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The diagram of the cathedral lay on a wide trestle table in the Gold Parlor, exactly on the spot where Edgar had died, appropriately enough. Three monks and the Dean of the Cathedral bustled about, making notes in chalk here and there, while Broderick stood talking with the Bishop of Formacaster.
“Now, with most weddings it’s traditional to have the families seated in opposite transepts,” the bishop said, “but your family and the bride’s are...rather close to begin with, and, well.... How can I put this?”
“How can you put what?” asked Broderick, coming out of a brief reverie.
He had been studying the diagram carefully, but he hadn’t been thinking about his son’s wedding. In his mind, he was imagining the coronation that would surely follow. The lord chancellor had already hinted he might be persuaded to recall the Gemot once the marriage was official, and there were strong indications that the excitement of a royal wedding would swing the vote decisively in Broderick’s favor, even if Edwin was still alive.
“My lord,” the bishop continued, “I understand that a large portion of the bride’s extended family are not, shall we say, in the immediate vicinity.”
Yes, the rumors of troops gathering at Stansted continued to spread, and now even clerics were gossiping about it. “There will be sufficient courtiers to fill the seats, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Very good, my lord. But you see, there does seem to be a certain reluctance on the bride’s side of the aisle. When I spoke to the princess a week ago, she said something rather alarming on the subject of her feelings for your son. I do hope I don’t need to remind you that the mutual consent of the parties is a fundamental requirement for a marriage to be considered lawful in the Leafa Church.”
Broderick crossed his arms. “And yet you have now reminded me of it. The bride is willing, your grace. Or at least as willing as nervous young ladies ever are in these circumstances.”
“Perhaps if my wife and I had a word with her. We could offer her some counsel and try to relieve her mind.” The bishop lowered his voice to a whisper. “In my experience, my lord, it is often the prospect of the...ahem...grossly physical aspects of the union that cause young ladies such distress.”
“I really doubt that will be necessary,” said Broderick.
If Elwyn needed any instruction in that regard, he’d have Muriel do it. Though if either member of the young couple needed reassurance about their wedding night, it would likely be Broderick’s son, not the princess.
A trilling soprano voice echoed up the stairwell, followed seconds later by Anne Meriwether, smiling broadly and carrying a large glass of wine. “Are you people still working on this?” she whined, rolling her eyes. “I want to go for a ride today, dear.” She looked the bishop’s formal robes up and down, then said with a smirk, “Nice dress. I wish I had one like that.”
The bishop, who had never much liked her to begin with, scowled and shook his head.
She was drunk. Badly drunk, like someone who was well into her second day inside a bottle, and who hadn’t been to bed yet. Broderick regarded her with a new sense of alarm. She had always enjoyed her parties. But something had happened in the past few months that had made her completely lose control. He wondered what it might have been, but he couldn’t think of anything.
“Anne, why don’t you go up to your room and lie down for a while?” he said.
“You’re trying to get rid of me?” she pouted. “That’s not very nice. I came up to tell you gentlemen the latest rumor. Have you heard it yet?”
“No,” said Broderick. “Perhaps you could tell me later, when—”
“Karlina Selberssen told me she thinks the Immani wanted little Edwin dead because his real father—Legate Faustinus—needs the boy’s blood for some sort of black magy ritual.”
A stupid slander, but he had to give Karlina credit for creativity. And he was glad to know the story Pedr had started was gaining real currency around the court. Even so, it was time for Anne to go have a nap.
He took her gently but firmly by the elbow and started for the stairs, but before they could get there, the door opened, and in walked Caedmon Aldred. The famous hillichmagnar was looking back over his shoulder, talking to the guard on duty. “Yes, thank you. I shall require a moment of the bishop’s time, and then....”
His voice trailed off as he looked around to see Broderick and a red-faced Anne, stinking of wine and whiskey. Neither Broderick nor Aldred seemed to know what to say.
Then Anne broke the silence, and reaching up to the sorcerer’s long, auburn ponytail, she said, “You have such nice hair. I wish I could get my hair to look like this.”
Broderick managed to snatch her hand away before she could make contact.
“Lord Gramiren,” said the hillichmagnar, with a stiff, slight bow.
“Lord Aldred,” said Broderick, bowing even more slightly.
Caedmon looked past Broderick and Anne and addressed the bishop. “Your grace, I had hoped to speak with you today. But as I find the captain general is also present, I think I must first beg you for a few moments’ privacy with him. I have come to town specifically seeking an audience with his lordship, and since he is here, I can catch two geese with the same snare, as the Krigadamites say.”
The bishop bowed and said, “I shall await you at your convenience down in the Palm Court, my lord.” Then he ushered the dean and the monks out with him.
“I suppose that’s my cue, too, isn’t it?” slurred Anne happily. “Though if both of you wanted to have a little party in here, I bet we could get some pillows for that table, and then—”
“That’s quite enough, Anne,” said Broderick, still holding Aldred’s gaze with his own. “Go up to your room now, please. And get some sleep, for Earstien’s sake.”
When the door shut, Caedmon shook his head. “I see you have ruined that poor girl.”
“Ruined?” Broderick let out a snort. “No, Anne was a fallen woman long before I knew her. Or haven’t you heard the stories about her schooldays?”
“I have heard them,” said Aldred, in a revoltingly sanctimonious tone, “and yet I doubt she was ever truly fallen until she met you.”
