SCHEMES
They were met by a phalanx of Weapons that roiled
down the street in a wrathful tide of black, carrying along Master
Destarion and an assistant with them. When Destarion reached the
wagon, he ordered Donal out so he and his assistant could have room
to work. Ben still lay unconscious in the bed of the wagon and
Destarion shook his head.
He put his ear to
Zachary’s chest and peeled back his eyelids. He barked orders at
his assistant who tore into his kit.
“Move!” he bellowed
at Fastion, and they were off again.
A little hope surged
in Laren. If Destarion was so urgent, could it mean there was still
some life left in Zachary?
By the time they
reached the castle, Robin was exhausted, but Laren’s Riders were
there to take him from her and care for him.
“The king?” Connly
asked.
“I don’t
know.”
Menders bearing
stretchers rushed out of the castle. Zachary was carried away, and
then Ben. A blanket was laid over Lord Coutre in the wagon. Lady
Coutre and Estora’s sisters ran out the castle door wailing. Laren
paused on the top landing, gazing back toward the gates of the
castle wall. The rest of the king’s party should be coming up
behind them—she hadn’t even given a thought to their safety. Was
Lady Estora all right?
She would know in
time, but for now her thoughts centered on Zachary.
He was taken to his
apartments and she and several others waited in the main parlor as
menders traveled back and forth to his bedchamber. Colin and
General Harborough stood off by themselves, heads bowed in intense
discussion. Weapons turned the walls black with their
presence.
While they waited,
word arrived that Lady Estora and the rest of the party had
returned unharmed. That was some good news, at least. Soon other
reports came in that it had been a single assassin, apparently with
his own warped agenda, who, after loosing his arrows into Zachary
and Lord Coutre, took his own life with a draught of
poison.
“Coward,” General
Harborough said when he heard. “Coward of the worst sort.” The
parlor had become crowded with persons who thought themselves
important enough to hear the verdict on Zachary firsthand. Weapons
kept them away from the private sections of the apartments. Aides
came and went.
Connly reported to
her that Ben was still unconscious and ensconced in the mending
wing.
“It is the opinion
of the other menders he’d spent too much of himself fixing
Sperren’s hip,” Connly said. “Trying to mend the king put him over
the edge.”
Laren nodded. “Just
what I thought.”
“They will keep
watch on him,” he assured her.
Speculation and
rumor about an heir drifted through the crowd, the repercussions of
the king dying, all the things Laren had thought but could not
voice herself. It hurt to hear them speak of Zachary as if he were
already gone, a piece of history discarded. Perhaps he was, and she
feared they would never have so fine a king again.
The hours passed and
servants brought wine and food to those who had congregated. A
death watch it was, though some conversed and laughed in the
corners as though attending a party. Others, like Laren, paced with
worry clenching their guts.
The door to
Zachary’s private quarters cracked open. One of Destarion’s
assistants poked his head out and spoke to Fastion. Fastion nodded
curtly, then made his way through the crowd to where Laren
stood.
“Captain, would you
come with me?”
Laren trembled. Were
they taking her to see Zachary? Would it be as witness to his life,
or his death? Colin was pulled in as well and they were led down a
long corridor to Zachary’s dressing room. Destarion emerged from
the bedchamber and closed the door quietly behind him, his
expression grim and exhausted.
“I have ordered the
death surgeons to ready the preparation room,” Colin said. “Have
you a verdict for us?”
“A verdict, no,”
Destarion said. “The next couple of days will be critical. He’s
held on this long because of his own strength and Ben Simeon’s
application of his true healing ability. It’s a messy wound—the
arrowhead was barbed. It did damage internally, but Ben’s work
repaired a pierced lung and began healing the tissue around
it.”
“Then there’s a
chance he’ll make it?” Laren asked, hope surging.
Destarion remained
grave. “The wound is still very serious. It appears the arrowhead
was tainted with poison, no doubt the same the assassin used to
kill himself. Whether or not my menders can fashion an antidote
remains to be seen.”
“I’ve sent some
Weapons to question the herbalist who sold it,” Colin said. “If
there is an antidote, it will be found.”
“I have concocted a
draught that may help counteract the poison,” Destarion said, “but
it’s already in his blood. It’s up to him to fight
it.”
Exhausted by it all,
Laren sagged into the nearest chair. He still lived, he still had a
chance, and that was something.
