Bridge of Souls (38 page)

Helyn was weeping again. “I feared as much.”

“Elspyth? What has happened?” Crys asked. She told him briefly and watched him pale. “The King killed my father on a simple suspicion and then had the rest of the family executed just for good measure,” he said. “Lady Helyn, forgive me, but Lord Bench has signed his own death warrant. We have to get you out of here. Immediately. I’ll ready transport. Pack only essentials, and warm clothes. We’re going north.”

Helyn Bench, trembling, reached toward her daughter. Georgyana, however, began to protest. “This is preposterous. I have engagements and—”

“Be quiet, Georgyana, and do as you’re told!” Elspyth admonished. “We’re trying to save your life.” Suddenly she could no longer feel the pain of her recent injuries. Fear had taken it away.

Crys tried a different tack. “Georgyana,” he said, amazed at how his stomach flipped when she turned those huge eyes on him, “I could not live with myself if anything should happen to you.” His expression pleaded with her to follow them without further protest.

Clearly she saw something else in that expression, something Crys thought he had disguised. “Oh? Could you not, Lord Donal?” she replied, and her smile said it all.

E
ryd Bench and his colleague sat in a small waiting chamber at the foot of Stoneheart’s war tower. Eryd had no idea
why they had been escorted here, but Chancellor Jessom emerged just as he began to privately question the logic behind this curious venue.

“Lord Bench, Lord Hartley, it’s good to see you on this mild eve. Are you both well?” The visitors made all the right noises and Jessom continued: “My apologies to have kept you waiting. The King, as you can see, is working from his war room tonight—I hope you don’t mind meeting with him here?”

Eryd was slightly less anxious for Jessom’s warm greeting. “Not at all. I am grateful he could see us at such short notice.” He looked toward Hartley, who simply nodded in agreement. Lord Hartley had offered to come along as support when Eryd had confided his reservations about the truth of the slaughters at Felrawthy and Rittylworth.

Jessom smiled benignly. It was not an expression that came easily to him, particularly in the light of the situation. Two lords asking for an audience at sudden notice, and Lord Bench at that—it all smacked of trouble. “Thank you, Lord Bench. As you know, his majesty has only just returned from the north. I’m sure he will be pleased to tell you more when you see him.”

“I look forward to it, Jessom,” Eryd replied. “I heard he was at Tenterdyn?”

“That’s right,” Jessom said carefully.

“And rumor has it a meeting of Kings took place there.”

The Chancellor attempted another smile. “No smoke without fire, Lord Bench. Perhaps you might inquire of the King for more information. I am a simple chancellor.”

“Nothing simple about you, Jessom,” Eryd said, deliberately softening his voice to avoid giving offense.

Jessom did not respond; he simply bowed to the two lords. “Not long now, gentlemen.” He exited the room, to return several minutes later. “Lord Bench, King Celimus will see you now, alone.”

Eryd looked toward Hartley, who stared stonily back. “Go ahead, Eryd. You speak for all of us,” he encouraged.

“This is unusual. We are both here for an audience with his majesty,” Eryd tried to explain, but the thin Chancellor shrugged.

“My apologies, Lord Bench. The King requests your presence only.”

Eryd nodded. Too late now for anything but compliance. He would just have to be especially careful with the slippery sovereign.

“Will you wait?” he asked Hartley, who nodded. “Thank you, Chancellor,” he said, gesturing for Jessom to lead the way. At least with Lord Hartley in attendance, he had someone to vouch for his arrival and presence, even if the other man could not bear actual witness to his meeting with the King.

He followed Jessom, filled with intensifying trepidation as his wife’s cautions rang in his ears. Perhaps this had not been such a good idea after all. Perhaps Hartley had not been the right person to accompany him. He was an unmarried man, his only son dead of the fever some years back.

Which had been precisely the King’s thinking when he heard of the arrival of the two lords. “Separate them and take Hartley down to the dungeon,” he had ordered.

“But, sire,” Jessom had said, startled. “Could we not wait and see what it is they wish to discuss with you?”

“We know what they’re here about, Chancellor!” the King had said, voice rising. “They’re here because they don’t believe that the noble family of Felrawthy was slaughtered by Razor warriors. They suspect this because word has gotten around that I was meeting with the Barbarian King. It’s not hard to follow their thought patterns, Jessom.”

