SHEDDING BLOOD FOR THE REALM
Later that morning, Estora paced in the cold light of
the solarium. Zachary had given her the room in the fall as a place
to call her own, a place of refuge from relatives and courtiers and
endless wedding preparations. It felt a hundred years ago, the
problems back then much more simple. It had been such a generous
gesture. Zachary had known exactly what she needed, this retreat.
And yet, she’d done little to make it her own. A few chairs, a
table, some wall hangings, but nothing personal. She used the room
rarely, instead spending time shadowing Zachary as he moved through
his days, performing his duties as king. That had enlivened her
more than hiding away.
The fireplace was
dark and rain splattered the windows, blurring her view of the
courtyard gardens. The gardens held such promise. It was too early
in the season to see growth, but it was there beneath the mulch and
fallen leaves of last autumn. All was barren now, but time would
bear the fruits of rain and sun and warmth. Some birds had already
returned from their wintering grounds and darted about the trees
and shrubs, hunting for wrinkled berries, seeds, and
grubs.
She pulled her shawl
more tightly around her shoulders, missing the warmth of Zachary’s
bed, of him. He’d been strong during their coupling, but so
exhausted after that he hadn’t awakened. He would get well. She
knew it, she believed it. He must. She’d simply wished to stay with
him all morning, but there were tasks she must attend to. This
first was not on the official list
Cummings had handed her while she broke her fast.
A tapping came on
the door.
Finally, she thought.
Fastion opened the
door and stuck his head in. “Lieutenant Connly is here, my
lady.”
“Let him
in.”
Fastion stepped
aside so the Rider could enter the solarium, then closed the door
to resume his post out in the corridor.
Connly bowed, his
posture hesitant, his gaze uncertain. She could not blame
him.
“Your Majesty,” he
said, “I’ve come as you requested. How may I serve?”
“You told no one
where you were going, whom you were seeing?”
“I spoke to no one
as instructed by your message.”
Estora nodded.
“Good.” Perhaps after Richmont’s admissions she was being too
mistrustful, but she preferred not taking chances. “Lieutenant, I
realize this is a complicated time for all of us, but I must ask
you to keep our meeting secret.” Secret. The word echoed in her mind in Richmont’s
sneering voice. So many secrets. She closed her eyes for a
moment.
“May I ask why, my
lady?”
A bold question, she
thought, when he was so uncertain of her. But the Riders were bold.
She knew just how bold they could be.
“No,” she
replied.
He bowed his head.
“I understand.”
He understood that
she could not trust him yet. She remembered how F’ryan used to
bring her to the common room of the old barracks to play games with
the Riders. They played Knights, Intrigue, even rolled dice. Connly
had been there, untried and only just beginning his career in the
messenger service. They’d laughed and joked and told stories. It
was all different now, as though they’d never met
before.
“I know you are
finding it difficult to be sure of me right now,” she said. At his
alarmed expression she added, “Relax, please. I am not accusing you
of anything.”
“What of Captain
Mapstone?” he asked, once again showing his daring.
Someone else,
another monarch, might have punished him for impertinence. But
Estora was who she was. “If it helps, I am told your captain is
very comfortably settled into a suite of rooms in the diplomatic
wing—the finest—and is being treated royally. And she’s hating
every moment of it.”
She saw the flicker
of a smile on his face, and then it was gone.
“When . . .” he
began. “When will you release her?”
“I will not answer
your question, but I did want to reassure you she is
well.”
“Please, may I see
her?” Connly asked.
“No.”
His face
fell.
“Though as a favor
to her, because of her long service and devotion to King Zachary, I
am going to permit a visit from her friend Elgin Foxsmith. As he is
no longer a Green Rider, his presence is more . . . permissible.
Not a conflict of interest. I am sure you will find his assessment
of the conditions of her confinement favorable.”
Good. The Rider
looked much relieved, and he relaxed.
“Furthermore,” she
continued, “based on the information you and your Riders provided
us about the Eletian Sleepers and the towers, you may be pleased to
know we have arranged for an extra unit of soldiers to provide
support down at the wall.”
His relief was now
almost palpable. Relief for the added safety more soldiers could
provide for his fellow Riders assigned to the towers, especially
the Rider he shared his mind with, Trace Burns. From his reaction,
Estora discerned they shared more than their thoughts.
By telling Connly
these things, she hoped to draw him into her confidence, for she
needed his help, and she believed the only ones who could truly
help her were the Green Riders, and one Green Rider in
particular.
“Lieutenant,” she
said, “I understand Beryl Spencer is due in soon.”
As soon as Elgin learned he could visit Red, he
wasted no time in throwing on an old patched oilskin coat and
trekking from the stables where he was seeing to “the girls” and
through the rain to the castle’s diplomatic wing, where they’d
detained his friend. Once among the fine furnishings and passing
richly attired and important looking people, Elgin felt quite the
pauper, quite inadequate. He’d left Sacor City after his brooch
released him from the messenger service because of such feelings,
and now here he was, dripping rain on a carpet worth far more than
his own sorry hide, and keeping his head bowed in the presence of
his betters.
The guard at Red’s
door looked askance at him. “What do you want, old
man?”
“I am here to see
Captain Mapstone.”
“Go away. Only
certain visitors are allowed. By the queen’s orders.”
“But—” Elgin
began.
“Get outta here,”
the guard said.
