Fire and Thorns 00.7: King's Guard (3 page)

4

I
can’t imagine that the barracks will ever feel as much like home as the palace halls, with their worn cobbled floors and sandstone walls warm with torchlight. I pass the kitchens, waving to the staff. They’re doling out leftover bread and cheese from breakfast to children of the palace servants. When the kitchen master sees me, he brandishes a heel of bread at me. My mouth waters, but I keep going.

I stop at a well-lit archway framed with block quartz. Centered in the archway is the desk of Vicenç, Alejandro’s mayordomo—though it is empty. A Royal Guard stands rigid beside it, his face stony. In the hallway just before the desk are several plush couches arranged around a thick rug.

This is the waiting area where all visitors to the royal quarters are received. As a page, I spent hours here, waiting to escort guests as needed. But there are no pages here now. Even the mayordomo is absent. But then I notice the Invierne ambassador sitting on one of the couches, his legs elegantly crossed, and I realize their absence is a deliberate snub.

The ambassador stands upon seeing me. He’s taller even than Enrico, with pale flowing robes, hair like molten gold, and upturned eyes the color of an emerald cove. Like all Inviernos, he has an ageless quality about him that makes him seem unknowable. He is newly appointed, just since the old king’s death, and I don’t remember his name. I resist the urge to back away as he gazes at me with haughty disdain.

I hear voices coming toward us from beyond the desk.

A moment later, Vicenç emerges from the shadows, accompanied by General Luz-Manuel, Conde Treviño, and Lord-Commander Enrico. Three of the five Quorum lords.

Lord-Commander Enrico is out of uniform. His civilian clothes are carefully cut to resemble those of the general and conde, though adorned with gold threads and jeweled buttons to emphasize wealth and station.

“Thank you for your reports, gentlemen,” Vicenç says. He is a sharp-featured man who probably should not have made the decision to draw attention to his nose with a large, gleaming nose ring. “I assure you the king and queen will announce the birth of their heir very soon.” The last statement is the kind of practiced theater that the Invierne ambassador is meant to overhear while he waits. If the royal succession is secure, Joya d’Arena will
not
be weakened by internal conflict. The message is that we are as strong as ever, and now is a very bad time for Invierne to attack.

“I hope they choose a good name for the child. A strong name,” says Luz-Manuel. The general is a small, balding man, carried to his position by ambition and wits rather than physical prowess. He proved to have a knack for strategy during the skirmishes with Invierne, and Alejandro’s father valued him highly—until one of those skirmishes got King Nicalao killed. Some say the general made a poor decision to flank a smaller, oncoming force, leaving the bulk of his men—including the king—exposed to the larger threat. Luz-Manuel insists the king himself gave the order.

I’ve always wondered about that.

“Perhaps they’ll name him Nicalao,” the general continues, “to honor the martial spirit of the late king.” I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. What if they have a daughter? Then I realize his comment was merely intended to remind the ambassador of Joya d’Arena’s military strength.

Enrico jumps in on cue. “The kingdom will remain stable and strong if— Hector! What in seven hells are you doing here?”

Vicenç appears indifferent to Enrico’s unplanned outburst. After serving three kings, it takes an extraordinary event to rouse him beyond bemused detachment. But the conde is openly furious.

Conde Treviño of Basajuan is a self-aggrandizing man who likes to overspend—thus the problem of Lucio, whom he can neither handle nor dispose of without upsetting the boy’s wealthy father. He seldom leaves Basajuan to come to the capital, and I’m never glad to see him.

Ignoring the conde’s glare, I say to Enrico, “I was summoned, my lord.” I hold up my note.

Enrico snatches it from my hands. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“I don’t know, my lord.”

The general reads over his shoulder. He glances at the Invierno ambassador, who suffers the scrutiny unflinchingly. “Let the boy go, Rico,” the general says after a moment. “We have other things to discuss.”

“And I could use a smoke,” Conde Treviño says. “Let’s talk about that little problem you’re taking care of for me over cigars.”

“Of course,” the lord-commander says. He takes one last glance over his shoulder at me as the general and conde lead him away.

The gem dangling from Vicenç’s nose ring winks in the torchlight as he sits down to work. He pulls reports from a locked drawer and gets busy ticking off numbers and accounts. I approach him. He barely glances up, grumbling, “What now?”

“I’ve been summoned to the king,” I say.

“Well, fetch yourself to him, boy.”

“That’s not proper procedure, and you know it,” I say, unable to keep the anger from my voice. I am not, at the moment, technically a member of the palace household, and security protocol demands that I be escorted.