“What of Ben
Simeon?” Colin asked. “Can he do no more to help?”
“It depends on when
he recovers,” Destarion replied. “My menders tell me the lad poured
a great deal of himself into Sperren’s healing this morning, and
now the king. More than we’ve seen him do before. Even when he
wakes up, it may take yet more time for his ability to
recover.”
Colin turned his
gaze on Laren. “Do you have any idea of how long?”
Laren shook her
head. “We haven’t had a true healer in my lifetime until Ben, and
I’ve no documentation on this sort of thing. Any records have not
survived the years.”
She hadn’t meant to
sound so bitter, but it was because the realm was phobic of magic
that its existence had to remain hidden, the history of the Riders
had been suppressed, and now that loss of knowledge endangered the
king’s chances for survival.
“May I ... may I see
Zachary?” Laren asked.
Destarion nodded.
“Be brief. He is not awake, but I often think the presence and
words of friends can sometimes reach the unconscious mind and be of
great comfort.”
He led Laren and
Colin through the door and into Zachary’s chamber. She was struck
by the light. She’d expected darkness, a somber aspect to the room,
but Destarion had left the heavy drapes open to the balcony
outside, and afternoon sunlight fell softly into the room and
across the still figure lying on the bed.
Laren strode to the
bedside and sank into the chair there vacated by one of Destarion’s
menders. Colin remained at the foot of the bed with Destarion.
There was another Weapon on guard in a dim corner.
Blankets were drawn
up to Zachary’s chest where bandages bulged. The freshness of herbs
in the poultice over the wound, and others steeping in a bowl of
water on the bedside table, spread aromatically through the
room.
Zachary’s expression
was placid and unfettered by the concerns of his life and his
kingdom, and she saw the young boy she remembered. A young boy at
play with his dogs, or chasing around with other castle children.
She saw the studious young man who spent hours in the library
poring over books. The strength was in his face, too, of the man,
the warrior king. As Destarion said, he would need all that
strength to survive the damage done by the arrow, and perhaps
more.
She took his limp
hand in her own and it was warm. Too warm? “I am here, Moonling,”
she said, calling on the nickname she used for him when he was
little and tagging after her around castle grounds. “I’m here, and
so is Colin. We’ll take care of everything.”
She rambled on in a
similar vein, trying to keep her voice calm and light, reassuring.
She half heard Destarion and Colin whispering together, but she did
not let it distract her, not even when the two stepped
out.
“You’ve got to hold
on,” Laren said more firmly.
The king’s eyes
fluttered open and she gasped.
“Laren.” Her name
barely made it past his lips, as though he hadn’t the breath left
in his body.
“Yes, I’m here,” she
replied, leaning closer.
He swallowed and
rested so he could summon the energy to speak. “I did not . . . I
did not want her to go.”
“I know.” Laren did
not need to ask who.
“Tell her ...” He
drifted off leaving the rest unsaid and his eyes closed. He exhaled
a long rattling breath as he settled back into
unconsciousness.
Laren squeezed his
hand knowing how he’d finish the sentence. “I’ll tell her.” If he
lived, she would tell Karigan nothing. If he died, she wouldn’t
hesitate to tell Karigan everything, because then those feelings
would do no harm to the realm. This wasn’t even taking into account
whether or not Karigan survived Blackveil.
Laren sighed. Too
much death on her mind.
The door opened and
Lady Estora appeared still wearing her riding habit, but with a
black shawl drawn over her shoulders as a sign of mourning for her
father. There was a querulous voice in the anteroom and Estora
quickly shut the door to mute it. Laren stood and strode over to
her, observing that Estora looked numb, not yet overcome by grief.
None of it had sunk in for her yet.
“My father’s body is
but cooled and my cousin wants me married now,” Lady Estora said,
“while my intended still has a breath in him and is
king.”
Of course Spane
would. Laren ground her teeth, but instead of speaking her opinion,
she took the woman’s hands into her own.
“My lady, I am so
very sorry. What a terrible day you have had.”
“It was quite
wonderful until . . . until . . .”
Laren thought Estora
might crumble then, but the young woman stiffened, maintaining her
composure.
“I have come to see
Zachary.”
“Of course.” Laren
led Estora to his side and helped her settle into the chair. “He
awoke briefly and spoke.” She tried to sound hopeful.
