to a long silence, during which Ezprendzo twisted around in his seat and smiled with amusement as he glanced between his rival ambassador and the Akossian King. Finally, Pavienka scoffed in disbelief and she and Sir Pilvanor slid their half-drawn sabres back into their scabbards, the second of whom motioned to the guards that all was well.
Narinkerri did not seem to know what to think. She continued to peer at him curiously, half smiling, half frowning as she reached for her cup of wine. “King Vashean. Ahem. Well. That is … quite …”
He bowed. “And a good evening to you as well, Royal Highness. Might I?” he said, sliding out the chair nearest her and sitting down next to the Koddish Emissary.
“My old friend,” said Ezprendzo, “how good to see you.”
“And you as well. For seven?”
“I—Yes,” said Narinkerri, watching with disapproval as Ramsey Nightingale sat down across from Sir Pilvanor. Then to the girl next to her, she said, “just put back the four of clubs.”
King Vashean smiled and scooched his seat in. “I know everyone else,” he said, glancing around the table, “but I don’t believe I’ve had the honour.”
“This, precious thing,” said Narinkerri, “is Lady Osena, one of my ladies-in-waiting.”
King Vashean nodded gently, resisting another mischievous smile, and said a prayer of thanks in his heart. He had not recognized her by face, but he knew her name. The stage was set perfectly to cause a scene. Lady Osena was the Countess of Woz.
“You’re Olgris’s sister,” he said.
It had the desired effect. Lady Osena paused amid dealing out the cards, and behind her spectacles, her eyes hardened into chips of stone.
“We don’t mention that name in the palace,” whispered Narinkerri.
“No,” said Vashean as he picked up his hand, “I’m sure you don’t.”
He led with the two of clubs, and the other players followed suit, the trick going to Princess Pavienka.
“Tell me,” he said, looking between the two royal sisters, “how is your father? How is good King Aznadúl?” The question was innocent enough, and on its own was no cause for suspicion. Then he added the barb. “Is he getting any better?”
Pavienka eyed her sister as she shuffled the cards. Princess Narinkerri was smiling, but it no longer seemed sincere.
“He is as healthy as he ever was,” she said. “His mind, not so much.” She left it at that, changing the subject almost too quickly. “So nice to see the leaves changing. Fall will soon be upon us.”
King Vashean smiled thinly and reached for his cards. He knew well the state of her father’s mind. His spies kept him in good report, Ramsey Nightingale among them. King Aznadúl seemed to grow worse each day. He knew he often mistook Narinkerri for her mother—or worse, did not recognize her at all. He also knew, that though he still lived in the palace, Narinkerri had not seen him since the Spring.
He chose three cards and slid them to the Princess Regent.
“And what of your sister?” asked Ezprendzo, passing him three of his own. He, at least, appeared genuine. “Has there been any news?”
“No,” said King Vashean, adding the emissary’s cards to his hand. Two of clubs again. He laid the card in the centre of the table. “Ramsey,” he said, “is that wine any good?”
“A most excellent vintage, Your Majesty.”
“I think I’ll have some.”
They played through the hand as a servant poured him a glass, and the trick went to Ramsey Nightingale.
“More for everyone,” said King Vashean as Princess Pavienka took down the score and Sir Pilvanor gathered up the cards. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
The servant looked hesitantly at the Princess Regent, who gave a nod, then began filling up the other glasses on the table while Sir Pilvanor shuffled the deck and delt a new hand out to players. When he was done, King Vashean peeked at his cards then raised his wineglass. “To peace,” he said, “To peace between Caragol, Akoss, and Kodzir.”
“To peace,” said everyone.
“—and,” he added pointedly, “to traitors and rebels being brought to justice, in my kingdom and yours.”
Only Ramsey Nightingale returned the sentiment and drained his glass with the king. Of the Caragans, Sir Pilvanor alone had begun to repeat it, but his voice trailed off when Princess Narinkerri set her glass down on the table.
In the silence that followed, Ezprendzo Vamir watched the others inquisitively, perhaps wondering if he had stumbled in his Caragan speech, or if he himself had lost the meaning in translation. After a moment he said, “Well, I for one will drink to that. To traitors and rebels being brought to justice, not just in our kingdoms, but all over the world.”
King Vashean smiled as he watched the Koddish emissary empty his glass, then turned to the Princess Regent, who was not smiling in the least. “Something wrong, Your Highness?”
