BRAITH
“Your Majesty, it has been half a moon since Dray Bo-Anffir was found guilty of his crimes,” Sir Fellyck said. “Can we expect his execution anytime soon?”
Braith sat at the table with her council. She folded her hands and looked at Fellyck. “Do you have a personal vendetta against Dray, Sir Fellyck?”
“Majesty, you know full well Dray made many enemies during his time at this table.”
“Indeed.”
“It is not bloodlust but the desire for justice that prompts my questions.”
Braith drew a deep breath. “Yes.”
For once, Fellyck’s voice took on a kind note. “Queen Braith, I am not an unfeeling man. I know this must be difficult for you.”
Braith smiled sadly. “Thank you. I appreciate that acknowledgment, at least. I do not wish to forestall justice. It’s only . . .”
“It’s the first time you have sentenced someone to death.”
“I rather prefer mercy to justice.”
“Yes.” Fellyck pressed his lips together. “However . . .”
“I know.” Braith rose and ascended the steps of the dais. She lowered herself onto her throne and sat there a moment, thinking.
Then she spoke. “Dray Bo-Anffir has been sentenced to die, and his sentence will be carried out on the—”
But her words were cut off by a commotion at the back of the room. Muffled voices, a shout, then the throne room doors banging open. The room full of courtiers turned at the disturbance.
Braith had remained seated. “Captain?” she said to the guardsman at the other end of the silver carpet. “What is this?”
The guardsman assigned to her personal security already had his sword drawn. He barked at the intruder, “Who goes there? In the name of the queen, declare yourself!”
A man slipped free of the knot of guards clustered around him. “Forgive me,” he said, his unarmed hands raised. He strode calmly down the carpet toward Braith. “I did not mean to cause a ruckus.”
“Halt! Sir, I order you to halt!” Braith’s captain didn’t seem sure whether he should cleave the unarmed man in two or not. “Halt there, and speak your purpose!”
The man stopped at last, nearly at the council table now. He smiled up at Braith pleasantly. He was young still—not much older than Braith herself.
Braith watched him, puzzled. This intruder was at ease as he disrupted her court, defied her guardsman, and smiled brazenly at her. She scanned him head to toe. He was well dressed in fine leather, though with none of the frills and baubles the titled lords favored. In that way, he reminded Braith of Sir Dray.
But in all other respects, he was the opposite. Young with blond hair and the close-cropped beard the palace guardsmen wore. But he was unarmed, without even a sword belt at his hips. His hair was pulled into a tail, as was the fashion for most Tirian men.
The son of a wealthy merchant, perhaps? The son of a knight? But Braith did not recognize him.
He bowed low at the waist. “My lady.”
The captain now stood beside the man, and he looked ready to remove the intruder’s blond head. “You will address your queen properly, cur, or I’ll have you in irons before another smirk crosses your face.”
The man’s gaze was still fixed on Braith. “Forgive me. It has been so many years . . .” He smiled again, but then he glanced at the fuming guardsman. “I will address my lady with the respect due her, for all I know of her character does command respect. But I cannot address my lady as queen.”
The captain looked ready to spew fire, but Braith raised her hand to calm him. She held the intruder’s gaze. His eyes were a stormy blue-gray. There was something vaguely familiar . . .
“Sir, I don’t believe we have met, but you seem to know me.”
“It has been a great many years, Lady Braith.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“We were children last we saw each other face-to-face.” His gaze turned significant. “Thirteen years ago, to be exact.”
Braith inhaled sharply. Thirteen years ago, when her father staged a “plague” and murdered King Caradoc II. This was a boy from Caradoc’s court? But who?
“Sir,” she said at last, and her voice shook, “I must demand your name before my guardsman makes good on his threat.”
The young man spared the captain half a glance, then spoke to Braith. “Kharn Bo-Candryd, my lady.” He bowed again. “At your service.”
A roar erupted from the room.
Some of the newer nobles seemed confused. “Who? Who is this?”
Others clearly knew the name. “Impossible! He lies!”
“Kharn, did he say?” Sir Fellyck asked. “I know no noble by that name.”
But Braith knew.
She held up her hands to quiet her people and addressed the intruder. “I thought all Sir Candryd’s sons died in the supposed plague.”
“The appearance my family wished to put forth, my lady. I’m sure you can understand why.”
Indeed, she could. It was no small wonder half the room had never heard the Candryd name. Braith’s father had done his best to extinguish the memory of many noble families that represented a threat to his unscrupulously gained rule.
Braith realized she did know those eyes. And his voice and smile and even his walk. He had grown into a man these past thirteen years, just as she had grown into a woman. But she knew he spoke the truth.
She lifted her voice that the whole room might hear. “This man is the youngest son of the late Sir Candryd, youngest brother of Caradoc II.” Braith looked slowly around at those gathered there. “He is Caradoc’s nephew, blood heir to the Tirian throne.”