He doesn’t look up a second time. “If I don’t have a page or squire to spare at the moment for Ambassador Wafting . . . er, Wind and Thunderstorm”—he makes a vague waving gesture—“then I don’t have one for you. So you can stand there all day, or you can obey his summons.”

“Yes, my lord,” I say, and turn to go.

The Invierno ambassador blocks my way.

“Perhaps I could go with the young gentleman,” he says in a fluid, hissing voice. I’m careful not to make eye contact. “It’s important that I speak to the king today. It will only take a moment.”

“I’m terribly sorry, my lord-ambassador,” Vicenç says, “but this is just an errand boy, not even a member of the palace staff. Look at his uniform! I would never embarrass you by sending you without a worthy escort.” To me, he says, “Hurry on, boy.”

I dash past the Guard, who curls his lip at the sight of my recruit uniform, and I leave the ambassador fuming at my back.

The private quarters of the palace are a maze, deliberately so—no assassin or enemy could make their way in quickly—but I know each turn well, and I head left, past the nobles’ quarters, up the stairs, and around the corner to the queen’s chambers.

5

D
R. Enzo, the royal physician, is leaving as I arrive. He wipes sweat from his forehead, looking preoccupied, but forces a smile when he notices me. A smile from Enzo is never a good sign.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I should be asking you that,” he says with forced conviviality, his razor-thin mustache twitching. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the barracks? I didn’t expect to see you again until the inevitable training accident. Did you know that training accidents are disfiguring twenty-three percent of the time?”

“The king summoned me.”

“He’s in there.” He rests a hand on my forearm. “Speak quietly,” he says in a low voice. “And do not upset the queen.”

I frown. This is a worse sign.

Inside, Queen Rosaura is propped up in her bed, which has been pushed to the glass doors overlooking the balcony. Before her pregnancy, she spent all day outdoors, in the garden or on horseback, and the enforced bed rest has not sat well with her.

One of her maids, Miria, wipes her forehead. When Miria sees me, she makes quick, tiny adjustments to the queen’s gown so that it lies flawless and smooth. Miria is about thirty years old, a trusted servant who has lived her whole life in the palace. I don’t know much about her except that she is Vicenç’s grandniece and she is married to a soldier, either someone in the Royal Guard or the palace watch.

I notice Alejandro last because he sits shadowed in the corner, gazing at his wife. His arms are crossed pensively, and one hand covers his mouth.

“Hector,” the queen says, smiling warmly as she always does, as if nothing is wrong. Alejandro jumps from his seat, startled by the sound of her voice.

“Your Majesty,” I say, bowing. “You don’t look a day older than when last I saw you.” My face flames, and I wish I could suck the words back. I never know what to say around women.

But she laughs anyway. “You saw me two days ago!” It’s a weak laugh, and I tell myself it’s because it was a weak joke. She glances meaningfully at Alejandro. “Shouldn’t he be with the recruits?”

“I summoned him,” Alejandro says. He strides over and grasps my arm. “Thank you, Hector.”

“I just witnessed an interesting bit of theater,” I say before I forget. “Vicenç and the Quorum Lords were performing for the new Invierne ambassador, making a big deal about your heir.”

Alejandro’s face tightens. “Of course,” he says, glancing at his wife. “An internal war of succession would provide an opportunity that Invierne’s sorcerers could not resist.”

Which is why the young king married and set about producing an heir as soon as his father died.

“It’s just that . . . well, their performance gave away Her Majesty’s exact state of health. Now everyone knows you’ll be here together more often than not for the next several days. In the interest of safety, I don’t think . . .” Too late, I realize I’m criticizing superior officers—Quorum lords, no less—not to mention possibly upsetting the queen. I give Rosaura an apologetic look.

But she still smiles. “I told you,” Rosaura says to Alejandro. “He’s too clever to waste in the Guard.”

“Which is why I summoned him,” Alejandro replies. “Even if, in this instance, he’s probably overthinking things. Allow me to borrow him for a moment, ladies.”

Taking my arm, he pulls me to one side of the chamber, where he angles our bodies away from the queen and Miria.

“I need you to go to Puerto Verde for me,” Alejandro says in a low voice.

Anger boils up in me, combining with exhaustion and hunger, and I can’t stanch the flow of words. “You summoned me away from recruiting day to
run errands
for you? Like when you were courting half the eligible women of the kingdom?”

“I need you, Hector.”

“You don’t!” My voice is getting too loud. I glance at the queen, who is exchanging an alarmed look with Miria. In a softer voice, I add, “You have a thousand men you could send to Puerto Verde instead of me.”

