KING AND QUEEN
Estora sat in state in the throne room, wearing the
crown of Queen Isen that still required adjustment from the royal
jeweler, and a mantle of heather and cobalt, seeded with pearls
from the coast of Coutre. The colors represented the union of
Hillander and Coutre. Work on the mantle had begun as soon as the
betrothal was announced and was ready for her even before the
assassination attempt on Zachary.
Across her lap
rested the scepter, also once wielded by Queen Isen, that went with
the crown. It was said that the crystal crescent moon at its tip
had to be replaced more than once when the queen, during fits of
impatience, had used it to smack those who displeased
her.
Estora was bedecked,
bejeweled, and thoroughly uncomfortable sitting in the queen’s
throne, now perched on the dais next to the king’s. The king’s
chair remained vacant, and those who stood before her—five
lord-governors and their aides—demanded to know exactly what was
going on and what had become of the king. Mostly she let Colin
handle the questions, which bordered on insolence.
“How do we know this
marriage is not false?” young Lord Penburn demanded not for the
first time. He’d been one of her suitors and only lately had she
heard the extent of his displeasure at having been
rejected.
“As I’ve said, my
lord,” Colin replied, and Estora could tell that even implacable
Colin was straining to remain civil, “the marriage ceremony and
consummation were properly observed and witnessed. Those witnesses
will be brought before you in due time.”
“There is one
witness I should like to hear from,” said Lord Adolind, “but he has
yet to make an appearance. Just how serious was this riding
accident of his?”
“Yes,” Lord D’Ivary
chimed in. “It has the stench of a deathbed wedding. What aren’t
you telling us?”
Colin was getting
red in the face. “You dare insult the queen with such
speculation?”
“Is she truly the
queen?” Penburn asked very quietly.
Estora stood.
“Enough.”
The five and their
aides silenced immediately and craned their necks to look up at
her.
“Colin has explained
the situation plainly,” she said. “The king is attending to urgent
matters of state with his military advisors.” It was partly true,
anyway. He’d had briefings from most of his military chiefs over
the last couple days. “He will come before you when he is ready.”
Which, she hoped, would be soon. He was improving each day. They
had been unable, however, to complete the conversation begun after
they’d given Richmont into Beryl’s hands. Zachary was either
sleeping, or too busy catching up on the news of the realm, and
constantly surrounded by others. She slept alone in her own
chamber.
“While I should like
to see the king and hear it all from him myself,” said an
unchastened Lord Penburn, a sly glint in his eye, “I’d also like to
know where Captain Mapstone is. There have been some rather strange
rumors circulating.”
Estora could only
imagine. She knew Lord Penburn took especial interest in Captain
Mapstone because she was from Penburn Province, and her closeness
to the king exalted her status with the lord-governor as one of his
own people who had influence with the king. Estora had suggested
the captain’s release from house arrest. Colin and Harborough
demurred, preferring to move slowly, probably so they could prop up
their own positions in the advent of Zachary’s royal
fury.
Zachary had also
asked for the captain, and had been put off, told that she was ill,
but recovering rapidly. Estora did not think prolonging the charade
and lying to Zachary was going to help their causes any, and she
decided if they wished to hang themselves, that was their business.
She then ordered that the captain be
released, but it appeared someone had delayed that order, something
she would rectify just as soon as she finished here.
“The captain is—”
Colin began, but he did not have a chance to finish his statement.
The side entrance to the throne room creaked open and in walked two
Weapons, Master Destarion, and Zachary’s secretary, Cummings,
followed by—much to Estora’s surprise—Zachary himself.
The lord-governors
immediately dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Zachary
ignored them. Dressed simply in black, he walked over to the dais,
his gait a little slow, and his face pale, but it was really him.
He mounted the steps. Estora saw what the effort cost him, the
exhaustion, but he did it all without help. When he reached the
top, he gave her a long indecipherable look, and they both
sat.
“What Counselor
Dovekey was about to tell you,” Zachary said, his voice strong and
sure, “is that Captain Mapstone is in the mending
wing.”
Colin blanched, and
Estora gave Zachary a sideways look. There was an upturn to the
edge of his mouth, a cant to his eyebrow.
Lord Penburn
appeared alarmed. “Is she well, Your Highness?”
“I am to understand
she is very well.”
