The Still (7 page)

“Betrayer! False vassal!”

“What? Didn’t you realize I was—”

I circled. “Fight, you bastard son of a serf!”

He rolled his eyes. “For the love of ... you dimwit, I had to get you alone before you ruined everything. Elryc, make him understand.”

My brother stepped between us. “Listen.”

I raised my fist to strike him down.

Elryc’s eyes fastened on mine, unafraid. “Roddy, who’ll protect me, once you’re dead?”

My hand stayed.

“Hear him out. You can always fight after.” Elryc sat against the parapet, drew up his knees.

Rustin examined me with wonder. “How would you be King, with such a temper?”

“Have your say!”

“We went to Willem to get his key. Would he have given it?”

“How would I know? I had no chance to ask before—”

“Think, dunce!”

His scorn penetrated my fury. “Willem said Mother had her key, and allowed no one access without her presence. So?”

“He was helpful?”

“He told truth in what—oh!”

“What, Roddy?” Elryc.

“Willem didn’t admit he had a key. He was waiting to see if I knew.”

“Brilliant.” Rustin’s tone dripped irony.

I asked, “So why not tell him?”

“Whose man is he?”

“Mother’s. Now she’s gone—” My shoulders slumped. Wearily, I sat alongside Elryc. “If he denied he had the key, I’d be powerless to prove it.”

Elryc asked, “Why should he lie?”

“He need not. Say he admits he has a key. ‘But my lady the Queen had the other key, and without it, mine is useless.’ Then I must admit I have Mother’s.”

“And?” Rustin.

“And if he’s Uncle Mar’s man, they’ll have me, and both keys, and the Vessels.” My voice turned bitter. “Shall we put
you
on the throne, Rust? You have a head for these matters.”

He dropped to one knee. “You are my liege lord, and I will have no other King while you live.”

I had to look away. “Forgive me.”

“Never mind that. What now?”

We crouched together like three boys scheming to evade their tutor. Rust and Elryc waited for my lead.

I pulled the cast brass key from my shirt, examined it. “Should I give this to you, for safekeeping?”

Elryc asked, “Who’d search you, Roddy? The Chamberlain? Only Mother could order that. If he tries, refuse.”

I snorted. “Brother, you’re a babe in arms.” He colored. “The crown’s at stake; Uncle Mar wouldn’t hesitate to lay a hand on me. He never has. Remember last year when he caught us at his hawks?” My uncle had boxed my ears, and sent me wailing on my way with a contemptuous kick in the rear.

I took the key from round my neck, and felt unclothed. Reluctantly, I extended it to Rust, pulled back my hand. What if he sold the key and my kingdom to Margenthar? Rustin’s moods were legendary.

“Keep it.” His tone was curt, as if he’d read my mind.

“A day ago you knocked me from my horse, shoved my face in the mud. Now I’m to rely on your loyalty?”

Rustin’s voice was thin. “Is there anything else you want of me this day?”

I drew a breath. “I’m going to see the Chamberlain.”

Elryc asked, “Isn’t all you said about Willem still true?”

“Of course. But I’ll know to guard my speech. And I won’t carry the key.” I hesitated again. Without faith in Rust, life seemed too bleak. I stood, opened my hand, tucked Mother’s golden chain into Rustin’s brown tunic. “Keep it safe, my vassal.”

“You’re sure?”

“I have to trust someone. Besides, they’d never imagine you carried it.”

“Your grace inspires me.” His tone was acid.

I sighed. I might as well accommodate myself to Rustin’s moods. As much sense to complain as about the weather.

W
E PERCHED ON A BENCH
in the chamberlain’s anteroom. He was engaged, his clerk told us, and would see us when he was able. I’d begun to drum the bench with impatient fingers, when Earl Cumber, my great-uncle, hobbled in, accompanied by his valet. “What are
you
boys doing here? Clerk, announce me.”

I gaped. “Uncle Cumber?” I made the bow of courtesy. “How did you get here so fast? Cumber Town is nearly to the Norland passes—”

He turned to his valet. “Hah. The boy teaches me the lay of my lands.” He favored me with a scowl. “We were en route to Council when word came of the misfortune.”

Paying me no further notice, Great-uncle Cumber tapped his staff on the flagstones. Within a moment, he was ushered in to Willem.

We waited.

After some moments the Earl left, and the Chamberlain’s door shut again. Over an hour passed, while we fidgeted like tykes at Ritehouse.

“Might as well give it up, Roddy. He won’t see us.”

