Devlin's Justice (41 page)

W
INTER CAME TO
K
INGSHOLM WITH A
decisive flourish, beginning with a snowfall that lasted three days and nights. When the sun finally appeared the city glittered under the white blanket that decorated the finest mansions and wooden hovels alike. From his perch on the palace walls, the snow gave the illusion of a city united.

But Devlin knew that for the illusion that it was. Kingsholm was calm, but it was a waiting watchfulness. Nobles and commoners alike were wary of the new Regent, wondering if he would be able to fulfill his promises and bring peace to the realm.

At least the people would not starve. Food shortages had seemed certain, until one of the local merchants confessed that he had hidden stores away to prevent them from being confiscated by the King. After suitable encouragement was applied, other merchants came forward as well. Those who volunteered their caches were allowed to place them in open warehouses and profit from their sale. After that, Devlin’s guards had searched the city, seeking other hidden stores. Those who had not come forward on their own were condemned to suffer the very fate they had feared, for Devlin seized their goods in the name of the absent Princess, to be held in reserve.

The refugees in the eastern provinces faced a more uncertain future, though Devlin had done what he could before the deepening winter made it impossible to send further shipments of provisions. He would have to wait for spring and trust that those he had placed in command would ensure no catastrophe befell those under their charge. It seemed all he did these days was wait, and it chafed at his nerves. He was a man of action, used to doing things. As Chosen One, it had been his duty to journey to wherever he was needed and set things right.

But as Regent he was trapped in Kingsholm. He had to place his faith in others, trusting that they would carry out his orders. No longer could he lead men by his presence. Now he had to command them through a few lines scribbled on a scroll. He had gone from warrior to clerk. Even more irksome, most of the courtiers had chosen to winter over in Kingsholm, to ensure they could ingratiate themselves with the new Regent. He, who had never cared for court politics, found himself at their very center.

As the weeks passed, frustration often threatened to overwhelm him. He confessed to Drakken that he would far rather face another Duke Gerhard on the dueling floor. She had offered him scant sympathy. Her own role as his chief advisor had been intended as a reward, but it carried its own burdens.

At noon on the first day of the New Year, a guard finally brought the news he had been waiting for. Lord Brynjolf’s party had passed through the western gate. Devlin sent a messenger to the chamberlain, then hurried down to the courtyard, reaching it just as the travelers arrived.

Stephen threw back the hood of his cloak as he caught sight of Devlin. His face was white with cold, but he managed a rueful smile as he slid off his horse.

“This is the last time I travel in winter. I’m going to find a room with a fire and stay there till spring,” Stephen said.

Devlin grasped his hand. “You may stay as long as you like,” he said.

He would have said more, but mere friendship had to be set aside for duty. His eyes had already found Lord Brynjolf, who was mounted on an enormous bay, large enough to accommodate both him and the girl perched on the saddle before him.

The Princess’s eyes widened as Devlin approached, and she leaned back a bit into Brynjolf’s arms. It was to be expected. All she knew of Devlin was that he was the Chosen One and a thorn in her father’s side. It would take time for her to learn to trust him.

“Lord Brynjolf, thank you for guarding this treasure, and bringing her safely home,” Devlin said.

Brynjolf merely nodded. There would be time for them to talk once they were in private.

Devlin hesitated. For the first time it occurred to him that he did not know how he was expected to greet the Princess. Was there a protocol on how one dealt with the heir to the Kingdom? No doubt Lady Ingeleth was well versed on the customs and ceremonies that governed how one dealt with the heir to the throne. Was he expected to bow? To pledge his loyalty to her? The few times he had seen her and her father together, he had been struck by the formality of their manners. Surely she would not expect him to behave in the same way.

Princess Ragenilda opened her mouth and yawned, and Devlin realized his foolishness. She was not only a Princess, she was also an eleven-year-old girl—one who had just endured a long and difficult journey.

“Princess Ragenilda, welcome home,” he said, holding up his arms to help her dismount.