Cameria stared blankly at Braith. “I don’t understand what you mean, Majesty.”
“Kharn Bo-Candryd interrupted council today. He was the youngest son of—”
“Caradoc’s brother, Candryd. I remember who he is. But I don’t understand what you’re saying to me, my lady.”
“He is alive, apparently.”
“Are you certain?” Cameria was obviously concerned. “Should we order an inquiry? It could be an imposter.”
“I recognize him.”
“But thirteen years have passed. Surely he is much changed. How can you be certain?”
“I just remember him. His eyes and his smile. Everything about him. It took his name to recall the memories, but once he said it, I knew. We played together as children, and one doesn’t forget one’s playmates so easily.”
“I suppose, but—”
“It is he, Cameria. I’m certain.”
Cameria bit her lip. “He has been in hiding all this time?”
“Apparently.”
The maid lowered herself to one of the padded benches in Braith’s front room. “Unbelievable. What does this mean?”
“That is the question of the day, I suppose.” Braith sat next to her friend, a little harder than she meant to. “He is the heir.”
“Your Majesty! You’re not considering handing him your throne, are you?”
“I don’t know what to do, Cameria. I don’t even know what to think.”
Cameria rose and began to pace the room. “Well, if he truly is Kharn—”
“He is.”
Cameria ignored her comment. “Then he is the blood heir of Caradoc II. But does that really make him king? Thirteen years have passed. And whatever means your father used to claim the throne, the fact is, he did.”
Braith sighed. “That is true enough.”
“And he ruled Tir for over a decade. He ought not to have been king, but he was.”
“Also true.”
“And you were princess. You sat on his council. Whatever your father’s character was, you have served Tir faithfully.”
The only agreement Braith could muster was silence.
“And you were appointed queen.”
“By a few. It was not a vote of the people but of a tiny handful of representatives. A mere committee.”
“That is no matter. They chose you. You are queen.”
“Cameria.” Braith rose and strode to the window. She flung it open. “Do you not hear them?”
The sounds of the peasants banging at the front gate floated up to the palace rooms, just as they had every day since the first week of Braith’s reign.
“They hate me.”
“No, they do not hate you. They don’t know you. They are angry about your father. They are weary from his oppression. And half of them are starving. This will settle once they see the sort of ruler you mean to be.”
“But Kharn . . .”
“Make him Lord of Wax Beans, since surely he has been hiding on some distant farm all these years while you helped rule Tir.”
Braith turned and shot her friend a look. “Cameria. That was uncharitable.”
“Forgive me. I just don’t understand what he hopes to accomplish, appearing suddenly when your rule is barely established.”
“I believe he means to reclaim the throne my family stole from his.”
“But that isn’t fair!”
Braith laughed, but it held no mirth. “None of it is fair.”
“You cannot just hand it to him. I won’t let you!”
Braith shook her head. “You are so loyal, Cameria.”
“You earned this! You are the ruler Tir needs. At last there is some hope for the people, even if they are too blind to see it.”
Braith swallowed. “You have more faith in me than I have in myself.”
“That is my point!” Cameria insisted. “When was the last time Tir was ruled by one humble enough to admit to not knowing all the answers? The reason I know you will not falter is because you will listen to your people. You will listen to your councilors. And you will listen to that iron-rod moral center you have been blessed with.”
Braith looked fondly at her. “You trust me too much.”
“Stop. Please, Braith, I beg you to stop convincing yourself that Kharn would be better for Tir. You don’t even know the man.”
“I don’t know what else to do, Cameria.”
Cameria grabbed her hand. “We will work through this together. And you will consult your council. Do not agree to anything until you have spoken to them. And wait until Yestin returns from sea.”
“The general? He could be away for a year.”
“Then send a letter. Perhaps the carrier birds could intercept them at some port or another. And if not, we will stall this intruder, for that is what he is. Don’t do anything rash until you have heard from Yestin.”
Braith laughed, and a few unbidden tears spilled out. “That may be the first time in my life anyone has accused me of being rash.”
Cameria quieted. “Forgive me. I am not accusing. Merely cautioning. I know you, and I know that as soon as Kharn Bo-Candryd starts in on you, telling you why it is right that he sit on the throne, you will agree.”
“Am I that spineless?”
“No. But you do feel that much guilt over what your father did to Caradoc. And if Kharn is half the politician Dray or Naith or any of your father’s councilors were, he will exploit that guilt. And you will sign away your throne to him before supper time.”
“You are right. And you are right that I don’t know the man. Childhood playmates do grow up, do they not?”
“Indeed. Do everything you can to stay well away from Kharn Bo-Candryd.”
“Yes, Cameria,” Braith responded with a smile.
“Good.” Cameria nodded, appeased. “Shall we get you out of this heavy dress, Your Majesty?”
