“You know what I find amusing?” Brasti asked.
I opened my eyes to find only darkness waiting for me and I panicked. I’m paralyzed—Gods, no, not now! You can’t do this to me, not again—not after all I’ve been through—
“It’s all right,” I heard Ethalia say gently. “It’s just dark.”
I had fallen asleep on one of the long benches in the wide hallway outside the throne room of Aramor with my head in her lap. I felt the warmth of her hand against my cheek and took a deep breath, and only then did I hear a guitar playing softly, the notes echoing from wall to wall.
“Nehra?” I asked.
“Over here, Trattari,” she answered. “You’ve given me the beginnings of a fine story to tell, but it’ll need the right melody to accompany it.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Late,” Dariana replied. She was sitting on the floor running a whetstone back and forth against the blade of her sword. “I would guess we’re two hours from sunrise. No one bothered to light torches for us. I fear you and your Greatcoats are just as beloved now as you were before this whole thing started.”
I peered through the darkness, trying to find Kest, and made out his vague outline across the hall. Just for an instant I could have sworn he flickered red, as if he were standing in front of a fire, but a moment later everything was dark again.
“Would you please stop doing that?” Brasti asked from a few feet to my right. “Either be the Saint of Swords or don’t, but make up your damned mind.”
“It’s not something I can control,” Kest replied plaintively.
“Your hand,” I said, lifting my head from Ethalia’s lap and instantly regretting the decision, “is it—?”
The shadow of Kest’s head nodded. “A healer treated the wound with some kind of acid to prevent infection and bandaged me up so I won’t bleed to death. The pain is . . . significant.”
He flickered again, a brief flash of red against the blackness of the unlit room.
Brasti coughed. “As I was saying, do you know what I find amusing?”
“Hang on,” I said, “how long have we been waiting here?”
“Several hours,” Kest replied. “The Dukes have been meeting continuously since the battle ended. One of their retainers came out an hour ago to ‘remind us’ to stay here.”
“Ducal Concords have very strict protocols,” Valiana said. Her voice came from the deep shadows on the other side of the room.
“Where’s Aline?”
“She’s in there with them.”
I started to rise, but Kest stepped out of the shadows and stopped me. “They assured me that regardless of the outcome of their deliberations, they would not harm her. I did my best to explain what would happen to them if they did.”
“We should be in there with her,” I said.
I heard the soft sound of Valiana’s footsteps. “They won’t harm her, Falcio. I was trained in Concord protocol and I can promise you: the rules are clear and the safety of the participants is inviolate. The process is complex—even if you were in there, I doubt you’d understand what was happening.”
I let pass the fact that she’d just told me I was too stupid to understand affairs of state. “Then you should be in there—you know how all this works. You could look out for her interests.”
“I’m not a Duchess, Falcio—I’m not even a noble. I’m no one of consequence.”
“You’re as good as any Duke or Duchess, pretty bird. Better, from what I’ve seen of them,” Dariana said, and for once I agreed with her.
“No one of consequence? You might just be the only noble person in this whole sorry affair.”
“Look,” Brasti shouted, “is anyone going to ask me what I find amusing?”
I turned in the general direction of where he was sitting, across the hallway from me, and said, “Fine. Brasti, what is it that you find so desperately amusing?”
“This castle.”
“You find the castle amusing?” Kest asked.
“Well, not the castle so much as the fact that there are cobwebs all over it.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. I wasn’t just humoring him; I really didn’t.
Brasti rose and spread his arms. “Look at this place: It’s Castle Aramor, for Saints’ sake. It’s the seat of power for Tristia and yet it’s been sitting here completely empty for more than five years. The Dukes took it from the King—and then they just left it. No one’s even entered the place until now.”
“It had to be kept empty,” Valiana said, as if the reason was obvious. “If one of the Dukes had come here it would have been seen as an act of war against the others.”
“I know, but here’s the thing, see? Castle Aramor is the single most defensible fortress in all of Tristia. You could probably hold the thing with—how many, Kest?”
“Fifty soldiers,” Kest replied.