Her cards went untouched at the edge of the table. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
King Vashean smoothed his cards into a neat stack and tapped them on the table. “I’ve come,” he said, eyeing the guards standing in the shadows along the wall, “all this way, in person, to demand the immediate arrest of Zhildok Nasár, your Grand Mage.”
Princess Narinkerri scoffed. Pavienka glanced in confusion between Ezprendzo, Lady Osena and himself, while Sir Pilvanor was stared at him in disbelief, his palm turned up like he had just witnessed some unprovoked and nasty comment. Ramsey Nightingale seemed to shrink into his jacket.
“On what grounds should I do such a thing?”
“Certain prisoners, former knights of yours, were all too eager to name him as the overlord conspirator in the siege of Klomm.”
“What knights?” asked Sir Pilvanor.
“The Knight of the Briar Rose, for one,” he said.
The Caragan knight turned pale with concern and looked to the Princess Regent, whose face betrayed no such emotion.
“Also, Dame Selinéra Ov Telíza …” Here King Vashean turned his eye upon Lady Osena. “… and Count Olgris of Woz.”
Lady Osena blushed, and behind her large-rimmed spectacles, her eyes flashed with pain. The others peered at the king and glanced among themselves, finally looking to the Ramsey Nightingale as though some change in his expression might shed some light on this ludicrous claim. But as he met their looks his face was solemn as his own.
King Vashean added darkly, “I have your brother in custody.”
Lady Osena’s chest heaved and Narinkerri took her hand. “Is that so? Your Majesty, it may be easy for you to imagine some secret ploy on which that person escaped his execution, having only heard word of it from afar; but most of us sitting here watched the hangman quite literally tear him limb from limb.”
“Indeed. And yet he lives still. I had breakfast with him in his cell not a fortnight ago.”
“But,” gasped Lady Osena, on the verge of hysterics, her face a mask of distress, “how is this—How can such a thing be possible?”
“I suggest you ask the Grand Mage.”
“King Vashean,” said Princess Pavienka, “even if what you say is true, that by some dark power the count still lives, what I cannot believe is that the Knight of Briar Rose would have fallen in league with him.”
Sir Pilvanor shook his head in agreement. “Impossible.”
“Neither did King Pel believe that Hanoc Dangaste had turned to the path of evil after the Heroine fell, yet so it was.” He was about to explain that it seemed he and Dame Selinéra had only fallen in with Olgris to foil his plans, when the Koddish emissary placed his hand on the table.
“Your Highness,” he said, “if I may, let us entertain for a moment that what His Majesty says is true, that Count Wozíga lives and that the Knight of the Briar Rose and this other dame fought alongside him to besiege the city of Klomm; and that upon capturing them and questioning them, they all pointed to the Grand Mage. Hmm? This is what I find strange: all three of them implicating the same man.”
King Vashean shut his eyes and breathed out very slowly, scratching at the rash on his hand beneath the table.
“The probability is,” Ezprendzo continued, “if this was the truth, at least one of them would have named another person for the sake of protecting the identity of their master. In the court of law, verbatim accounts are not to be trusted as it indicates the witnesses conspired together beforehand. I should warn Your Highness to tread carefully in this matter.”
“Olgris used the same argument himself,” said King Vashean, “right before he named the Grand Mage. I expected him to lie, but I believe he told the truth to further confuse the situation.”
“All the same, Your Majesty,” said Ezprendzo, “I smell a rat.”
“You have some nerve,” hissed Ramsey Nightingale, “to say such a thing to a king!”
“I am in service to Her Highness,” said Ezprendzo, “I am only saying what I—”
King Vashean raised his hand and silenced them both. “There was mention of a stolen spellbook, the kind which Nasár wouldn’t like you to know about. The attack was all an attempt to get it back. The thief, who is none other than Kerstin the Witch of Klomm, is, as you know, a slippery adversary. Likely he was unable to overtake her by subtler means, all the more so without his spellbook.”
“You know what I think,” said Narinkerri, “is that you have an answer for—Yes, what is it?”
Two of her ladies-in-waiting had come over from where the others were sitting with their embroidery. “Sorry, Your Highness,” said one, “I’m feeling a bit dizzy, might I go lay down?”
“Again? Oh you poor thing. Of course you may. I hope you’re feeling better.”
King Vashean scratched his beard as he watched the two girls glide out of the room.
“As I was saying—”
“You should dismiss those two,” he said.
“What? My girls? Why?”
“Because you can’t trust them. At best they’re selling information; at worst they’re conspiring against you.”
“Oh for the love of—First my Grand Mage, and now own ladies-in-waiting?”