“A soft dressing gown sounds heavenly. I feel I could go to sleep for the night and it is not even supper time.”
“Let’s start with the dressing gown, at least.”
A knock sounded on the door.
Both women froze.
After a moment, Cameria went to the door.
Braith picked up the book she had been reading before bed the previous night. She had read it before—some long-dead general’s musings about military tactics—but it never hurt to brush up on such things.
Cameria’s voice took on an angry note. “No, you may not—excuse me!”
Braith sat up straight as an arrow.
For Kharn Bo-Candryd stood in her front room, a small bouquet of snow-white velvet-petal flowers in his hands and two armored guardsmen holding either elbow. He offered the bouquet to her with some difficulty, a wry grin on his face. “Good evening, Braith.”
“I . . .” Braith stared at the flowers, then at the guardsmen. “What?”
“Majesty,” one of the guardsmen said. “We caught him just as he forced his way into your front room.”
Kharn eyed the man. “I did not force. I knocked like any respectable visitor.”
Braith looked past the velvet-petals. “I do not usually receive visitors in my front room, sir.”
“Of course.” Kharn winced as the guards tightened their grips. “I did not think you would accept a written invitation to meet with me. So I thought I’d try this.”
Braith raised an eyebrow. “It isn’t working out much better, though, is it?”
“Not especially.” He winced again.
Braith paused to consider the situation. She glanced at Cameria. “I will meet with you at my council table in the throne room with my guardsmen and my maid present. You may have thirty minutes.”
“Excellent!” Kharn’s eyes were bright. “I’ll have tea sent.”
“Excuse me? You’ll have tea sent to my throne room from my kitchens?” Braith took the bouquet from his hands. She passed it over to Cameria. “Please put these in water.” Then she glanced at her guards. “And if Sir Kharn misbehaves, perhaps we’ll put him in water too. Let’s go then, shall we?”
She passed by the others and exited her private chambers, relieved that her voice hadn’t shaken.
Braith eyed the man who sat across the council table from her. A kitchen servant placed a silver tea tray before them.
“I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion,” Kharn said at last.
“The intrusion of you visiting my chambers uninvited? Or perhaps the intrusion of you showing up at my council meeting this afternoon?”
“Both.” Kharn waited as the servant set out three cups. Then he glanced at Cameria. “Do you often take tea with your maids?”
Cameria stiffened.
“She is my lady’s maid,” Braith said tersely, “but she is also my friend.”
“Oh.” Kharn turned his pleasant smile toward the Meridioni woman. “Most excellent. That is the ideal combination, is it not? And might I have the pleasure of your name?”
Cameria did not look at all happy about it, but at last she said, “Cameria.” The single word was clipped and annoyed.
“Cameria En-Benatti?” Kharn’s face showed genuine surprise.
So did Cameria’s. “Yes, Benatti was my father.”
“I knew him.” A shadow of grief crossed him. “I’m sorry for your loss. He was a fine man.”
Cameria’s mouth opened, then closed. But no words came out. Such sentiments had not been offered in the months after Benatti’s death when Cameria was grieving his loss.
“That is kind of you, Kharn,” Braith spoke into the silence.
“Benatti was excellent at cards,” Kharn said. “We played often, and he must have earned a year’s wages off my foolish bets. I was just a lad, and the other nobles would let me win. But not Benatti. He said it taught me nothing to reward me for my foolishness.”
In spite of herself, Cameria laughed tearfully. “Yes. That sounds like him.”
Braith glanced at Cameria, who had gone from a block of ice to a puddle of sentiment in the space of a breath. She turned back to Kharn. Kharn Bo-Candryd, who seemed to be kind and was certainly charming.
“You have twenty-four minutes, Kharn,” she said at last.
“Ah, yes. This is a difficult position we find ourselves in, is it not?” He watched as the servant poured boiling water over three linen sacks filled with tea leaves. He took a deep breath. “I smell burnt sugar, fine black tea, and coconuts all the way from the Spice Islands. Coconuts are a bit indulgent, don’t you think, my lady?”
Braith frowned. Of course, he would find her one indulgence. Her one weakness. She did so love coconut. “It was a tea sommelier’s suggestion. He knows my fondness for those fruits. There is only a little in there.” She frowned at Kharn again. “I do not need to explain my tea to you.”
He chuckled. “Forgive me, Braith. I was only teasing.” Kharn added grazer cream to his cup. “A princess is allowed some indulgences, is she not?”
“I suppose.” Braith added cream to her own cup. “But you do not really believe I was a princess.”
“Of course you were. You sat on the princess’s throne for thirteen years. The only question is the legitimacy of your reign as queen.”
Braith stared at him. He said it so casually. So carelessly. “Not everyone finds my reign questionable.” It didn’t come out as forcefully as she would have liked.