The lord-governors
glanced at one another. Where once they’d been unafraid to voice
their questions, they no longer seemed to know what to
say.
“It is good to see
you, Majesty,” Lord L’Petrie finally said. “We’d wondered about
your welfare. There’d been all manner of stories, and then the
marriage.”
“You see me before
you now,” Zachary said, “and I am no ghost. After my riding
accident, it seemed prudent to move the ceremony up in case
something more serious happened before I had the chance to take the
lady as my queen.”
Estora exhaled a
breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He was sticking with
their story. He all but proclaimed the marriage valid.
“I assume,” Zachary
continued, “you’re all just disappointed to have missed the
feasting and festivities.” The lord-governors chuckled. “Not to
worry, we shall feast on the original wedding date, for we do wish
to celebrate with our family and friends. Do we not, my
dearest?”
Estora jumped when
he addressed her. He’d never addressed her as other than “my lady”
before. Was he mocking her? But his expression was serious. She
swallowed. “Of course.”
“It is a great
relief all is well,” Lord Adolind said. “And I congratulate you and
your bride on your union. It will only strengthen the
realm.”
“Hear, hear,” said
the others.
“I know you have
many questions,” Zachary said, “and much needs to be discussed
about what is happening with Second Empire and Blackveil. For now,
however, I must confer in private with my wife and
advisors.”
Dismissed, the
lord-governors bowed their way out of the throne room. When they
were gone and the doors shut, Zachary slumped in his
chair.
“Your Highness!”
Colin cried. “You’ve exerted yourself far too much.”
“I am not finished
exerting myself by far,” he said, giving Colin a dark look.
“Cummings!”
“Sire?”
“Send for General
Harborough, Castellan Sperren, and Captain Mapstone. I don’t care
what they are doing or how inconvenienced they are.”
Cummings bowed and
left by the side entrance. The time that ensued was interminable.
Zachary sat in his chair with eyes closed, resting, perhaps
collecting his thoughts. If any of them tried to speak, he silenced
them with a curt gesture.
Estora had seen
Zachary angry before, but this was deeper, colder.
Laren wasn’t sure what was going on, only that
Destarion had sent one of his journeymen to inform her she ought to
see Ben. At first she’d been alarmed until the journeyman smiled
and told her it was good news. A lightness spread over her, and she
outpaced both the mender and her guard as she raced to the mending
wing.
She found him
sitting up in bed sipping broth. He was pallid and thin, but very
alive.
“Captain!”
She collected
herself, but could not help grinning. “It’s about time you woke up,
Rider.”
“I know. I’m
starving, but all they’ll give me is broth.”
Laren stepped all
the way into the room and pulled a chair over to his bedside.
“Perhaps you’ll remember what it’s like to be a patient when you’re
well again and treating others.”
He glowered. “If my
patients want steak, I shall give it to them.”
They laughed, then
Laren asked, “Does Destarion know what changed, what allowed you to
awaken? We were digging through the old case histories to see if we
could find some way to help you, but found nothing.”
“I did not awaken
all at once, or so I’m told,” Ben said. “And I’ve no idea how much
was dream, and how much was real, but my connection to the king
weakened until . . . until I was no longer needed.”
“Connection? You
were connected to the king all this time?”
Ben nodded. “I was .
. . I was trapped. His body fed off me, off my healing ability. I
remember darkness mostly, but sometimes I was aware of a thread of
light leaving me. And then sometimes I could hear someone reading
to me—or to him, rather. I could hear other voices, conversations.
And then—”
He blushed
furiously. “Was Karigan back by any chance, er, visiting with the
king?”
“No,” Laren replied.
“She’s been in Blackveil. We’ve heard nothing from
her.”
Ben seemed
perplexed. “A dream then, I guess. Sure seemed . . .” He cleared
his throat, still blushing. “Him, not me. Dreaming.”
Laren crooked an
eyebrow. That kind of dream, she
thought. As amusing and a little alarming as it was, she was more
concerned about what it meant for Zachary if Ben was no longer
providing him with healing energy. No one had told her anything.
She’d not seen even Destarion for days now and wondered if they’d
forgotten about her. She was about to ask Ben what he knew about it
when a Green Foot runner appeared in the doorway.
“Your presence is
requested in the throne room, Captain,” the girl said.
Laren rose,
wondering if she’d find out Zachary’s fate, and, finally, her
own.