and suggested a drink, he took her to his rooms, because that was where he kept all the best whiskey.
Anne thought his apartments were “boring,” and she was always trying to “liven them up” by giving him stylish Immani oil paintings and scented candles, which he dutifully put on display for a day or two before passing them off to the servants.
He didn’t think there was any need to change how his rooms looked. He liked the cheap set of six little tapestries with “The Life of the Blessed Ovida” that his children had bought him for the Solstice ten years ago. Immani art critics would have been appalled by the garish colors and amateurish composition, but he didn’t care. Neither did he care what anyone said about keeping all his everyday clothes in trunks, rather than wardrobes. For a man who had to travel around the kingdom, visiting troops in the field, it was practical. As for the rest, his threadbare old bachelor furniture was more than twenty years older than Anne, and he wasn’t about to give it up now.
Seated together on his sagging couch, they had several rounds of whiskey. Then they had sex on his big, blue Sahasran carpet (a wedding gift from his wife), followed by another drink. Finally, as dawn approached, they gave up any hope of sleeping and switched to coffee.
Broderick sat staring into the fire, while Anne perched by his arm, reading aloud to him from Adler’s The Tragedy of King Otto. It was an unusually erudite choice for her, and he wondered if this was her attempt at picking something topical. Otto, of course, being the Odelandic king who had blundered into war and lost half his country to the first King of Myrcia. The connection was clear enough to Broderick, but he wasn’t sure if Anne saw it.
They were nearing the climax of the third act, when a knock came, soft and quick. Shifting Anne slightly, Broderick went to the door to find Sir William Aitken standing there. Even at the best of times, William’s face, drawn and pinched like a starving rat’s, was never a sight to gladden the heart. But now there was an air of dreadful solemnity in the man’s expression that made Broderick shiver, even though he had been expecting this visit for the better part of a week.
“My lord,” said William, in his low, rasping voice, “the king is dead.”
After a quick check to see no one was lurking in the hall to overhear them, Broderick waved the knight into the apartment. “You’re sure about this?” He held up the coffee pot by way of making an offer.
“No thank you, my lord,” William said.
He looked briefly at Anne, who now slouched into Broderick’s overstuffed chair. Broderick gestured for him to continue.
“I waited in the servants’ stairwell near the Gold Parlor, as you requested, and I heard Lord Aldred give the news to the chancellor.”
“What news is this?” asked Anne, flopping over and looking up at them, with her dimpled little chin resting on the arm of the chair. William pursed his lips and looked away.
“The king is dead,” said Broderick softly.
Many people would try to feign grief at that news today. Anne was not one of them.
“Oh, really?” she said, jumping up and grabbing the whiskey bottle from the table. “A toast, then? No? Well, maybe one for me.” Edgar and his family had never warmed to Anne, and she—simple soul that she was—had taken it very much to heart. She took a sip, shuddered, and smiled at Broderick. “Does this mean you’re going to be king now?”
Broderick took the bottle away from her and put it back on the sideboard. “Anne, I think you should go up to your room now. And if you choose to come down again today, I would suggest a black dress.”
“Good idea. I’ll see you later then.”
When she was gone, Broderick turned back to William. “I suppose you’d better tell my wife, assuming she hasn’t heard.”
“Yes, my lord.” William started toward the hallway and the little-used door that connected Broderick’s rooms to those of his wife, Muriel.
“Not there,” said Broderick. “I think she might be...,” he cleared his throat, “somewhat harder to find. Do your best, though, if you could.”
“I will find her, my lord.” William bowed and then slipped noiselessly away into the shadows of the corridor.
“Different tools for different jobs,” thought Broderick, as he ducked into his dressing room to pull on a black tunic and his formal sword, the one with rubies in the hilt.
Another quick cup of coffee, still bracingly hot, before he left the palace and headed across the snowy yard to the guard barracks. There he found Colonel Sir Volker Rath, the chief knight of his retinue, on duty. Rath was a small, wiry man, gone somewhat to seed. He was loyal and smart, but also unimaginative. Where Sir William was a stiletto, the colonel was a war hammer.
Broderick broke the news, and as he had anticipated, Rath received it with a complete lack of visible emotion. “Very well, sir,” he said. “What are your orders?”
“Come with me.”