“Fifty soldiers. So with fifty soldiers and enough supplies, you could hold this place for a year.”
“I’m just saying, all these intrigues and really the best way to take over the country would’ve been for Trin to just come here with her Knights and declare herself Queen. I’m surprised some goat-herder didn’t just move in with forty-nine of his friends and nominate himself Emperor!”
Despite myself, I started thinking about the men at the Inn at the End of the World sitting at a table contemplating making themselves rulers of the country. King Jost. I started to laugh uncontrollably.
“I’m not sure it was that funny,” Kest said.
“It’s not that,” I said, holding my ribs and trying to stop laughing because it hurt too much. “I’m thinking the next time we run into this problem of the lack of a ruler I’m going straight into the nearest village and the first man or woman who can sign their name can come back here to the castle and be crowned monarch.”
The others began laughing too, and we spent the next hour expanding on the virtues of choosing a King through random selection, until the great double doors of the throne room opened and one of the Ducal retainers came out. He pointed to Kest and Brasti and finally me.
“The Dukes are ready for the three of you now,” he said importantly. “The others must wait here.”
I squeezed Ethalia’s hand and rose. “Come on then,” I said to the others. Valiana didn’t move, so I took her firmly by the hand and began leading her in.
“The girl’s presence is not required,” the retainer started.
“It’s required by me,” I replied, and we all walked past him and into the throne room.
The Dukes were sitting around a large dining table someone had placed a discreet distance from the throne. It had been five years or more since I’d been in the throne room of Castle Aramor, and weirdly, it felt smaller than I remembered, and the Tristian seat of power itself much less ornate than the thrones used by the Dukes in their own castles.
Food had been served, and most of the people around the table had plates in front of them. A multitude of servants in assorted livery representing the various duchies were busy refilling goblets of wine.
They brought more servants with them than guardsmen. I shouldn’t have been shocked, but somehow I was.
Aline was sitting on a chair a short distance away from the table, her hands resting on her knees, a small plate of food, barely touched, sitting on her lap. The Dukes themselves, occupied with eating and drinking, paid no attention to the four of us.
“Anything left for us?” Brasti asked casually.
I felt Valiana tense next to me, no doubt expecting, as I did, a scathing retort from either the Dukes or the retainers who stood around them—after all, Dukes do not eat with commoners. To my surprise, Duke Meillard of Pertine grunted, “There’s some chicken left. It’s dry and I can’t speak to its provenance, but you might as well eat as stand there looking like fools.”
Some of the others looked shocked, which comforted me somewhat, but after a moment Duke Jillard signaled to one of the retainers, who brought out plates and placed them in front of empty chairs at the far end of the table. Not knowing quite what else to do, I sat down, and the others joined me.
When a leg of chicken was placed on my plate I very nearly passed out from the smell. I’d forgotten how long it had been since I’d eaten, let alone sat down to a proper meal at a table. However mediocre Duke Meillard might have found it, to me that chicken was the most succulent flesh I could ever remember tasting. A silver goblet was placed near my right hand and wine was poured into it.
“Could I trouble you for some water?” I asked the retainer. It wouldn’t do to drink now, not when I was so tired and hurt and there was dangerous business to deal with.
Brasti had no such concerns. “See, now, this is nice,” Brasti said, placing his already empty goblet back on the table and motioning for the retainer carrying the jug of wine to return. “We should do this more often, you know, have dinner together and sort out our problems like gentlemen.”
Duke Meillard stood. “All right, so let’s call this open session of the Ducal Concord back to order. Let it be noted that we have agreed to continue despite the lack of representation from the duchies of Orison, Luth, and Aramor, as well as from the Duchess of Hervor.”
The Duchess of Hervor?
“Um, excuse me,” I said, “but—”
Meillard held up a hand. “First, Trattari, you’ll speak only when recognized by the head of the Concord, which is me. Second, to answer your unspoken question, Trin is, despite the current disputes, still the lawful Duchess of Hervor.”
“Might I be recognized, then?” I asked.
“Hells. Fine. What do you want to say?”