Furious, I crossed to the Chamberlain’s private door, thrust it open without a knock.

Behind me, the scurrying clerk. “My lord! You can’t—”

I strode in. Willem of Alcazar sat at his carved desk, quill in hand. “What’s this?”

I said, “We’ve waited half the afternoon. I’m sure you weren’t told.” Coolly, I took my seat.

“I was—these accounts must be paid.”

“We won’t be long, will we, Rust?” I crossed my legs.

His expression tight, the Chamberlain waved away his clerk. The door slammed shut. “Very well. Proceed, my prince.”

“We were discussing the vault.”

His eyes met mine. “Can I offer you some wine? Cheese, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.” I realized I was famished, and my stomach began to churn at his offer.

“Sorry if I seemed abrupt. It’s just that ... a terrible day.”

I said nothing.

Willem took the bit in his teeth. “Rodrigo, I can’t get you into the vault. Only your mother had access.”

“By her key alone?”

“Please, Roddy, this is a very awkward matter. My duty is to the crown, and there’s no declared—”

I leaned forward. “It took two keys to open the vault, and you have one. Give it here.” I held out my hand.

His hand shot to his neck, returned almost instantly to the table. “What use would it be without the Queen’s key? Have you that?”

“In its time. I’ll start with yours.”

Willem offered a placating smile. “The Duke has pledged to guard the assets of the realm until there’s a proper accounting by the regent. Don’t make that face, my lord, you know you’re too young to rule.”

“Uncle Mar is not regent.”

“The Council will appoint him after the burial. It’s for the regent to give you the key, but certainly you should ask. You’ll find your uncle—”

I growled, “Are you his man or mine, Willem? You must choose.”

A time passed, while Willem’s thick fingers drummed on the massive desk. Then he sighed. “Young Rustin of Stryx, be so kind as to open the door and see my clerk isn’t crouching at the keyhole.”

Swiftly Rustin complied, flinging open the heavy door, peering both directions. “No one.”

The Chamberlain’s voice dropped. “I’m caught between two hooks, Roddy. May I call you that still, for the nonce? Yes, you’ll be King, if your mother’s wishes are followed.”

I shivered. He’d said it so baldly, it somehow made my peril more real.

“And I assure you, it’s my desire as well.” His tone turned pious. “Not that I, a mere clerk, have any say in the matter.”

“You’re of the Council.”

“Well, yes, but I’m one voice among seven, and not much heeded. It was your mother’s edict set me among the great nobles, on her Council of State.” He might be speaking truth, though I couldn’t know, never having been allowed to attend a Council meet. Mar, Grand-uncle Cumber, Lady Soushire and Lord Groenfil, Vessa as Speaker of the City, and Lord Warthen of the Sands were the other Council members. Imposing figures all.

“Go on.” I waved aside the distraction.

“Roddy, I have no dominion of my own, no benefice. I serve at the whim of the throne. If I go against you and you’re crowned, you won’t forget. But if I go against Margenthar and he’s regent—Roddy, he’s almost sure to be appointed, he’s made promises and has the pledges—why, he’ll throw me into the cells without a moment’s thought.”

He looked away. “I loved Elena. Would that I’d had noble blood and could have been her consort.” Abruptly he stood, went to the window. After a time, a melancholy sigh. “Ah, well. That water’s long since flowed to the sea.” He sat again. “I want you crowned king. Do you understand that? Had your mother had her wish”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“I could have been your father.”

“Well, then—”

“But I am a realist. Were you to walk in here with your mother’s key around your neck”—he peered at my open shirt, and it was all I could do to keep from glancing at Rustin—“still, I could not give you mine. Not unless I were sure you were crowned, and Margenthar’s power broken.”

Rustin. “Who guards the vault?”

“Don’t think of it, youngsire. They’d strike you dead.”

“Who?”

“Usually, two men from the household troop. But this morning Margenthar had them replaced by five from his own regiment.”

I said in awe, “So soon?”

For the first time the Chamberlain’s tone was gentle. “Roddy, your mother’s death was not ... unforeseen.”

I swallowed. “Thank you, sir, for forthright speech.” I got to my feet. “Is there any way you could—I mean ...” I blushed.

He waited, eyebrow raised.

“Funds. I mean, my usual stipend doesn’t seem enough.”

“Of course.” He went to a closet, slipped a chain from round his neck, unlocked the door. Inside, a chest. He smiled. “Petty cash.” He counted out twenty gold pieces, tinkled them into a small purse, handed it across.

