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Behind the palace, between the throne room and the garden, the servants had spent the whole week clearing away the outbuildings and preparing the grand festival pavilion. It had real windows of glass and a roof of gold and silver cloth. Along two sides, the north and south, long benches rose in six tiers, and at either end of the room, over the gilded chairs of the council members, hung long banners with the arms of the ten duchies of Myrcia.
Broderick looked around, bent down to pick up a stray dust ball, and then motioned to the guards at the doors. “It’s ready. Let them in.”
The nobles of Myrcia entered in four long lines, some from the palace, others from the garden. Broderick and Lukas had spent three days working out the seating chart, and theoretically everyone was supposed to find his place easily. But there were inevitable mix-ups, and it took the better part of ten minutes until everyone was seated. Broderick had a chair at the east end, between Duchess Flora and Duke Lukas. At the far end of the room, the Lord Chancellor stood and, after a brief prayer from the Bishop of Leornian, called the Gemot into session.
Broderick and Lukas shared a smile of triumph. After all these weeks, it was hard to believe this was really happening. Then the chancellor, ignoring the dozens of hands on all sides that had risen, ceded the floor to Lukas, who had earned this right by promising to take on the chancellor’s youngest son as a squire.
“Our purpose here,” Lukas said, “is to determine the proper succession to the throne. A grave accusation has been leveled against her majesty, Queen Rohesia. Weeks of investigation have produced corroborative evidence, and the throne now stands under a cloud. The best way to dispel that cloud may be to consider...alternative leadership. I understand a number of candidates will be proposed today.” A murmur of disapproval ran through the hall, but Lukas spoke over top of it. “I trust we will all remember that everyone here has the kingdom’s best interests at heart. Now, would anyone like to make a nomination?”
A small chorus of voices shouted, “King Edwin!” and “There’s already a rightful king!”
But again, Lukas pretended he hadn’t heard them. “Ah, I see his grace, the Duke of Oaseshire, has something to say.”
In point of fact, the duke hadn’t raised his hand at all, and looked distinctly unhappy about being called on. But he dutifully stood and, as his steward had promised, he nominated Jeffrey Sigor, Duke of Newshire.
“What in the Void?” said old Duke Jeffrey, sitting nearby. “Where is this coming from? I have no intention of making a claim.”
The Duke of Oaseshire blushed and stammered through the rest of his brief speech, reading from a text prepared for him by Broderick and Lukas. At the end, he mentioned that part of Duke Jeffrey’s appeal was that he had “a son and heir, the Earl of Wellenham, who is respected throughout the kingdom for his martial prowess.”
Perhaps that was laying it on a bit thick, but the mention of that historically-ominous title served to quiet some of the objections, as Broderick had supposed it would. The Duke of Oaseshire sat down, and then the Earl of Hambledon spoke up for Sir Robert Tynsdale. He didn’t do a very good job of it, but Broderick didn’t need great oratory. He just needed the idea of alternative candidates to take hold in people’s minds.
The chancellor recognized Lukas again, and one of the Newshire barons cried out, “As if we don’t already know who you’re going to suggest.” But Lukas was more subtle than that.
“There is one child in the House of Sigor who is untainted by the recent allegations,” he said. “Princess Elwyn Sigor is beloved by all who know her, and her legitimacy is unquestioned.”
Absolute silence reigned in the hall now as he paused, and up and down the rows, noblemen stared slack-jawed at him. Finally, someone called out, “Are you proposing we have a ruling queen?”
“Not at all,” said Lukas. “But I beg the Gemot to recall Queen Maud, only surviving child of the last King of Leornian, who married her cousin, Edmund Dryhten, first King of Myrcia. Through their marriage, the kings of our land retained their tie to the ancient line that stretches back to King Earnwald, chosen by Finster to rule.”
There were whispers again across the hall and some muttering as the supporters of Rohesia realized where this was going. But Lukas, beaming broadly, shouted them all down again. “By the greatest good fortune, I have the privilege today to announce the formal betrothal of Princess Elwyn to the son of my good friend, the captain general.”
It was like a dam breaking, or the lid coming off a boiling pot. Everyone spoke at once; noblemen stood on the benches and shouted words of defiance back and forth. The chancellor slammed his staff of office against the floor, over and over, until finally there was a rough semblance of order.
“I move for a recess,” shouted the Earl of Hyrne, and then the hall exploded again as Rohesia’s supporters echoed the call.
Broderick looked the length of the room and caught the chancellor’s eye. “Don’t do it,” he mouthed, but the man looked overwhelmed.
“The motion is carried,” said the chancellor, and with a cheer from the Sigor faction, the nobles began filing out into the palace and the garden, all talking and debating as they went.
Duchess Flora reached over and tapped Broderick’s shoulder with a large, painted fan. “It’s not nice to surprise people, you know. When did you conclude the formal engagement?”
“Oh, rather recently,” muttered Broderick. It actually hadn’t been concluded at all, but if this didn’t force the girl’s hand, nothing would.
“It’s a clever idea, combining Elwyn’s claim with your own,” said Flora. “Young love is such a fickle thing, though.” She leaned over the arm of her chair, drawing closer to Broderick. “There are real benefits to age. Something my son Pedr is apparently discovering.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Broderick. He didn’t begrudge her the reference to Muriel’s affair. Flora had been trying to get Pedr and Elwyn together, and she was probably a little bitter at having failed.
Flora put a hand on his arm. “I like Rohesia a lot, Broderick. I want you to promise that however this vote turns out, you’ll protect her and her children.”