I rose. “Well, first of all, I’d like to say that this is excellent chicken.”
“So noted. Moving on now—”
“Second, my friend Brasti seems to be out of wine again.”
Hadiermo, the Iron Duke of Domaris, slammed his fist down on the table. “This is the Ducal Concord, not some country wedding. Do you think this is a joke, Trattari?”
“I think it must be. A few hours ago most of you were cowering by the front door waiting to be slaughtered by your own men while Shuran was preparing to take over the entire Kingdom. You yourself, Duke Hadiermo—you gave up the battle against Trin’s forces after—what? A week of fighting?”
“There were—”
“Silence!” Brasti said with mock imperiousness. “You haven’t been recognized!”
“You do realize we’re outnumbered by a goodly amount, and injured besides, don’t you?” Kest asked me.
I kept my attention focused on the nobles seated around the table. “The country is teetering on the brink of civil war because the lot of you have not just driven the countryside into rebellion, but you have allowed your Ducal Knights to become renegades.”
“And you think you’re the one to tell us our faults?” Meillard growled.
“Who else will? The four of us, along with so many others who have given their lives—and that, I should note, despite many of you doing your best to have us killed these past five years despite oaths sworn—where was I? Oh yes, so we have managed to defeat your enemies and keep you alive: and now you all sit there apparently believing you can set the country in whatever direction suits you while the King’s heir sits in the corner like a scolded schoolgirl. So yes, your Graces, I do believe this must be a joke.”
The room was silent for a moment and then someone clapped. Unfortunately, it was Jillard, Duke of Rijou. “That does sound like a rather substantial amount of upheaval.”
“It is,” Brasti said, putting both his feet up on the table. “And since we saved your worthless lives, we’d expect at least some degree of contrition.”
“Does water still fall downward when poured from a jug?” he asked.
“Does what?” Brasti asked.
“Water. When you pour it, does it still fall downward?”
“I’ve only been pouring wine thus far, your Grace, and that mostly down my gullet, but I expect water behaves in a similar fashion.”
He smiled and nodded. “Good. So in fact the world still functions according to the laws of nature and of the Gods. Understand?”
“Not really,” Brasti said, “but I have had rather a lot to drink in a very short time.”
“He means,” Kest said, “that despite everything that’s happened, the Dukes believe the natural order remains the same: that they are masters of this country and we their servants or their enemies.”
“You show excellent clarity of thought for a Trattari,” Jillard said.
“Thank you, your Grace,” I said. “And now I believe the four of us should leave. We’ll take Aline with us.” I reached out a hand for her.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Meillard demanded.
“I’d like to know that, too,” Kest said quietly.
I kept my eyes on the Dukes. “We leave here. We bring Brasti’s troops—”
“Brasti’s Bastards!” Brasti shouted, and then started giggling.
“—and we make war,” I shouted, my voice echoing through the room. Then more conversationally, I said to Kest, “It’s the only thing they understand.”
“You can’t be serious!” Hadiermo said. “You’ve got—what? A hundred country bumpkins with longbows?”
“A hundred country bumpkins just destroyed a thousand Ducal Knights,” I pointed out. “Your Knights. Imagine what happens when that story spreads through the countryside.”
Ossia, Duchess of Baern, a woman in her sixties who had always been at least a little decent toward the King and his Greatcoats, coughed delicately. “I believe we have seen trying times, all of us. Perhaps it is time for us all to withdraw—surely we can pursue this matter over the coming months? And I’m sure we can agree to a cessation of any hostilities while we get our homes in order?”
I thought about what that would mean: more fear, more uncertainty, more maneuvering by the Dukes.
“No,” I said. “Those aren’t the terms.”
“‘Terms’?” Duke Hadiermo asked. “Do you think you’re here to negotiate terms with us?”
“No, your Grace,” I said. “I’m sorry, was this not clear? I’m here to dictate them.”