A full year’s stipend. “Thank you.”

He closed the chest, replaced it in the closet, fished again for his chain. Something glinted, gold. Abruptly he turned his back to us, moved his bulk between me and the lock. When the closet was secure he thrust his hand in his garment

I fingered the purse. “Will Uncle Mar know of this?”

“Lord of Nature, please don’t tell him!” The Chamberlain smiled, weakly. “The accounts will be, um, smoothed.”

“Now, sir.” I leaned over his desk, my face close to his. “Will you vote in Council to crown me?”

“No. I cannot.” He raised his hands, as if to shrug. “I won’t sacrifice myself in a hopeless gesture.”

I hesitated. “Sir Willem, if I have three other votes, will you cast the fourth?”

“It depends on the circumstances, whether it’s sure—”

“Answer!” My tone snapped like a whip.

He looked away, waited, but eventually his gaze found its way back to mine. At last, “Prince Rodrigo, if thou hast three votes in Council, I will vote to crown thee King. I so swear.”

“Done.” I offered my hand, and he took it.

I strode to the outer door, followed the corridor to the nearest turn before I sagged against the wall.

Rustin threw his arm across my shoulder, squeezed.

I shrugged off his hand. “Don’t. We failed; all I got was coin and a useless promise.”

“Outside.”

We found a secluded spot, under the courtyard wall. He said, “Now you have coin, should we need to flee. And you know where Willem stands. Not only that: his key. Did you notice?”

“He keeps it round his neck, with his others.”

“And his promise is far more than you had before.”

“Bah.” I kicked at the earth. “Without the Still—”

“And of most import ...” Rustin, eyes dancing, waited for my full attention. “He saw you act the King. That’s worth more than the rest put together.”

Uncle Mar summoned me as the sun set, before the Rite of Mourning. My inclination was to ignore his call, but Rustin persuaded me to respond. I found Mar in his opulent quarters on the first floor of the castle. The door was ajar: servitors and henchmen bustled about the outer halls.

“Ah, there you are. Giles, leave us while I have a word with my nephew.” In a few moments we were alone in the sumptuous anteroom to his sleeping chamber. It was a well-aired room, his favorite place of business. Handsome murals adorned the vaulted ceiling, and colorful tapestries softened the walls.

The Duke surveyed me affably. “This afternoon we got off on the wrong foot, lad. You must be reeling with shock. I could have been more gentle.”

“Thank you.” It was all I could do not to snarl.

“Would you forgive me?” He clapped my shoulder. “We’ll have to get along, you and I.”

I ached to throw off his hand. “Why, Uncle?”

A look of surprise. “Well, perhaps not me, you’re right. The Council’s made no appointment yet. But someone will be regent until you’re of age.”

“Why?”

“Think, Roddy. Tantroth prowls his frontier, and beyond Eiber lurks Hriskil and his Norlanders. Think you they’d linger a moment outside our borders, knowing a stripling held the throne?”

“Our guards are—”

“For that matter, do you imagine our yeomanry would rally to a standard set to earth by a beardless boy? No, we need the confidence of the common folk to defend the realm.” He paused for breath.

“Uncle, Mother is dead. I’m to be King.”

“Undoubtedly. We all want that. But, Roddy ...” The Duke threw open a tall window, breathed deeply of the dusk. “Will you have a kingdom to rule, or no? Would you rather be a half king, an exile, like poor Freisart of Kant?”

“Is that a threat, sir?”

“Confound it, boy.” He strode across the chamber to shake me like a puppy. “Don’t fight us on this, we’re doing it for your own—”

“Us?”

“The Council. It’s arranged. Your poor mother’s been dying for years. We’ve talked—”

“Plotted behind her back!” I stood on tiptoe; we were nose to nose.

“Nonsense! We’re the Council of State; could we risk going unprepared?”

“To thwart her wish?”

He bellowed, “To save your throne!” With an effort, he lowered his voice. “Roddy, always you unravel my temper. You lost your mother today; I must make allowances. But look you: I also lost my sister!” His eyes glistened.

I said nothing.

“Children we were together, Elena and I, so little time past. She was elder; the land would be hers to rule. I had no quarrel with that, and have none still. Our father Tryon’s old duchy, the City of Stryx, was mine after his death, and gladly the Queen and I shared a home. Even our old playmate Willem of Alcazar found refuge with us. We raised our families together; you and your brothers, my sons Bayard and Chayne, Willem’s Kronin. Can we not still live in peace?”