He turned and bowed in his chair. “They are my family. And they will be my family doubly so after Elwyn’s marriage. Of course I will protect them.”
As she spoke, Sir William Aitken sidled over from one of the garden entrances. “My lord, if you’d come with me, I think you’d better see this.”
So Broderick went and looked out at the garden to see the Earls of Hyrne and Stansted, along with two dozen other Sigor supporters gathering around the Lord Chancellor, who looked miserably bullied. He was the queen’s uncle, and the promise of a squiredom for his son might not be enough to make him forget the ties of blood.
Broderick turned to William. “Go to Colonel Rath. Tell him to put all the city troops on alert. All of them. Get them armed and ready to fight. Tell him to keep track of everyone entering and leaving the city. If Hyrne or Stansted tries to go back up to Hamstowe today, I want to know about it immediately.”
A few minutes later, when the chancellor called the Gemot back into session, the queen’s party looked a good deal less frightened and confused than they had.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” whispered Lukas.
He tried to stand and resume his earlier speech, but the chancellor pounded his staff against the floor and said, “Now, now. I beg your pardon, your grace, but you have spoken a good deal already. Perhaps we might hear from some fresh voices.”
Turning to his right, he seemed on the verge of recognizing the Earl of Hyrne, but Lukas was too fast for him. “Very well, my Lord Chancellor,” he called out. “I gladly yield my time to Baron Corbin.”
Corbin, an old family friend, didn’t need any sort of prompting. He jumped straight to his feet and called out, “I nominate the captain general, Broderick, Baron Gramiren. His grace, the Bishop of Leornian has proposed that Baron Broderick can be legitimized. Moreover, once the baron’s son marries Princess Elwyn, the sundered lines of our—”
“There’s not going to be a marriage!” cried the Earl of Hyrne. “It’s a complete fabrication! If there’s really a betrothal, then let my sister come down here and announce it. Or my niece, the princess. Let her come here and say it to our faces!”
The chancellor tried to regain control, but Broderick cut across him. “The queen has been confined for her own protection, along with her children and my future daughter-in-law.”
“Do you think any of us would take your word for it that this betrothal exists?” said the Earl of Stansted.
Now everyone started shouting again, and even though the chancellor beat the staff against the floor so hard it cracked, no one paid him the slightest attention. At his side, Broderick saw Duchess Flora heave a sigh, shake her head, and then reach into her bodice to produce a slim silver whistle like the ones riverboat captains used. She blew three long blasts on it, making Broderick’s teeth vibrate and sending a little cascade of dust down from the rafters.
When everyone was quiet again, she stood. “Clearly, we need some time to consider these issues more carefully.” Broderick leaned forward, trying to catch her eye, shaking his head. But she held up her fan and cut off her view of him. “I move that the Gemot adjourn.”
The queen’s supporters cheered and shouted out their agreement.
Lukas, scowling furiously, stood and asked, “How long exactly do you propose we adjourn for?”
“Perhaps until we all learn our manners,” she said. Then, turning back to Broderick and lowering her fan, she added, “Or at least until we know for certain whom we can trust.”
Later, after the meeting was adjourned, and everyone filed out, he caught up with her in the Palm Court, where she was sharing a bottle of wine with Anne and Lady Jorunn. He and Flora had been friends for many years, but she was friends with Rohesia, too. If she felt he had abused her trust, she would have no compunctions about voting against him. Or even sending her soldiers to join the Earl of Hyrne’s private army.
“I have something to confess to you,” he said, taking her aside and forcing his most charming smile onto his lips.
“Let me guess,” she said, tapping the fan against her palm, “Lukas lied about the engagement.”
“It’s not a lie, so much as it is premature.”
Looking around at the crowds of noblemen and women, she said, “What if I told everyone?”
“I’m only telling you because I know I can trust you.”
She harrumphed. “Suppose I said I’d keep quiet, but only if you agree to let Edwin keep being king, even after the wedding.”
“You know I’d do anything you asked.”
She stared at him for several long, agonizing seconds before she cracked a grin, too. “You’re lucky I like you, Broderick. Here I was going to tell you I’m sorry for the adjournment, but now I think you ought to be thanking me.”
“Oh? How so?”
“I’ve given you time to get this worked out with Elwyn and Rohesia. I do assume you’re planning on getting their consent, yes?”
He bowed. “Of course I am.”
“Then get to it, my dear.”
She left, and he scanned the Palm Court, taking in all the faces, trying to decide what to do. Then the long, slender trunks of the palm trees drew his eyes up, and he saw people crowding the inner balconies—talking and laughing at private parties. But one floor was seemingly empty—the royal apartments. He found the southeastern corner, where Elwyn’s room was, and for a long minute, he stood there, chewing his lip nervously and considering his options.
Lowering his eyes again, he looked around until he found Anne, now giggling with some lady’s maids from Keneshire. Broderick waved her over, and when Anne was at his side, Broderick pointed up at the balcony. “I want you to find my son and tell him to go pay a visit to his cousin Elwyn.”
“Yes, dear. Right now?”
“Immediately. And Anne...you might get some housemaids to set up a table and some coffee and cakes for them on that balcony.”
Anne nodded. “Where everyone can see them.”
“Exactly.”
“What if she doesn’t want to do it?”
“Then you might mention that I’ve been thinking about taking her brother, Edwin, and her sister, Alice, to the Summer Palace, where they’ll be safer.”
“That’s so sinister.” Anne smiled. “I like it.”