A Weapon appeared
seemingly from the shadows. Elgin recalled the fellow’s name to be
Fastion. It was not easy remembering the names of the Weapons for
they all appeared the same, with their stony countenances and black
attire. Elgin had a sneaking suspicion they cultivated
uniformity—it allowed them to fade into the background. No single
individual stood out.
“Let him in,”
Fastion ordered in an authoritative voice. “He is approved by the
queen.”
“Yes, sir,” the
guard said, and without hesitation he pivoted, knocked on the door,
and opened it for Elgin.
“Thank you,” Elgin
told Fastion, and the Weapon nodded.
The chamber Elgin
entered reeked of luxury, from overstuffed chairs to artwork even
his undiscerning eye could tell was of the highest quality. It was
a suite, really, with a sitting room, bedchamber, and a bathing
room. More cavernous than anything he had ever lived
in.
Within he had
expected to find an agitated Rider captain pacing madly. Instead,
he discovered Red lounging on a sofa with stockinged feet up,
reading a book. A tray containing a pot of tea and pastries sat on
a table in front of the sofa. Elgin was not sure he’d ever seen her
look so relaxed.
Red glanced over her
book to see who’d entered. It took a moment for her eyes to
register recognition, and when they did, she dropped the book and
leaped up.
“Chief!” she cried.
“What a wonderful surprise.” She came over and hugged him. “I have
missed everyone so much.” She gave him an additional hug and
beckoned him over to the sofa and poured him some tea.
“You seem pleasantly
situated,” he observed dryly.
She grinned.
“Servants looking after my every need, the finest meals from the
kitchen, and this.” She waved her hand to take in the suite. “Don’t
let it fool you, though. I’m seething inside. But comfortable. I
was bored beyond tears until Destarion brought these up.” She
indicated a pile of dusty volumes on the table like the one she’d
just been reading. Some were ledger-sized, some were much smaller,
and their leather covers were very plain. Elgin opened one and
found it filled with cramped handwriting.
“What are these?” he
asked.
“Case histories from
the menders. This is just a small pile. Destarion has apprentices
looking through others.”
“For
what?”
“We’re searching for
references to Riders—or others—with true healing ability, like Ben.
I’m hoping to find something that will reveal how to help him. So
far nothing, but a couple references to me. I’m sure Destarion chose these particular
records for me to look at on purpose.”
“What are you
talking about?”
“The menders who
wrote about my cases complained extensively about my temper. When I was conscious,
that is. One mender actually mentioned he preferred me
unconscious.” She frowned.
Elgin almost snorted
his tea. He ended up coughing instead, shaking with suppressed
laughter. He remembered what a difficult patient she could
be.
She raised an
eyebrow. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No, no, of course
not.”
“Of course not.” She
rolled her eyes. “In any case, Destarion did tell me this morning
there were hopeful signs for both Zachary and Ben, that there’d
been some awakenings for Zachary, and that Ben had a fitful night
as if dreaming, which is better than lying in the deathlike state
he’s been in. Destarion also said his cheeks have a little pink in
them. Have you heard anything?”
“No,” Elgin replied.
“I’ve been with the young ones all morning. You’ve heard more than
me.”
“It is my hope that
once Zachary does awaken for good, that all of this will be cleared
up. If he does not, I suppose they will have to do something with
me.”
“Red—”
“No, Elgin.” She’d
been almost buoyant before, but now she was subdued, shadows
darkening her eyes. “I’m realistic. This is political and they
can’t allow anything to endanger Estora’s new crown.”
“But you
wouldn’t—”
“No, I probably would not interfere. The time for
interference is past. But I know too much and they are not sure
they can trust me, and the only true way to relieve me of duty is
to exile me, or find a way to break my bond with my
brooch.”
The only way to
break that bond, Elgin knew, was to kill her. “I won’t let that
happen,” he growled. “They’ll have to come through me
first.”
“Thank you, old
friend,” she said patting his knee.“Enough about me. Tell me about
my Riders.”
“After all you’ve
done for them,” Elgin muttered, not willing to change the subject
so easily. “All the blood you’ve shed for the realm, and you
practically raised the boy.”
“King,” she reminded
him.
“What I remember is
the boy who put frogs in my boots.”
“Zachary did
that?”
“As if you didn’t
know.”
She gave him an
innocent look, but a smile edged the corners of her
mouth.
“Humph.”
“Seriously, Chief,”
she said, “we’ve all shed blood for the realm, but as captain and
king’s advisor, I must also function in the political sphere—a role
which can prove just as bloody. But I’d prefer not to dwell on it.
So please, could you tell me about my Riders? Has there been any
word from Blackveil?”
Elgin narrowed his
eyes at her, his Red. Yes, they’d all shed blood for the realm, but
one only had to see the scar that ran from her chin, down her neck,
and beneath her collar, to know how close she’d come to giving her
life for the realm. That scar, he knew, went much farther down her
body, and was only a small part of the cost she’d paid the day she
received it while serving as a Green Rider.
If there was
anything in his power he could do to protect her, he would do it.
He knew her Riders felt the same way, and those who had raised
Estora to queenhood had not reckoned on that. He
smiled.
“No word from
Blackveil yet,” he said. “As for your Riders, that Sophina has
become quiet since that day.” Since that day she’d “seen” the king
struck down by arrows. “No complaints or snobbiness from her since
then. Not much, anyway. She’s even getting along with
Merla.”
He continued to chat
with her for the better part of two hours, telling her about the
smallest doings and accomplishments of her Riders, and she smiled
as she listened, the proud captain, but behind the smile he sensed
a profound sadness that no matter what he said, he could not
erase.