Read Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands Online

Authors: David B. Coe

Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands (73 page)

BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands
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“Thank you, Trin,” Grinsa said quietly. “I appreciate the information.”
“You’re welcome. Be careful, Grinsa. If Cresenne was willing to send an assassin for you, others will also.”
He nodded, making himself smile. Then he left the tent and made his way back toward the castle. He found Tavis in the moat ward of the palace, walking among the peddlers who had spread their wares on the grass there. Xaver MarCullet was with him, and the duke and duchess of Curgh were nearby. Assured that the boy was safe, Grinsa returned to the inner ward in search of his sister. They had spent some time together since the night Kearney agreed to take the throne, but Keziah remained distant. With the king’s investiture set for the next day, and Tavis and Grinsa intending to leave the City of Kings soon after, Grinsa wasn’t certain when he might have another chance to speak with her alone.
He found her in the castle’s enormous hall, where the ceremonies would take place. She was overseeing the hanging of the pennons of each of Eibithar’s houses. They were to hang in normal order of ascension except for Glyndwr’s, which would be placed first for as long as Kearney and his line ruled. Already, seats for the visiting nobles were in place, row after row stretching the length and breadth of the hall. There must have been a thousand of them. Tapestries hung on the inner walls, one from each house, glorifying the achievements of each family’s greatest hero. At the front end of the hall sat Audun’s throne, moved here for the ascension from its
usual place in the king’s presence chamber. It was made of oak, carved with intricate images of the gods and goddesses, and though ancient, the wood still shone as it must have eight centuries before. A second, smaller throne stood next to it, also made of carved oak and obviously intended for Kearney’s queen. Grinsa couldn’t help but wonder how its presence here was affecting his sister.
“They’re still too low,” Keziah called to one of the men hanging from the ceiling of the hall. “They’re better than they were, but I’d like them a bit higher.”
The man shouted something in return that Grinsa couldn’t hear, and Keziah nodded.
“The hall looks magnificent,” the gleaner said.
She turned, her face brightening at the sight of him. “It certainly looks better than it did last night. With any luck, we’ll actually be ready by tomorrow.”
“I had hoped we could talk, but if you’re too busy …” He shrugged, leaving the thought unfinished.
“It seems I’m always too busy. This is as good a time as any.”
She glanced around the hall briefly, as if to convince herself that she could afford to leave for a moment or two. Then she led him to the nearest door and out into the bright sun of the ward.
They followed one of the stone paths leading through the castle gardens, and just like every other time they had been alone since leaving Kentigern, they fell immediately into an awkward silence.
“I feel like I need to apologize,” Grinsa said at last, stealing a look at his sister, who had her eyes on the path before her. “I don’t know what for, but I sense that you expect it of me.”
“Did you know this would happen?” she asked. “Did you know that Kearney would become king?”
“I had some idea, yes. It was the obvious solution, Kezi. We all should have seen it from the start.”
“Well, I didn’t,” she said, her voice rising.
“You didn’t want to. Neither did Kearney. And certainly Javan and Aindreas didn’t. That’s why I had to say something.”
“This is what you saw, isn’t it? This is the future I asked you about when you came to me on the steppe.”
“Yes. You asked me if it was terrible and I told you that I couldn’t say whether it was good or bad. Do you remember?”
“Of course.”
“So now that you know, how would you answer that question?”
“What?”
“Is it terrible to see the man you love crowned as our king? The way you’ve been for the last turn, you seem almost like you’ve been in mourning. Is it really worth all that? Do you honestly think this compares with what Tavis has been through, or the duke and duchess of Kentigern?”
They both stopped walking. Keziah’s face had reddened and she was glaring at him as if she wanted to rail at him. But after a few moments she shook her head and lowered her gaze.
“I love him, Grinsa. And I’ve lost him. It may not be a tragedy to anyone else, but it hurts.”
“I know. I’m sorry for it. If there had been another way, I would have found it. I hope you believe that.”
She looked up, a small smile on her lips. “I do.”
They resumed their walking, following a winding course among the flowers and small trees.
“I take it you and Tavis will be leaving soon?” she asked after some time.
“The morning after Kearney’s investiture. It wouldn’t be wise for us to stay much beyond that.”
“And where will you go?”
“South. Shurik escaped to Aneira and I assume that Brienne’s assassin did the same. I don’t want to chance crossing the Tarbin, so I guess we’ll go up onto the steppe, cross into Caerisse, and enter Aneira from the east.”
Keziah pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t like the sound of that at all. It’s bad enough that you’re chasing an assassin, but to do so in Aneira.” She shook her head a second time.
“To be honest, I don’t like it any more than you do. I’d rather be going after Shurik. I think he probably knows more about the people leading the movement than would an assassin. I’m still hoping I can convince Tavis that Shurik is the safer quarry. But either way, we have to go to Aneira.”
“Are you certain there isn’t another you’d rather find in Aneira?”
This time it was Grinsa’s turn to color. He had told his sister very little about Cresenne, but no one knew him better than she and some things couldn’t be hidden.
“How did you know? I thought she was with the Revel until this morning.”
“I knew that you would go looking for her today. And you would have said something if you had found her. The rest was a guess.”
“She’s in Aneira as well,” he said. “I’m sure of it. But I don’t know what I’d do if I found her. I think I’m better off going after Shurik and the assassin. Cresenne is … dangerous.”
Keziah took his hand, and they walked a while longer, speaking of the ceremony to come and the troubles that awaited the new king.
But as they circled back to the hall, she stopped and made him face her.
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, as if unsure of what to say. “I love you, Grinsa,” she said at last. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”
“I promise. And in the meantime,” he added, smiling, “I know how to find you.”