“What did he
say?”
Laren bit her lip.
“Not a lot. My name. Nonsense, really. Destarion suggests speaking
to him even if it appears he does not hear you.”
She then withdrew,
leaving Estora with her head bowed. When Laren stepped into the
anteroom, she found Colin and Spane in heated
discussion.
“I want her married
immediately,” Spane loudly demanded. “Lord Coutre would want
it.”
Laren strode right
up to him and jabbed her finger at his chest. “You will take your
argument elsewhere. This is not the time or place.”
Spane’s mouth gaped,
then he said indignantly, “This is absolutely the time, and I will
not be ordered about by some common messenger. Estora must marry
before that man in there dies.”
“He’s not even
conscious,” Colin replied.
“It matters not.
I’ve a moon priest waiting outside and I—”
“Enough.” The command in Laren’s voice was
unmistakable and both Colin and Spane stared at her. “That man in
there needs peace to heal. You will shut up or I will escort you
out of here myself.”
“You will not speak
to me in this manner. I do not take orders from you. It’s rather
the other way around.”
Laren smiled.
“I only take orders from the king. You
are not he.”
Before he could open
his mouth, she grabbed his wrist, wrenched it behind his back, and
pushed him toward the door to the corridor.
“Get her off me!”
Spane cried.
No one moved to aid
him. The Weapons seemed to look on in approval, and Fastion opened
the door to the corridor and said, much to Laren’s relief, “I’ll
take it from here.”
Laren closed the
door behind them, but could still hear Spane spitting venom all the
way. Her actions had not been politic and now she had acquired a
powerful enemy, but it was well worth it if she brought Zachary
some peace and quiet. It had certainly brought her satisfaction.
Colin touched her
arm. “Wish I’d done that myself.”
“He had it coming,”
Laren replied. “The man is a snake.” She fantasized about putting
her fist in his face.
“Snake or not, he
represents the interests of Clan Coutre.”
“More like his own
interests,” Laren muttered.
“Regardless, he was
Lord Coutre’s confidant and aide, and Lady Estora’s chaperone. He
has represented the clan here for several years and he is not
without influence.”
“He should not
disturb Zachary.”
“I do not dispute
that, of course, but all our emotions are rather raw at the
moment.” Colin paused, as if gauging whether or not he should
continue. Finally he said, “Lord Spane does have a
point.”
“What?”
“We don’t know if
Zachary named an heir in the Royal Trust, and if he did, we don’t
know who. We do know Lady
Estora.”
“Zachary is sensible
and he’s a scholar of history. I’m sure he named someone and it’s a
good choice.”
“I’d expect nothing
less of him,” Colin said. “But it will still lead to bickering and
infighting, which we can ill afford right now.”
“I know,” Laren
replied. “But do you think the lord-governors will accept a
deathbed marriage any more favorably than someone Zachary picked
himself? Do you think they will readily accede power to an untried
woman?”
“Untried? She’s been
trained to rule all her life and would be the next lady-governor of
Coutre if not for the betrothal. She was born to lead, and
Zachary’s been very good about including her in all that concerns
the realm. We’d make it a thoroughly legitimate marriage. At least
that which is in our power. I’m sure we can find persons willing to
testify they witnessed the, um ...”
“The consummation,”
Laren snapped. “Are you listening to yourself? Zachary can’t even
speak for himself in the matter. It’s . . . it’s
deceptive.”
“Treasonous?”
“You said it, not
me.” Laren was beginning to feel light-headed from all the
implications.
“It is an
emergency,” Colin said. “You know as well as I Birch is planning to
make a move. Second Empire is out there collecting its forces. Who
knows what will happen with Blackveil? We need a transition sooner
rather than later, and we both know Lady Estora has Sacoridia’s
best interests at heart.”
“Good gods,” Laren
said weakly. She stumbled to the nearest chair and Colin followed
her. “Zachary can’t even speak for himself in this.”
“No, but who better
to speak for him than us? Certainly not Lord Mirwell or Lord
D’Ivary or Lord Wayman or any of the others. They will speak only
in their own interests. Not for Zachary, not for the realm.” Colin
leaned over her. “Harborough is in favor, and he has the army to
back him.”
“You’ve been
discussing this with others?”