They mounted up, and then they rode down the long, winding road into the city. At the foot of the soaring castle hill, Hafoc Street was still empty. No messengers or squires were running back and forth with the news yet. But they would be soon. These granite and marble mansions here were the homes of Myrcia’s oldest and finest families—the people who were most closely concerned with the royal succession.
Broderick led the colonel up to one of the least ostentatious, a low villa in the Immani style, set back from the street behind a glazed brick wall. They rang the bell, and in a minute, they were admitted by a smiling young woman who was startlingly pretty and enormously pregnant.
“I suppose you’re here for Lukas,” she said, ushering them through a cozy hall lined with bookcases and hunting trophies. “He’s out back with his morning target practice, of course.”
At the door into the garden, Broderick bowed. “Thank you, Edith. Why don’t you go put your feet up? Mustn’t tire yourself out.”
He considered himself lucky to remember her name—Lukas went through his girls so fast. No doubt by midsummer she’d be back home in whatever Severnshire hamlet he’d plucked her from. She’d have a squalling little bastard as a souvenir, not to mention enough gold to spoil the child for life. Say this for Lukas: he always provided for his offspring.
The sound of arrows striking home drew Broderick to the end of the garden, where a tall, broad-shouldered blond man was working his way through a pair of quivers with an enormous longbow. Colonel Rath waited at a respectful distance, pretending to examine a sundial, while Broderick wandered closer.
“You’re still gripping the bow too tightly,” he said, when the shooter paused to start the second quiver.
“And you still spend too much time polishing your shaft.” Lukas Ostensen, Duke of Severn, cast his bow aside and turned to greet Broderick with his usual broad smile. Then he saw Broderick’s face, and he gave a knowing nod. “Ah. Don’t tell me. It’s Edgar, isn’t it? What can I do?”
“I was hoping you might want to take a little ride with me around town.” And it almost went without saying that Lukas did.
For the next three hours, until well after midmorning, they rode around to all the towers on the city wall and all the gates and docks, as well, visiting every little outpost. Most of those men technically answered to the guard commander at the castle, but under the circumstances, it was hardly unusual that the captain general would show up and order them to help secure the city.
One of Broderick’s jobs as the commander of the army was to organize the supply of troops from the various shires of Myrcia to help garrison the capital and the Crown Lands. So most of the men on the walls owed their current posting to him. And when Edgar had turned sick, Broderick had made certain to draw more troops than usual from his best friend and brother-in-law, Duke Lukas, down in Severnshire. And among the officers of these troops were a great many men who had served in the Loshadnarodski War, often in regiments under the command of the famous Colonel Rath. In short, few of the men on the walls that morning had any desire to stand on ceremony and ask awkward questions about the legal chain of command.
Several officers did, though. Some were from other shires. Some had more guts than sense. “I don’t understand why I’m suddenly taking orders from you, my lords,” said the sergeant at the East Gate. “I think I’d better send a message up to the castle to be sure.”
“Yes, by all means, do that,” said Broderick. “But in the meantime, at least close the gate. We have information that the king might have been murdered.”
“Exactly,” said Lukas, without missing a beat. “Some of the physicians were seen trying to sneak away from the castle this morning. There’s no telling how many accomplices they might have.”
The sergeant still grumbled a bit, but he didn’t want to be the man who had let the king’s assassins escape the city, so he relented and agreed to take orders—just this once—from the captain general. Broderick shook his hand and smiled, and made absolutely sure to memorize the man’s name. Sir William would have a little extra work this evening.
The lie about the king being poisoned didn’t bother Broderick at all. In times of emergency, such stories always went around, and in a day or two, they would be cleared up and forgotten. But the chain of command established today would endure.
By the time the cathedral chimes struck 10:00, they had all the troops in the city of Formacaster under their authority, and the king’s death still hadn’t been officially announced. Feeling quite satisfied with themselves, they rode back to Hafoc Street for a celebratory drink at the Hawk’s Nest, Lukas’s favorite tavern. Then Broderick sent the colonel to make another circuit of the gates and towers, while he and Lukas went up to the castle.
“Incidentally,” asked Lukas, “have you told my sister about the king yet? She’ll want to help.”
“I sent William Aitken to let her know.”
Lukas chuckled. “Even Muriel doesn’t deserve a fright like that. And how is...oh, Earstien, what’s her name? Amy? Anna? I remember her husband is one of my fellows.”
