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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.”