After a moment’s hesitation she nodded, and he lifted her down from the saddle.

Grooms held the horses as the others dismounted. He caught a brief glimpse of Solveig before the shifting figures blocked his view.

“There is much news to share, but now is not the time,” Devlin said, pitching his voice so the entire party could hear. “Servants will show you to your rooms, where you may rest and refresh yourselves. I will meet with you later.”

He turned his attention to Princess Ragenilda, finding he still held her right hand in his own. “Your maid Marja has missed you. She is waiting in your chambers,” he said.

Ragenilda smiled at this news, and Devlin was glad that she would have at least that much of a link to her past. The world that Ragenilda was returning to had changed greatly in the brief months she had been gone.

He escorted Ragenilda to her rooms and turned her over to her former nurse, who clucked over her charge, promising that she would be warm and well fed in no time.

Having seen Ragenilda settled, he then spoke with the servants, who confirmed that Lord Brynjolf and his family had been shown to the rooms prepared for them in the palace, while their escorts had been given rooms with the guards. Devlin’s feet carried him toward the rooms he had assigned to Brynjolf, but he found his steps slowing, and he turned away before he reached them.

It was simple courtesy, he told himself. The travelers were cold and tired, and they needed to rest, not to answer his questions. He gave them their peace out of consideration. Not because he had anything to fear.

Still it felt like an act of cowardice when he retreated to his offices. To placate himself he arranged for dinner to be served in the smallest of the royal dining rooms and sent a servant with the message that those who wished to join him could do so.

He spent the rest of the afternoon working in his offices, reviewing the tax rolls. A few weeks previously the Royal Steward had sent over a list of those who were delinquent in their taxes, urging immediate action. Several of the names on the list had been familiar to him, including the Baron of Esker. It had not taken him long to realize that the royal steward had prepared a list that included only the names of his political enemies, while failing to include others who had been supporters of King Olafur. When confronted, the steward had claimed these were honest errors. Hopefully, he’d learned better than to try such a petty trick again. In the meantime, Devlin had had the complete tax rolls sent over to his offices, and with the help of his aide was slowly going through them, putting together his own lists.

Some, like Brynjolf, would be excused. The Baron of Esker had not hoarded his treasure for his own gain. Instead he had spent his personal fortune on training and equipping a force of armsmen. Without his troops, the northwestern territories would have fallen to the border raiders. It was the crown that owed a debt to Brynjolf, not the other way around.

Few cases were as clear. Some tax payments had never reached the capital, falling victim to robbers or pirates. Devlin doubted that all the nobles who claimed such were telling the truth, but it was a hard thing to prove, and he knew better than to utter accusations that he could not back up. He needed their taxes to rebuild the kingdom, but he also needed their support. It was a tricky balancing act, and while his aide combed through the files and prepared recommendations, each case ultimately had to be decided by Devlin.

He looked up, as a soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

Jasen, his aide, stood in the doorway. “Lord Devlin, you have a visitor,” he said.

Not for the first time, Devlin realized how much he missed Didrik. Jasen was more than competent, but he would never be the friend that Didrik had been. Burdened with a strict sense of propriety, he had spent weeks addressing Devlin as “Your Excellency,” and it was only with great reluctance that he had finally adopted the less formal address of Lord Devlin.

“Show him in,” Devlin said, then he hastily rose to his feet as Solveig entered.

His palms began to sweat. He had expected that Stephen would be the first to seek him out, or perhaps Lord Brynjolf. But not Solveig.

Devlin jerked his head and Jasen closed the door behind Solveig, granting them privacy.

“Please sit,” Devlin said, pulling out the chair he kept for visitors. “Shall I have Jasen fetch you wine? Kava? Citrine?”

He knew he was babbling, but he could not help himself.

Solveig took a seat, but Devlin leaned back against his desk, too nervous to sit.

“You look well for a man whose funeral I attended,” she said. He noted that she had taken the time to change from her traveling clothes into an embroidered tunic of undyed wool, worn over darker leggings and high boots. It was casual attire, rather than the formal garb worn when the court was in session.

