‘It’s good that you brought this in. We wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.’
Tarfel looked odd with the thin crown around his head, but also somehow at home. Chel followed him, a step behind, dazed from both events and the leaf-thick concoction prescribed by the King’s physicians. A gaggle of courtiers followed them at a respectful distance as they walked down the hall to the newly declared royal armoury.
One of the gleaming sentinels opened the door for them, and Tarfel carried the crossbow inside. The King’s armour dominated the room on its stand, lit by tasteful lanterns, but the chamber glittered with trinkets. Chel thought he saw a suit of lamellar armour in the corner, but one item in particular caught his eye.
‘Is this …’ He reached out to touch it with his unstrapped hand.
‘The glaive, yes. A coronation gift from our old friend Ruumi, now pronounced Blood-Queen of Liranetan. They must have dredged that bloody lake for it. She sent it along with a message which was, I have to say, utterly inappropriate. I tell you, Vedren, it was filthy.’
‘A proposal?’
‘Oh, you could definitely call it that.’ They walked back to the hallway. ‘Which reminds me, I need some help going through possible marriage prospects, need to pin down an alliance early. Especially as people are starting to ask awkward questions about what I’m going to do about the Horvaun war bands pillaging the south-west. I can only have so many inquisitive people removed.’ Tarfel read the change in his expression. ‘I jest, of course, Vedren. But the situation is delicate, you understand.’
‘Of course, Tarf.’
The king’s look was keen. ‘I need a new general, Vedren, as you’re well aware, and I understand if the position holds no appeal, but how about becoming a special envoy? The south is a quagmire of flaming razor-eels, and I could use someone with a delicate touch who isn’t tarnished by prior associations. You’ll need to re-swear, of course, but it will come with a title. Not a dukedom, worry not, but something with a consequential stipend at least.’
‘A most gracious offer, Tarf. May I think about it?’
‘Of course, of course. Actually, Vedren, on that note, it might be best if you were to call me “your majesty”, while we’re in public. Look of the thing, you understand. Respect for the throne and all that.’
‘I understand. Your majesty.’
‘I knew you would. While you ponder, perhaps you’d care to step this way? There’s someone to see you.’
‘Of course, your majesty.’
Tarfel set off down the hallway. As Chel went to follow, he took one look back into the armoury as the stone-faced sentinel began to pull the door closed. He thought he saw a flicker of movement within, perhaps only the shadow of the door in the lamplight. But as the door pulled shut, he could have sworn that the glaive was gone.
***
It was strange to be walking the galleries of the citadel without fear of immediate arrest and imprisonment. Somehow, the place had lost its air of menace, despite scant transformation. Old scars lurked beneath the surface, though. Some stains would not wash out.
The stables were below, pungent and familiar. He wondered if he searched the packed earth floor, he might find the gouges left by Rennic’s wild crossbow shots so many months before.
‘Vedren.’ The king paused, his young face pensive, then he spoke again. ‘Vedren, do you think he’s still out there? Do you think I … have anything to worry about?’
Chel took a long breath, flexed his shoulder against the strapping. It still hurt. A lot.
‘No. Nothing at all.’
Rennic’s words echoed in his head.
Ask him where the alchemist is. Ask to see her.
‘Actually, majesty, I was hoping to stop by and see Kosh before I left, say goodbye to her. She’s here somewhere, isn’t she?’
Tarfel’s smile froze at the very corners. ‘I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, old boy.’ Chel caught the flicker of his gaze toward the black tower that loomed overhead. ‘Matters of state and all that, she’s far too vital to risk, even to a friend.’
Chel worked hard not to turn and look up at the tower.
All the silver in the south says you won’t.
‘I see. Of course,’ he said. ‘Your majesty.’
‘Ah,’ the king said brightly, Chel’s words forgotten, ‘and here we are.’
***
‘Brother Bear, you look like cold shit. Explain yourself.’
Sabina stood before him, resplendent in court finery and revelling in his speechlessness. She seemed to dance on her toes.
‘Sab! You’re … you’re …’
‘God’s bollocks, Bear, how many more headwounds have you suffered since I saw you last? You’re thicker than second-hand pigswill.’
‘… here.’