Alejandro rubs at his chin. He hasn’t been shaved yet today.

“I’ve sent numerous messages through regular channels, and received no response. I had Enrico send members of my Guard, but they also returned without replies. Then, last week I finally sent my own squire. I received word this morning that he was murdered on the highway.”

My stomach clenches. “Raúl is dead?”

“I’ve seen his body.”

He was only thirteen, an eager boy and an excellent horseman. I helped to train him. “A squire bearing his king’s colors should be safe on the road.”

“Precisely,” Alejandro says. “He was murdered in his sleep. It was made to look like the work of a bandit, but the wounds were too clean. Too perfect. Nothing was taken. I have to assume foul play. You’re the only one I can turn to. You are my army of one.”

He has called me that since I came to Brisadulce to be a royal page, for I was the first person he was given charge of who was not merely a servant. “My first command,” he used to joke.

“I’m yours to command, now and always.” Isn’t that what being a Royal Guard is all about anyway? “What do you need me to do?”

He slumps in relief, but he gets straight to the point. “You may remember a certain ring, a ruby as large and red as a cherry, set in a bed of tiny pearls.”

“I remember it,” I say carefully.

I glance at the queen, who gazes out the window with Miria and carefully pretends not to hear us, and I wonder if we ought to be discussing this in private, for the ruby ring was a gift from Alejandro to the beautiful Isadora de Flurendi, one of his paramours—the lady many assumed would be queen, right up until the moment Alejandro announced his betrothal to Rosaura, her older cousin.

The Flurendi family controls several ports, and Alejandro needed an alliance with one branch or the other to solidify his position. Many times as squire, I helped bring Isadora and Alejandro together, the last time only a few nights before his wedding. Honestly, I had not expected their relationship to end, not even after the marriage to Rosaura. But when the royal couple returned from their honeymoon, they walked around the palace in a state of baffled happiness, genuinely in love with each other. I did not observe what happened between them during the early weeks of their marriage, for I spent that time with my brother Felix, aboard his merchant ship. But I know that the only one more surprised and pleased than me was Alejandro.

The king looks over at his wife, and his gaze softens. “We would very much like to have the one who bears that ring with us at court again. Our many letters have gone unanswered. Rosaura misses her and worries about her deeply.”

This doesn’t explain the lengths to which he is going to contact the girl. “May I ask why she is wanted?”

Alejandro’s face flushes red, and he looks ashamed, an expression I never thought possible for him until he married Rosaura. “I cannot tell you, not in advance, in case anything should happen. Go and tell her
personally
that the queen and I both request the presence of our beloved cousin at court. Collect your answer from her
personally
.”

“And if I encounter obstacles?”

“Then use your judgment,” Alejandro says. “You’ve always had excellent judgment. I want you to leave without fanfare. And do
not
wear my colors. Just in case . . .” Just in case the squire’s murder was no coincidence.

An idea hits me. Maybe there’s still a way to preserve my chance at making the Guard. “You must let me take someone along to stand watch while I sleep. Two would be better than one.”

“Not possible,” Alejandro says. Again, that look of shame.

“If I’m murdered like Raúl, your message will never find its recipient.”

Alejandro considers. “You cannot take them with you into her father’s fortress, not to deliver our message or to receive her reply. You may tell them nothing.”

“Agreed,” I say. “I’d like to take two of the other recruits. Their names are Tomás and Marlo—they’re experienced soldiers. You will need to authorize their absences. All our absences.”

“I’ll send two of my Guards with you instead,” he says.

“That would draw more attention to your mission,” I say. “And Guards would never follow my lead. Better if we are all recruits.”

Also, three absent recruits—two of them Enrico’s favorites—will make it harder for the commander to single me out for punishment. He’ll be hard-pressed not to take me back.

Alejandro considers. His gaze switches back and forth between Rosaura and me. Finally, he says, “I don’t think I could bear to lose you too, Hector.” He sounds more tired than I feel, which is saying something.

He’ll lose me someday, if I’m to be a Royal Guard. It’s what we sign up for. But I hold my tongue on that count.

“I’ll draft the order, and you can leave immediately,” he says. “Come with me.”

“Let him stay and keep us company in your absence, love,” the queen says from across the room. She has, of course, been listening the whole time, which doesn’t seem to bother Alejandro one bit. Perhaps being truly in love means not having secrets from each other.

Alejandro nods, worry etched on his features. To me, he says, “I’ll return in a moment.”

I go to the queen.