“No, sire. But the dungeon is a fairly radical step for someone of Lord Hartley’s status.”

“So is death, Chancellor. Be careful I don’t ask you to kill him for me.”

At which point Jessom had kept his thoughts to himself. Experience told him it was the same old argument, one he would never win. Expecting the King of Morgravia to show restraint was a waste of energy. He was a power unto him
self, not caring for any advice. In fact, if Jessom was truthful with himself, he was well past the point of believing there was a prosperous future to be shaped under Celimus. His personal dreams of becoming a kingmaker had been cracked by Rittylworth’s shame, shattered by Felrawthy’s calamity, and, he suspected, were now well on the way to dust, for he did not expect to see Lord Eryd Bench live out the night. Not if Bench was here to question the King’s actions and motives, no matter how elegantly couched those accusations might be.

The fragile treaty with Cailech would also be broken soon enough, Jessom suspected, and was saddened by it. The Mountain King had shown tremendous courage and foresight in his actions and the Chancellor rather admired his man Farrow for brokering the meeting. The mercenary had been under intense pressure—especially with that business about Ylena Thirsk—but still he had shown himself to possess a cool head even within the eye of a storm. These men could be valuable to Morgravia and yet Celimus was systematically destroying any chances of retaining their loyalty. How much longer would the nobility put up with his ways? Not long, Jessom suspected, and he was not about to be the King’s scapegoat.

Their only chance, in truth, was Queen Valentyna. The marriage presented opportunities, and not just in deflecting attention from Celimus’s ugly deeds. Valentyna was bringing something positive and shiny bright into the lives of Morgravians. The people were looking forward to a dazzling queen and the pomp and ceremony of a formal wedding. Valentyna’s beauty and composure, not to mention her personal power and wealth, were the sparkle that had long been missing in Pearlis—not forgetting the promise of heirs. She was the ideal diversion from all the death and destruction. These would not go away, of course, but they would be put aside for a while—perhaps long enough to lose some of their potency, by which time Valentyna of Briavel would have worked her own magic simply through her presence. With the people’s hearts won, no
one—not even the lords—would want to upset the balance between the two realms with difficult questions. Sleeping dogs would be left to lie, as they say, Jessom thought as he guided Lord Bench up the tower stairs. He could hear the old man puffing behind him.

His mind turned again to Valentyna and he had a sudden sharp thought. Perhaps his own loyalties should be aligned with the Queen. She was intelligent and wanted peace and prosperity for her nation; that meant she was open to advice and still young enough to be malleable. Perhaps it was to Valentyna he should dedicate himself; he could be not a kingmaker but an empire maker.

Jessom arrived at the King’s chamber feeling far more lighthearted than he’d felt when he began the climb. He looked behind him.

“All right, Lord Bench?”

“Yes,” the man wheezed. “I had forgotten the tower was so tall.”

“It is deceptive,” Jessom answered, tapping on the heavy timber door.

“Come!” the King called.

Jessom swung the door open and announced the visitor.

“Eryd,” Celimus said, beaming from behind the desk. “I imagine you are familiar with this chamber, eh?”

The voice was so friendly that Lord Bench felt himself relax momentarily. “Yes, my lord. Your father spent much time here briefing us in years gone.”

The smile remained fixed on the King’s face, bright, dazzling, and, Eryd suddenly realized, predatory. It was the first time he had seen right through to the heart of the young man. He had always considered him supremely clever and quick-witted and felt these were qualities that would serve him well as King. He had heard troubling stories from years ago, when Celimus was something of a hell-raiser, but had put them down to youth and riches. Like most of the nobility, he had hoped that despite the cool relationship between Magnus and his son, Celimus would shine as King if the right people were around
him. He himself had always intended to be a pillar of support and wise counsel for this new King.

But too many of the lords were muttering that, for all their advice, the King was making his own decisions without reference to the council. He did not even show the courtesy of informing some of the most senior people of his plans. The proposed war with Briavel had come out of nowhere and had escalated so fast it had ignited a private war of its own, with many of the senior officials—such as Lord Hartley—quietly declaring that permitting the King to continue in this way was too dangerous. Such treacherous talk, even in private, was seriously disturbing. Civil unrest was the last thing the realm needed.