“Anne Meriwether. I had to remind her to put on a black dress.”
“Yes, I never figured you were attracted to her mind. I don’t suppose you’re finished with her yet, are you? I’d be happy to take her off your hands.”
Broderick sighed. “We’ll see. First things first, I’m afraid.” They were approaching the castle gate. “Straighten up, now, and try to look sad.”
Chapter 4
As soon as her bedroom door opened, revealing her old governess, Elwyn knew what had happened. But she still made Lady Bianca Henderson say it, all the same.
Maybe it would have been kinder to interrupt her, to spare her the pain of inflicting pain. Elwyn could have said, “I know what you’re going to say.” But she couldn’t speak. She could hardly even force herself to breathe in those agonizing seconds between when Bianca said, “Elwyn, darling...,” and when she finished the sentence.
Her father was dead. The thing she had been dreading for weeks and months had finally happened. Some people might have felt relieved to have it over at last, but not Elwyn.
It had been a constant weight on her mind since the Solstice, when her father had finally admitted he was having trouble sleeping, thanks to some dreadful stomach pains. The physicians had been summoned, and they had all had hope for a while. So much so that they had all laughed about their fears. At least until he started vomiting and losing weight. Then new physicians had been consulted, and the College of Barber Surgeons. And again, it had looked, at least for a week or two, as if things were improving. Until suddenly they weren’t.
Over and over, his condition had declined, only to briefly improve. And each time that happened, Elwyn had let herself believe, “This is it. This is as bad as he will get. From here, he’ll only get better.” Later, they could all laugh about it again and say, “It certainly looked serious there for a while,” though she would have the private satisfaction of knowing that she had never lost faith.
But the expected recovery had never happened. Finally, she had given up, and accepted that he was dying. And yet, there was still part of her that held out hope, if only because she had been wrong so many times before. She felt almost as if the universe owed her this one last twist, to defy her expectations one final time.
So now that he was gone, she felt no relief. She felt angry and hurt, as if she had been tricked, like the universe had led her on. She felt stupid, too, and berated herself for having been fooled again and again.
“This is exactly what Lord Aldred said would happen,” she thought, as she cried on her bed and Lady Henderson stroked her hair. “This isn’t a surprise, so why does it feel like one?”
“Remember, he’s in Earstien’s Light now,” Bianca said. “Think of the good times you had with him.”
Elwyn pulled up a layer of quilted comforter and held it to her face. The trouble with remembering the good times was that they were almost always followed immediately by the bad times.
One of her very favorite memories of him, one that she had spent a lot of time thinking over in the past few days, was when he had taken her out back of the palace, into Queen Maud’s Garden, and taught her how to shoot a bow and arrow. He had been so patient and proud of her that day, and even when she had lost her temper (as she often had as a child), he had simply laughed and told her to keep trying.
But then there had been other lessons, on other days, when his laughter had been nastier, and he had mocked her for being a “crybaby” when she got upset with herself. And the infuriating thing was that she had never seen him be half so unpleasant to Edwin or Alice.
“Edwin and Alice,” she said out loud, sitting bolt upright in bed and nearly knocking Lady Bianca to the floor. “Who’s going to tell Edwin and Alice?”
“Queen Rohesia is with them now, along with Lord Aldred, Lady Jorunn Unset, the Bishop of Leornian, and the Lord Chancellor.”
Elwyn was still so overwhelmed by the news that she gaped uncomprehendingly at her old governess for a second before she remembered why so many eminent persons had to be present when a mother told two children their father was dead.
“Oh, Earstien,” she whispered. “Edwin is the king now.” She struggled free of her blankets and stumbled out of bed. “I’ve got to go to them.”
Bianca convinced her to put on a dressing gown, but after that Elwyn ran down the hall to the nursery. Lord Aldred and the Earl of Ardenford, the Lord Chancellor, stood awkwardly in the hall and bowed as she passed, but she paid them no attention at all. In the nursery itself, Mrs. Ripley the nursemaid and Lady Jorunn sat in the corner, beneath a jolly mural of smiling animals, trying to comfort Alice. The little girl was clutching half a dozen dolls to her chest and wailing that she wanted to see her friend, Jennifer. A grave-looking lady’s maid told Elwyn, when she asked, that the Earl of Stansted had been informed, and that he and his daughter would be coming to the castle soon.