Several people started to rise, but it was my turn to slam my fist on the table. I’d been wanting to do that for ages; shame I hadn’t realized it was going to hurt quite so much. Ah well. “You’ve had your way with this country long enough. Since the King’s death, you have taxed the common folk beyond measure. You have allowed the trade routes to fall into disrepair until bandits have become richer than merchants. You have plotted and intrigued and poisoned everything the King tried to build.”
“That,” Jillard said, “is how you see it.”
“No,” I said, “that’s how you see it—all of you. You know that what I’m saying is true. The King might have offended you with his laws, but he also gave you certainty. He gave you reliable trade and safe borders.”
“He gave us the Greatcoats, too, coming in and interfering in our own lands,” Meillard said.
“Yes, he did: and for nearly a decade we traveled the long roads and heard cases in every town in the country. And tell me”—I looked around the table—“how many uprisings did you have in those years? How many times did the common folk try to assassinate you?”
“So that’s what this is about?” Jillard asked. “You want us to reinstate the Greatcoats?”
“Give us a year,” I said, “one year to set this country back to rights. One year to show people that there is still some measure of justice and fairness in the world.”
“And then?” Jillard asked.
“And then you can go back to plotting each other’s deaths if you like. You can refuse us entry to your duchies after that. You can go back to trying to kill us. But I don’t think you will. I think you and your families and above all your people are sick and tired of watching decay and corruption reign over Tristia.”
“Give me one year. I’ll give you a country.”
There was silence in the room for a few minutes, but then Meillard shook his head. “I don’t see how any of that is going to work, not without a monarch on the throne. I don’t dispute your skill or your courage, but there are very few Trattari left. We can’t continue like this. We need a monarch.”
Jillard turned to Meillard. “Are you mad? You want to put this child on the throne?”
Meillard shrugged. “She’s the King’s daughter. I don’t see how we can find a way around that.”
“She knows nothing!” Jillard went on. “She’s a little girl with no training and no experience—and you want to make her Queen now? While we’re trying to rebuild the country? What happens the moment she finds it all too overwhelming? Who will her councillors be? What happens when someone suggests she haves us all assassinated? She approved the plan to have us murdered! Rijou would sooner have no monarch on the throne.”
“You did have her family killed,” Brasti pointed out.
“And you tried really quite hard to have her murdered as well,” Kest added.
Meillard looked tired. “I . . . The Duke of Rijou has a point. I can’t see how this untrained child is going to hold the throne for a week, never mind a year. It takes resolve to rule a kingdom. It takes breeding and experience.”
His words were firm and final, but I saw something in his eyes, and when I looked around at the other Dukes I saw it echoed, again and again: fear and need.
They need the Greatcoats, I realized. If I tell them Aline must take the throne, they’ll do it—they’ll threaten and they’ll complain, but in the end even Jillard will say yes because the Dukes need us and because if nothing else, Aline has the breeding they care so much about.
That word, breeding, stuck in the pit of my stomach. That’s all this whole country cares about: which family you were born into. I despised every person seated around that table because, whether friend or foe, they all thought life should be dictated by bloodlines—and was my King any different? After all, he expected me to put his daughter on the throne.
Aline was watching me, and though she sat still and upright on her chair, her eyes were full of quiet terror, just as they had been ever since this had began. Meillard was right: she wouldn’t last a week on the throne. She had tried to be brave, but trying wasn’t enough, not for Tristia.
“Well?” Meillard asked, breaking my train of thought. “Are you still demanding that we put this child on the throne?”
I thought back to all those moments, trapped in the paralysis brought on by the neatha, with my King standing there in front of me. You will betray her. It was only then that I realized he’d never said it angrily, only with certainty.
“No,” I said at last, “Aline can’t take the throne today.”
Chaos ensued as a number of the Dukes immediately assumed I was going to try to take the throne for myself. Even Valiana, standing next to me, put her hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to fight to the death to protect Aline, and I smiled because she had proved me right. I looked over to Aline and saw tears of confusion in her eyes. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll thank me for this; maybe you’ll curse me.