She gave him a sour look. “I’m going to be archminister to the king. I need my sleep.”
He laughed and took her in his arms, holding her close for a moment before bending to kiss her brow.
“Be well, Keziah,” he said. “May the gods keep you safe and bring you peace.”
“And you,” she whispered. She pulled away and walked quickly back into the hall. But as she stepped through the doorway, Grinsa saw her wipe away a tear.
The investiture of King Kearney the First of Glyndwr began the next day with the ringing of the midmorning bells. A long procession, led by the King’s Guard, and including soldiers from every house in Eibithar, marched through the streets of the City of Kings before entering Audun’s Castle through the south gate. Behind the soldiers came the lesser nobles, beginning with the barons, then the earls, and finally the thanes. They were followed by those nobles visiting from other kingdoms.
The dukes of the twelve houses came next, arranged by order of ascension, except for Kearney’s son, who took the place of honor at the end of the column. Because Tavis was under Glyndwr’s protection, he walked with clerics and underministers from Kearney’s house, just behind the new king’s sons and daughter. Still, he wore the brown and gold of Curgh, though he knew it would make him
conspicuous in the procession. It didn’t take him long to wish that he hadn’t.
The people lining the city’s streets, who cheered for the soldiers and the other nobles, fell silent as he walked by, or shouted at him, calling him a butcher and worse. One man stepped into his path and spit on the road in front of him, before letting him pass. Several people applauded. Had it not been for Grinsa walking a few strides behind him in the column, the young lord might have feared for his life. As it was, he was aware of every pair of eyes upon him, every whisper that marked his progress through the avenue.
When finally he walked through the outer gate of the castle and stepped onto the moat bridge, leaving the streets and hostile stares behind him, he knew a moment of profound relief. The feeling lasted only a moment, however. The soldiers who had led the procession had now positioned themselves on either side of the outer ward, so that they might honor the nobles who walked around the inner keep toward the east gate. They stood silently, their swords raised in salute. But the expressions on their faces as they watched Tavis walk by held as much hatred as those of the commoners outside the castle walls.
Even after walking past the last of the soldiers, his gaze lowered, his cheeks burning like Qirsi fire, Tavis found that his ordeal was still not over. For after entering the inner ward and walking past the statue of Binthar that stood at its center, the men and women of Eibithar’s courts filed into the great hall and took their seats, the lesser nobles sitting closest to the rear doors. A crier stood next to the hall entrance, announcing each noble as he or she entered. Awaiting his turn, his dread deepening by the moment, Tavis briefly considered stepping out of the column and retreating to his chamber in the castle. He knew what it would be like, how they would look at him, what they would say to each other as he passed them, row by row. He could almost hear the hushed voices already.
“They all know you’re here,” someone whispered behind him.
He looked back and found Grinsa standing close, the gleaner’s yellow eyes fixed on his own.
“How is it you know what I’m thinking?”
“If you leave now,” the Qirsi said, ignoring the question, “they’ll all know why. In their minds it will offer further proof of your guilt.”
Tavis swallowed, then nodded once.
“This is another test for you, Lord Tavis. One among many that you’ll face in the years to come. If you truly want your life back, you must fight for it. Starting today with this simple march to your place in the front of the hall.”
Grinsa was right, of course. But contemplating what he had to do, Tavis wasn’t certain he did want his life back. Perhaps it was better to live in the comfort and safety of court exile than to face this.
“Lord Tavis of Curgh!” the crier said, his voice echoing through the hall.
Everyone turned to look at him. Everyone. Even the dukes were watching him, standing on either side of the two thrones at the far end of the hall, an impossibly long walk from where he stood. Aindreas was there, beside Tavis’s father, murder in his pale grey eyes.
“Walk, Tavis,” the Qirsi whispered. “Hold your head high. You’re innocent, and you’re still a noble in this land.”
He started forward, his legs feeling weak, his color high. And the stares followed him. As he had so many times before, Tavis wished for the courage to scream at them all, to tell them that he hadn’t killed her. Yet it was all he could do simply to walk and to keep from crying. He kept his eyes on Audun’s throne, refusing to look at anyone. He knew that Xaver and Hagan were somewhere in the hall, sitting with the other earls of the Curgh countryside, and he knew as well that another few strides would carry him past his mother and Fotir. But he didn’t dare search for any of them. Brienne’s mother, Ioanna, was somewhere in the hall as well, as were her other two children. Tavis just walked, the hall seeming to stretch on and on, like one of those bleak uncurving lanes in the Moorlands.
He reached the front row at last, slipping into the first empty seat, which happened to be next to Kearney’s daughter, Corinne. She said nothing to him, and gave him a look that conveyed more than a bit of fear. This, though, he could accept. She was a child. Had he been in her position, he would have been afraid as well.
A few seconds later, Grinsa took the chair beside him, a small smile on his pale features.
“Congratulations,” he said in the same low voice. “You’ve fought and won your first battle.”
“I hardly feel that I’ve won anything.”
“Victory comes in many forms, Lord Tavis. Before this is over, you’ll come to appreciate all of them.”
The young lord frowned, wondering what the gleaner meant,
but Grinsa said nothing more. Before Tavis could ask him to explain, everyone in the hall rose. The king had arrived.
The boy stood as well, turning to look at the hall entrance. A prelate was walking down the center aisle. He was dressed in white, instead of the usual brown, and he carried a heavy volume—the Book of Ean, no doubt—along with a tall golden staff. Behind him came several priests, all wearing brown robes. Two carried censers, from which came the fragrant smoke of the incense burned in the cloisters. All of them chanted to the god.
BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands
13.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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