The king cleared his throat. ‘I’ll, ah, leave you to it. I look forward to our further discussions.’ He edged away, and staff descended on him like carrion birds before he made it three paces.
‘I am,’ Sabina declared, twisting a braid in one hand. ‘Things continue to be “all well” and “deathly dull” at home, so I thought I would take up our new monarch’s invitation. I’m just sorry I missed the coronation, it sounds like you had quite the day of it. Bloody north road was a swamp.’
‘But … why?’
‘Why, Bear? Your liege understands that he needs good people around him to unfuck this shitstorm, as you might put it. And you know me, I make friends, keep my eyes open. Plus, you know, not much call for raising the red pennant of insurrection round our way.’ She coughed. ‘Any more.’
Chel looked from his sister to the hectored king and back. His head was still swimming from the physicians’ murky brew.
‘Home?’ he said.
Her demeanour changed, the teasing levity replaced with deep-eyed earnestness. ‘They’re safe and well, Bear, and they’d love to see you. I understand you’re off the chain now, but if you’re planning a visit, you need to understand something: Mum is happy with the way things are. Only return if you can be, too.’ She slapped his arm. ‘And if you were really to turn your back on all this royal magnificence, there might yet be a role for you back at the manor. Amiran’s not getting any younger after all and he might be glad to have someone who could perform some of his duties around the place.’
The mention of the word ‘duties’ set Chel’s eyelid twitching. Sab either didn’t notice or didn’t care. ‘But stuff all that, Bear, there’s so much fun to be had at court. Did you hear about the delegation from one of the free cities? They’re Andriz, like us! It sounds like your fame has preceded you – I hear they were asking after you! We’ll need an official liaison to handle the formalities, of course, it’s the first time they’ve visited the capital in a generation. Perhaps we should let your face heal a little first, we can’t have you scaring off the younger members of their expedition. Don’t worry, Bear, I’ll teach you everything you need to know about living the high life at court.’
He could feel it, pressing in on him. It had been building for a while, slowly, quietly, accumulating in the background like gentle mist, then with sudden solidity it wrapped him, crushed him, weighed him ever downward: Expectation. Obligation. Duty.
‘I think,’ he said, fighting the slur of his words. ‘I think I would like to go to the stables.’
***
‘Are you sure you’re all right to ride one-handed?’
His head felt much cooler in the chill spring air.
‘I’ve done worse. It’ll settle down in a few days, it usually does.’
Sabina watched as the grooms hauled Chel aboard his horse and retreated. ‘You’re really going? Turning your back on all this, on me?’
‘Keep the place tidy, will you?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Chel settled in the saddle, checked the saddlebags and tested his riding posture. Still not good. ‘Like you said, someone needs to unfuck this shitstorm. And as you kept telling me, you both spied in the court and survived as a confessor in the citadel with no help from me, or from anyone else. I can’t think of anyone better qualified.’ He offered her a pained grin. ‘I have faith in you, Sab.’
Her cheeks darkened, and she coughed to cover her discomfort. ‘Flattered, truly, but where are you going?’
He looked up at the sky and smiled. ‘I’m going to … broaden my horizons. For a little while at least.’
She reached up a hand, rested it against his knee. ‘I meant it, you know. Father would have been proud of you. They’d all be proud.’ A tear glistened in her eye. ‘How could they not?’
He reached down and clasped her hand, then nodded back to where the young king stood in conference at the courtyard’s edge, courtiers swirling around him like thunderclouds.
‘Watch him for me.’
***
Chel steered the horse through the cheerful crowds to the outer city. The riders shadowing him fell away as he reached the great gate. The sun had broken through the clouds, and the spring-bright landscape beyond the walls seemed somehow open, hopeful.
An image formed in his mind, an image somewhere of an alehouse corner: Foss dozing against the wall, hands resting on his stomach; beside him, Lemon trying to make a point through a drunken haze, her finger jabbing at the table and missing; Loveless with a sleeping baby cradled in one arm, a skin of wine in the other, her eyes dark and her smile mischievous; and standing over them all like a stern but proud father, a hawk-faced man with fire in his eyes and a mocking smile.
Chel liked that image. He’d find them again. One day.
The open country unfolded before him. With the sun on his back, Chel rode.