I held up a hand for quiet. “You say it takes breeding to rule a country. I say it takes courage: courage and compassion and the willingness to sacrifice. Your Graces, you were going to appoint a Realm’s Protector—someone to run the Kingdom, to give time to select a new monarch. So do that: appoint a Realm’s Protector while Aline learns the ways of a monarch—and you have time to satisfy yourselves that she has no homicidal tendencies toward you.”
That shut them up them for a few seconds. It was Meillard who spoke first. “It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. We do it in the duchies when the heir is too young to rule.”
“And who would this Realm’s Protector be?” Jillard asked. “You, Falcio val Mond? Will you now finally reveal your purpose? Would you see yourself—?”
“Not me.”
“Thank the Saints,” Brasti said.
I pointed to Valiana. “Her.”
Several voices began objecting at once.
Jillard, oddly, was silent.
Meillard signaled for silence. “The peasant? You’d put a peasant in command of the country?”
“Not so long ago the lot of you planned to make her Queen,” I said.
“We thought she had noble blood,” Meillard said, his voice full of self-righteous anger. “That bitch Patriana lied to us.”
“Of course she did,” I said, “and what a surprise that must have been to you all! But it doesn’t change the fact that for eighteen years Valiana was raised to rule. She’s learned the laws, both King’s and Ducal Laws. She’s learned protocol, and the ways of the court—and she’s learned them from all of you.”
Almost everyone in the room began to shout their objections all at once, not just Dukes, but their noble retainers, calling Valiana—and me too—some very unpleasant names. Hadiermo went so far as to suggest that he would lead the Northern duchies in secession from Tristia, though that ended quickly enough when Ossia pointed out that Trin would likely have something to say about that.
Finally Jillard raised a hand for quiet. His eyes found Valiana’s. “If we do as the Trattari asks—if we name you Realm’s Protector for the next year—would you hold to the agreements made here today and swear no retribution against the Ducal Concord? Would you set aside all past . . . disagreements?”
Some of the other Dukes began to renew their objections, but Jillard shouted, “Silence!” so loudly that the plates and goblets rattled. Once the hubbub had quieted, he said, “Let us play no more games. We all know we need someone on the throne and it can’t be any of us. Who better than her? When my son’s life was in danger she . . .”
He paused, and just for a moment I saw the man who had screamed in terror over Tommer’s life down in the black pit of Rijou’s dungeons.
“This girl stood and fought for my son. Would any of you have done that for me? Would you—?”
“So now you’ve gone all soft because someone threatened your boy? Rijou doesn’t lead the Concord,” Hadiermo shouted.
Meillard stood. “But I do.” He shook his head in disgust. “I never held with that nonsense the rest of you had cooking to put a puppet on the throne, but you did it anyway. Now we need someone who knows how the country works and understands all of it—the good and the bad.” He turned back to Valiana. “Come on, girl, speak. Do you want to be the Realm’s Protector or not?”
Valiana stood shakily. “I . . . no, your Grace. I do not want to rule, nor do I wish to hold the throne in any way.”
“Good,” Meillard said. “Then you’re perfect for the job.”
That wasn’t the end of all the yelling and shouting, not by a long shot, and I was surprised at how quickly all of their precious protocol slipped away. But in the end Meillard and Jillard prevailed.
Valiana walked from the table to kneel before Aline. “I swore an oath to you,” she said. “I swore to protect you, no matter what.”
Aline nodded. The tears had stopped and now she just looked tired—too tired for such a young soul.
“I . . . Things will be different if I do this,” Valiana said. “I won’t take the role unless you agree to it, but if you do, things will be different between us. I will have to put the country’s needs ahead of your own.”
Aline remained silent.
Valiana took one of Aline’s hands in hers. “You have to say it: you have to release me from my oath, or I won’t do it.”
“This is foolish,” Duke Hadiermo complained.
“There are worse things than a ruler who holds to their oaths,” Meillard replied.
Aline stood up and placed her hand on Valiana’s head. “I am Aline, daughter of Paelis. I am heir to the throne of Tristia and I release you from your oath, Valiana val Mond of the Greatcoats.”
And just like that, I had betrayed the last command of the King whom I loved more than the world itself.