“Yes. As soon as we
heard the news, even before Lord Spane came to us.”
“This ... this is
like a coup,” Laren whispered.
Colin’s expression
was intense. She’d always seen him as professional and loyal, not
as a schemer. The whole world had gone topsy-turvy.
“It’s a wedding,” he
said. “One Zachary contracted for and intended to carry out. We’re
just moving up the date. If he survives, all the better. We can
have another wedding for the benefit of all those who could not
attend the first.”
“I can’t agree to
this,” Laren said. “Don’t you think you should consult with Sperren
first?”
“As you know he is
presently indisposed, but I think over time I have come to
understand his mind. I believe he’d be in favor.”
“You do know my
Riders will have to go to the lord-governors with the news of the
king. I could certainly reveal your plan in the message they
receive.”
“That would only
incite turmoil.”
“Yes, but Colin, you
know the nature of my special ability. I can judge the honesty of
others, but the ability puts a burden on me and how I use the truth
or falsehoods.” She paused, thinking how she manipulated the truth
to keep Zachary and Karigan apart. She closed her eyes and took a
deep breath before continuing. “I cannot draw my Riders into such a
deception. They survive because message recipients trust that the
Riders are doing honest duty, not partaking of some political
trickery. I will not involve my Riders in your scheme. They will
bear only the truth.”
“Would you consider
delaying them?”
“No. That is another
form of deception. Zachary would want the lord-governors notified
as soon as possible. My Riders go out tonight.”
Colin straightened,
looking thoughtful, and suddenly he was once again the level-headed
advisor she had worked with since he took over from his
predecessor, Devon Wain-wright. “You have made your position clear,
Captain. You have given me much to think on.” He drifted away to
speak quietly with Destarion.
“Thank the gods.”
Laren was wrung out from the day’s events. As if the
life-threatening injury to Zachary was not enough, all the
conspiracies had infected even one of the steadiest men she knew.
He might be right about an early wedding alleviating some of the
turmoil that awaited the announcement of the king’s heir, but a
deathbed wedding? It wouldn’t help much.
Please don’t let it be his deathbed, she thought.
Tonight, after she sent her Riders out, she’d light a candle down
in the castle’s chapel of the moon. She had not done that in what,
years?
“Captain?”
She looked up, and
there was Destarion with a teacup in his hands. “Any
change?”
“Not yet. Lady
Estora still sits with him. I brewed some tea—thought we could all
use some. It’s been a trying day and I fear a long night ahead of
us.”
“Thank you,” she
said, accepting the cup and taking a sip.
Destarion smiled and
made a small bow before stepping away.
Tea really was just
the thing. The warmth of it soothed her. She wrapped her fingers
around the cup and tried to relax as the menders came and went from
Zachary’s bedchamber.
She gazed about
Zachary’s dressing room. It was really a well-appointed drawing
room, with dark wood paneling and furniture upholstered in pliant
leather. Paintings of ships on the sea hung on the walls, along
with portraits of Zachary’s beloved terriers. It was all very much
him and she wondered what touches
Estora would have brought to it, what life children could bring to
the monarch’s wing. She had little doubt Zachary would have made a
wonderful father. The loss of what was, and what could be,
threatened to drown her.
He was not dead yet,
and damn it all to the five hells, he’d better not die and leave
her here on her own, not after all they’d been through together.
She finished the tea, thinking it was time she prepared the message
that must go to the lord-governors before someone else concocted
another scheme. She stood and the room spun.
“What . . . ” She
staggered trying to find balance. Her teacup smashed on the floor,
and suddenly she noticed that no one else held one. Hadn’t
Destarion said he’d brewed everyone a cup?
The room tilted and
she began to fall. The strong arms of Weapons caught
her.
“Not feeling well,
Captain?” Colin asked, suddenly standing before her.
“Dizzy,” she
mumbled. “Tired.” Rather beyond tired. She was slipping away . .
.
“It’s been a hard
day for us all,” Colin said. “I’m sorry about this.”
“We’re sorry.” It was Destarion standing next to
Colin.
Her brain was
muddled, but not that muddled and she fought against losing
consciousness. “The tea! What have you ...”
“Rest, Captain,”
Destarion said. “You’ll feel better soon.”
A vast darkness
sucked the light from her eyes. Everything dimmed until there was
nothing. Nothing at all.