“But when they hear I’m alive, I think it will be a question for everyone.” He held out a small bowl. “Sugar?”
“No,” Braith snapped. She paused and forced herself to draw a calming breath. “No, thank you, Kharn.”
“I don’t take it either. The tea is delicious enough. And besides, that burnt sugar in your blend”—he inhaled deeply of the vapor rising from his cup—“is sweet enough on its own, I’d wager.”
“Yes. Would you like to spend your remaining nineteen minutes discussing tea blends?” She looked down at her cup, suddenly wary that her rival had handled it.
Somehow, he read her thoughts plainly. “Braith. Please give me more credit than that. I would never poison anyone in the first place because it would be dastardly. And foolish, besides. My uncle was murdered with poison, and it seems a very unwise thing to try to reclaim his throne by poisoning the people’s queen with her evening tea.”
Still, Braith would not touch her cup.
He smiled. “Shall we trade? I’ll sip from both, if you like, but then I will have sipped from your cup, and I’m not sure that’s proper.”
“Kharn!” She rolled her eyes. “You are just the same.”
He laughed. “You expected I would have changed?”
“I don’t know what I expected. Certainly not any of this.”
Kharn’s face grew serious. “I’m sure that is true, and I am sorry for your situation. This is awkward and unpleasant, and you don’t deserve it.” He regarded her for a long moment. “You are both changed and the same.”
Braith sniffed her tea one last time, then glanced at Cameria and took a sip. “Oh? How am I both changed and the same?”
“You always were so grave. So serious. But something else has been added over the years. You seem sadder.”
The word struck like a dart. “Of course. Much has happened in the thirteen years you’ve been away. Much has happened in the two moons since Gareth fell.”
Kharn’s tone was gentle. “You have suffered much, Braith. And yet you served Tir well.”
Braith found herself softening. “Thank you. I did try, though it was not always easy.”
“I doubt it was ever easy with your father on the throne.”
“Stop,” Braith said sharply.
“Drinking tea?” Kharn took a sip. “But I rather enjoy it. Your sommelier has done well.”
She glanced at him, then dropped her gaze to her cup. “No. You should stop talking to me about my father. It . . . isn’t right.”
“Why not?”
Braith had no answer. Instead she said, “You have twelve minutes to tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Here in the throne room? I’m having tea.”
Braith shot him a look. “No, in Urian. Where have you been all these years?”
“Hiding. On a farm.”
“Cameria was right, then. Shall I make you Lord of Wax Beans?”
Kharn laughed. “Lord of what?”
“Nothing.” Shame heated her cheeks. “I was being rude. I’m sorry.”
“I love bean salad. Can I be Lord of Bean Salad?”
In spite of herself, Braith chuckled. “Honestly.”
“The farm I lived on belongs to a relative of my father’s most trusted servant. It was quite prosperous. At least, as prosperous as a farm can be during years of war, blight, and famine.”
“You never fought, did you? In the expansion wars?”
“Indeed, no. The last thing I needed was for someone to recognize me.”
“No, of course.” Her father would have seen Kharn’s head on a chopping block faster than he could toss a bean salad.
“I stayed on the farm. I won’t say exactly where, just in case, but it was across the Endrol River in a sleepy little area beyond the Codewig.”
“Just in case?” Braith’s eyebrows rose. “Just in case what?”
“In case you might arrest those who housed me. They became my family and treated me like their own son. I would not want to see harm come to them.”
Braith was horrified. “How could you think that?”
“Forgive me if I’ve offended you. I don’t believe you capable of such a thing. You are a woman of character. But I am still readjusting to court life. I suppose spending half my life in hiding has made me mistrustful.”
The funny thing was, he didn’t really look mistrustful. He looked like the young lad she knew once. His easy smile, his slightly irreverent sense of humor, his warm eyes. He didn’t look paranoid and irritable the way her father had become.
“I only want to protect them,” he said again. “They are all the family I have left.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I should be more . . . that is, I understand.” She met his gaze. “And you didn’t deserve it either.”
His attention lingered on her for an extra moment, and a hint of a smile played on his mouth. “Thank you, Braith. I appreciate that from you.”
She nodded, then lifted her teacup and allowed a somewhat awkward silence to fill the room. Now what? Kharn acted like they were two old friends catching up. And, in some ways, they were.
In others, they were anything but.
“Shall we take a stroll in the garden?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“The sun is beginning to set, and gardens are lovely at sunset.”
“But you only have six minutes left.”
“I thought perhaps I might request an extension.”
“There are rioters. It isn’t safe.”
“I’ll be there. And so will your guards. Perhaps that’s more to the point.”
She looked at the remnants of her tea. “You are rather unnerving company, you know, Kharn.”
He smiled. “Am I?” Then he rose and offered his hand. “Perhaps I’m less unnerving in the fresh air.”
Braith stood and warily accepted his arm. “I rather doubt it.”