“Are you all right?” the King inquired, and Eryd snapped to attention.

“Yes, your majesty. My apologies. I think I was taken aback there momentarily by memories.”

“But we have a new sovereign on the throne now, Lord Bench,” Celimus admonished, and although his manner was genial, there was bite in the sparkling tone. “I know I can count on your loyalty.”

Eryd coughed. “Of course, your majesty.”

“Which is why,” Celimus continued, “I am glad you came this evening. Where is your lovely family, by the way?”

Eryd glanced at the Chancellor, who was handing him a glass of wine. Jessom’s expression was blank, giving no clue as to why the King would ask such a curious question.

“Er…at home, sire. Why?” Eryd sipped, recognizing a superb southern red, fruity and earthy, with hints of juniper and blackberries. Normally he would relish the opportunity to share such a fine drop, but the King’s carefully couched question turned the wine instantly sour on his tongue.

“Oh, no reason. I just thought it would be lovely to see your charming Georgyana again. It would have been a pleasure to have you all here,” Celimus replied evenly.

The answer arrived as smooth as silk, but as sugary sweet as it sounded, Eryd was not fooled. He felt suddenly dry
mouthed and the ball of fear in his stomach, which just moments ago had been almost negligible, suddenly grew exponentially. Unless Eryd was mistaken, the King had just made a supremely well-disguised threat. Eryd sipped again from the glass, a bigger, more nervous gulp, but could hardly bring himself to swallow. His throat suddenly felt as though it were closing up.

“To your good health,” Celimus said, and raised his cup. Lord Bench was paying scant attention. His thoughts had fled to Helyn and Georgyana.

“Tell me why you came,” Celimus said, suddenly turning to business.

Eryd was feeling light-headed. He thought it was anxiety, but he noticed how warm the room had become even though there was no fire burning. He tugged at his collar to loosen it. “I wished to talk to you about Felrawthy, your majesty.”

He saw the King glance toward his chancellor and the subsequent twitch of a smug smile was not lost on Eryd. So the King had expected him. Had anticipated this meeting. They were lost.

“Oh yes? What can I tell you, Lord Bench?”

Eryd was feeling worse by the moment. His vision was blurred and his thoughts were swimming. He forced himself to stay focused. “I heard a rumor, your majesty, that you have signed a treaty with the Mountain King.” He was sure he was slurring his words.

“That’s right, Eryd, I did. We are now peaceful neighbors. I had hoped to make this announcement at my wedding, as the icing on the cake, you could say.” Celimus laughed softly at his own jest. “But it seems my learned lords are well ahead of my news.”

Eryd drew a shaking hand across his forehead. “Forgive me, your majesty, I suddenly feel very unwell.”

He heard the King tsk-tsk comfortingly. “Oh, dear. Some more wine perhaps?”

“No, no, thank you,” Eryd said, pulling his goblet away from Jessom, who was suddenly at his side. “I think I should
go, your highness. Perhaps we could continue this talk when I am feeling better. Tomorrow?”

“Sit back, Eryd, and listen,” the King said. It was said in a friendly manner but was clearly an order. Lord Bench obeyed, hearing a soft ringing in his ears.

“I think you came here this evening to see if you could shed some light on the slaughter at Tenterdyn. Would I be right?”

As if no longer in control of his body, Eryd nodded his head. The movement felt painfully slow. He could hear the King’s voice, but it came to him as though he were deep inside a well, echoing around his mind.

“Good. And I believe you might have heard something along the lines that I ordered the killing of the Donal family? I think I’m right in presuming it might be Crys Donal who told you?” Celimus said, still friendly and speaking softly.

Again against his wishes, Eryd nodded, as if compelled to give the King what he wanted.

Celimus smiled. “Thank you, Eryd, for your honesty. I’m afraid I can confirm that I did give that order, and I regret that my men missed the Donal heir, who, I assume, is now running around Briavel causing trouble and sending people like you these treacherous messages.” Eryd frowned. Had he heard right? “Is this not making sense, Lord Bench?” the King asked gently. “I suspect you are wondering now about Lord Hartley, or perhaps about those closer to your heart…your wife and your beautiful child? I would forgive you for not paying any further attention to me, for you have good reason to be worried about your family.”