Broderick went over to the sideboard and poured himself a cup of coffee, thinking, “Yes, by all means, let’s hear a lecture on sexual morality from a 600-year-old virgin.”
Aloud, he said, “Did you have something in particular you wanted to see me about, my lord? You are traveling so often these days that I feel as if we never see each other anymore.”
“I was visiting friends in eastern Keelshire when I heard of the attack on the king’s life. I came here as soon as I could to assure myself that he was still safe.”
It would have been interesting to know exactly which friends he had been visiting and what they had been talking about, but Broderick knew better than to ask. “Edwin Sigor is perfectly safe, and as you will find if you go upstairs, I have had him, his mother, and his sister moved to more secure rooms.”
“More secure,” scoffed Aldred. “More securely in your web, you mean. Lady Jorunn tells me your lackeys here at court are passing around a story that the Immani tried to kill his majesty. Nothing could be more absurd.”
“Oh, really?” Broderick leaned against a pillar, sipping his coffee casually. “And can you think of any better suspects?” As if he didn’t already know who Aldred suspected.
“I cannot say who was in that room with a knife, but I am sure—as sure as I have ever been of anything—that you were the one who gave the order for the assassination.”
His steel-blue eyes seemed to bore into Broderick’s skull. Broderick stared right back, keeping his face perfectly immobile. He wasn’t going to give Aldred the satisfaction of knowing he had guessed right.
“You always suspect me,” Broderick said at last. “It really is tiresome. But then you’ve never liked me. It all goes back to my parentage, I suppose, but—”
“Nonsense. I have known many outstandingly virtuous men and women whose parentage was far more questionable than yours, and who had none of your advantages in life. You had a mother who loved you. A grandfather who raised you, though you reminded him of his daughter’s shame. A royal father who gave you wealth and power. A foreign king who made you his squire, as if you were his own flesh and blood. A queen who could have hated and resented you for being born, but who took you into her household as a trusted friend. But you have abused the trust of every one of them. Your mother, and all the others, would be ashamed of you.”
Broderick set his cup down quite deliberately. He was not going to let this old fool make him angry. “That is an unkind thing to say. If you have any proof that I ordered Edwin’s death, let me know.”
“I have circumstantial evidence. I have the testimony of my good friend, Legate Faustinus, who was convinced twenty years ago that you had been instrumental in the death of your half-brother, Prince Maxen. I have long hoped he was wrong about that. But now I see a pattern that runs from Prince Maxen through Bishop Robertson to King Edwin. It is sadly all too clear. You want the throne, even if you have to destroy your own family to get it.”
Bishop Robertson. That was a death Broderick hadn’t thought about in eons, but he supposed hillichmagnars specialized in long memories. “You can’t prove anything.”
Caedmon’s eyes flashed under his heavy brows, and he clenched his fists at his side. “Do not tempt me, Broderick.” Then he sighed. “But there are kinds of magy I will not use, even for this. Even so, I know what you are, and I have come to tell you that I will no longer serve here at court.”
“Because I’m going to be king, you mean?”
“Because your rule, if we can even call it that, will be a sham. You will be a fraud—a false and impotent king with none of the real power. You will not have the support of your nation. You will not have the support of the hillichmagnars. And you will never have the aid of Finster’s Book. You will never be able to consult In Aid of Leornian’s Rulers.”
“You think not? Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because, thank Earstien, you do not know the spell that would allow you to use it.”
Broderick had waited more than fifteen years for this moment. He took a step toward Caedmon, grinning, and whispered, “On the contrary. I do know it. Would you like me to tell it to you?”
Caedmon’s jaw flapped open and snapped shut. Then he cleared his throat. “That...that is not possible. Where could you ever have learned it?”
“From Queen Merewyn. She told me all sorts of things after she went mad. She was so lonely, so willing to talk to anyone who came to visit her. And you know, she always did like me better than Maxen.”
The hillichmagnar ran a hand over his eyes, shuddering. “That is the vilest thing you could possibly have done, abusing her illness in that way. I did not think even you could stoop so low.”
“How flattering to think I can surprise the great Caedmon Aldred.”
“I am leaving. I will not be a party to this outrage.”
He turned to go, and for the first time, Broderick was genuinely worried. “Are you going to join the Sigor army at Stansted?” Caedmon might be a sanctimonious old fool, but he was a powerful sorcerer, and his name was even more powerful than his magy. Everyone in Myrcia grew up hearing stories of his adventures.
The corner of Aldred’s mouth rose slightly. “How flattering to think I can intimidate the great captain general. But no, I am not going to Stansted. At least not yet. I am going to Diernemynster, where I will consult with the Freagast. I am leaving Lady Jorunn and Evika Videle here to keep an eye on you.”
Broderick bowed as the hillichmagnar left. Then he made sure the door was shut before he let out a long sigh of relief, followed by a dark chuckle.
Caedmon on the battlefield was a threat. Caedmon in a conference room was one voice among many. And the Freagast? He was a feeble old man who had grown tired of war a thousand years ago. And Lady Jorunn? She was practically an ally already, and it wouldn’t take much more of an effort to get her on his side permanently.
As for the rest of Diernemynster, it was a glorified monastery, where all the monks and nuns had centuries and centuries of time on their hands, and never felt any compulsion to do something today. The hillichmagnars there wouldn’t help the Sigors. They would debate and pray and meditate, and in the end, they would line up to support whoever held power in Formacaster.
Caedmon had probably come there to threaten and intimidate him. But in fact, he had given Broderick the best news he’d heard in days.