“Send someone to follow them. I’ll bet my crown that before you retire for the night, they’ll report every word of this meeting to Zhildok Nasár.”
Her face flinched with anger. “Well, I think you’ve made it pretty clear what your intentions are. You mean to rob me of—at least one of my most trusted advisors and sew doubt and suspicion wherever you can—obviously to facilitate your own interests—and you’re going to keep spinning out these absurd stories. I mean, Olgris alive? Saying a thing like that to his poor sister.” She squeezed Lady Osena’s hand. “I never thought you could be so insensitive.”
King Vashean closed his fist. “I simply thought she might wish to know the truth. As for the absurdity of my account, I am trusting that none of you would suppose I would make something like this up and expect you to believe it.”
Princess Pavienka raised her chin, glancing at the Koddish Emissary, who pressed one finger pensively to his lips.
“Nevertheless, King Vashean,” said Narinkerri, “we will not be handing anyone over. Nor will we give any credence to these unsubstantiated claims. Nor will we tolerate your unprovoked acts of aggression. We have sent word to your trade partners, and they are all in agreement. Together, we shall strangle your economy with tariffs unless you withdraw Lord Magnis from our lands. Should you resort to violence, you will have no trade at all. You’ve made a mistake, Your Majesty, I only pray it isn’t too costly.”
“And I pray,” he said, “that your eyes will soon be opened, and you see that I have not come to threaten and intimidate you, but to deliver you from peril. I am your friend, Narinkerri.”
She smiled thinly. “Ramsey, your King is very tired after his travels. Would you and Sir Pilvanor escort him back to his chambers?”
Ramsey Nightingale looked awkwardly between the King and Princess Narinkerri. “I …”
King Vashean nodded.
“Yes, Your Highness, of course.”
The three men rose from the table. “Lady Osena,” said the king, “I hope I haven’t upset you.”
She nodded silently.
“Princess Pavienka, Ezprendzo, so good to see you again.”
“Ashaelli bless Your Majesty with wisdom in this affair,” said the Koddish Emissary, squeezing his hand in both his own.
“May he bless us all in every affair.” Then King Vashean stepped back and swept into a bow, reaching out his hand. “Your Royal Highness.” Somewhat morosely, Princess Narinkerri placed her hand in his, and he delicately kissed her fingers. Then he straightened, wheeled about and marched out into the hall, followed by Sir Pilvanor and the Akossian Ambassador.
As they walked through the palace corridors, Sir Pilvanor looked over his shoulder. “Is it true Olgris lives?”
King Vashean smiled. He had allowed the knight to take the lead and walked behind him with Ramsey at his side. “There is nothing else I can say. If you do not believe—”
“How can anyone believe such a thing? Perhaps if I saw what you claim to have seen.”
“Yet you cannot see it any more than I can see with my own eyes that the Grand Mage is the dark force behind it all. Yet in my heart, when I heard the testimonies of the captured knights, I believed it to be true.”
The knight stopped and turned. “Enough to accuse him before the Princess Regent? Enough to dispatch an army into our kingdom?”
“Sir Pilvanor, perhaps you cannot believe what I said. But do you trust me?”
Sir Pilvanor paused for a long moment as he studied the King’s face. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Then keep watch over the Royal Family, especially the Princess Regent. Let no harm come to them.”
“I assure Your Majesty I would die a thousand deaths before I let that happen.”
King Vashean smiled, and as Sir Pilvanor took his leave, Ramsey Nightingale said over the next few days he would be working hard to smooth things over with the Princess Regent, but that he would make time to see him the following afternoon. Then he too retired for the night.
In the apartments, Sir Brock had just returned. He was still clothed in his dark attire. He pulled back his hood as the King entered, and the two stared grimly at one another.
“You’ve made the arrangements?” said the King.
“I have. They can do it tomorrow night.”
“So be it.”
“Your Majesty,” said Sir Brock as King Vashean moved to enter his bed-chamber. His face was troubled. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”
“I think I’ve made that clear.”
“My King,” blurted the sergeant-at-arms, “I beg you to reconsider. This is foolhardy!”
King Vashean clenched his fists. It seemed foolish to him as well, now, sometimes. At certain moments, he had his doubts, that perhaps this was not the right thing. That perhaps it was a very wrong thing.
But certainty was a luxury he could not afford. He reminded himself that the cost of the alternative was many lives lost. This way, at least, there would be only one.
He glared at the sergeant-at-arms out of the corner of his eye. “We will proceed with the assassination.”