“I am as surprised as any by my survival,” Devlin said.

It had been over a year since he had last seen Solveig. On the day he had left for Duncaer she had embraced him, urging him to come back safely, though he had known that her concern was for the Chosen One as much as it was for the man her brother called friend. Since that time he had changed greatly, but it was comforting to see that Solveig looked the same.

“I owe you a debt,” he said. “For protecting Princess Ragenilda and keeping her out of the hands of the Selvarats.”

Solveig shook her head. “I did not do it for you. I did it at King Olafur’s request. Toward the end, even he could see the trap that he had fallen into.”

“Nonetheless, you have my gratitude.”

If Ragenilda had been taken, then Jorsk would have been lost in bloody civil war, for there was no other suitable heir. And if Devlin had tried to claim the throne by force, the quarreling noble factions would have united against him, while between them Nerikaat and Selvarat would have picked the bones of the Kingdom clean.

“The Princess seems no worse for her experiences,” he said, as the silence stretched on between them.

“She understands her duty. And she grew fond of my father, and he of her,” Solveig said.

Her gaze fixed on him, and he fought the urge to squirm. “My father plans to speak to you this evening, to tell you that he has decided to accept your offer,” she said.

“Good.”

When he had written to Brynjolf, he had offered the Baron a seat on the Regent’s Council. It was in part as a reward for his past valor, and in part to ensure that the borderlands, which had suffered the most in the past years, had a strong voice in the deliberations of the council. He had known that Brynjolf would be reluctant to leave his lands, but Devlin had urged him to look to the greater duty.

“And what of you?” he asked.

As her father’s heir, it would have been logical for Solveig to stay behind in Esker, to rule in her father’s name. Instead she had made the long and difficult journey. Perhaps she had done so out of respect for the Princess, so the girl would have a familiar companion. But Devlin wondered if her presence was a sign that she was willing to consider the offer he had made in his letter to her.

“Why me?” she asked bluntly. It was one of the things that he admired about her. When she set her mind to it, Solveig could play the games of court, speaking in riddles and innuendo to shade her meaning. But she could also be as plainspoken as any farmer.

“Ragenilda is still a child. She needs a woman in her life, someone who can teach her to be strong. I could think of no better example for her to follow,” he said.

Solveig pursed her lips, as if his answer had displeased her. She rose to her feet, and as she stood in front of him, he noticed that they were nearly of a height. He did not have to bend his head to meet her eyes.

“And what do you need?” she asked.

He needed a wife, to reassure all those who still thought that he coveted the crown and would marry Ragenilda to get it. But he knew enough of the workings of a woman’s mind not to state his case so baldly.

“I need a friend. Someone I can trust.”

He spoke no words of love. He respected Solveig and admired her strength of character. Her skills as a courtier would be invaluable, serving as a counterweight to his own blunt tactics. And he had hopes that in time their friendship would deepen into affection. But he was not capable of passion. Cerrie had been his soul mate, the love of his youth, and he would never love another in the same way.

“I will not promise love. But I can offer friendship and respect, and promise that I will be faithful to you,” he said.

They both stood to gain from an alliance. As a future Baroness, Solveig had always been destined for a political marriage. He tried to tell himself that she might have done far worse for herself than one who bore the titles of Regent and Chosen One.

“And what shall we do when Ragenilda comes of age? Shall we go our separate ways? Do you expect me to follow you to Duncaer?”

It would be years before he could return to Duncaer. Devlin the man would be welcome by his kin, but the Lord Regent would not be. His people were still recovering from the decades of Jorskian occupation. No doubt they had been shocked when Devlin’s messenger arrived, instructing the Lawgiver Peredur that the Kingdom of Jorsk was prepared to recognize as sovereign whomever the six families should elect to rule. It would take time for the two kingdoms to learn to live in peace with each other, and Devlin’s presence would only upset that balance.

“I plan to leave Kingsholm, and we can make our home in Esker. If you will have me,” he said.