Inheritance (5 page)

“Over the last year, you have spoken for me—on instruction—on some councils, acted as my representative when meeting the odd dignitary or two, delivered a speech in my name at the occasional official banquet, and you have just completed your first ambassadorial mission. This is not administration. I still rule this kingdom and its people.”

Berayma looked abashed. “Is that all I have been? Your mouthpiece?”

Usharna sighed. “No. You are training to be king. But never think you have learned all the lessons. The time will come, soon enough, when you truly will be administering the kingdom and will have to make decisions on behalf of Grenda Lear by yourself.” She glanced quickly at Orkid. “In consultation with your court, of course.”

“I will face my responsibilities, you know that.”

“Yes, I know you will. But don’t worry needlessly. The task before you will not be as great as you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will see soon enough.” She waved Orkid closer. “Now, my chancellor and I have things to discuss before we all meet in the throne room.”

“Perhaps I should stay,” he ventured in a whisper, glancing at Orkid warily.

“You are not king yet, my son. Leave us. I will see you again later this morning.”

“What is left to discuss, your Majesty?” Orkid asked after Berayma had left. “My report is finished.”

“The Keys of Power. You still disagree with my intentions.”

“A foolhardy tradition is not worth following. ”

“Foolhardy or not, it is the only way,” she said wearily.

Orkid forbore arguing. The queen was tired, and that would make her more stubborn.

The official court reception for Berayma was held at mid-morning in the throne room. It was a court event, and anybody who had or sought influence there was present.

In her simple basalt throne, balanced on a cushion, sat Usharna herself, her robes of state flowing down the royal dais. On her left hand side stood Chancellor Orkid Gravespear, and behind her stood Dejanus with his ceremonial mace. On the dais’ first step, to the right, was the royal family, presently Areava, Olio, and Lynan. To the left were the kingdom’s senior officials and members of the queen’s executive council, together with Usharna’s ladies-in-waiting.

The group looked out over the palace’s single largest enclosed space, considered quite a wonder in the world when first built some centuries before, and still a matter of some awe for strangers to Kendra. Two rows each of thirty twisting stone pillars, painted gold and black, divided the space into three long sections. The middle section formed the concourse, and a thin gold carpet stretched along it from the dais to the throne room’s entrance. The areas on either side were used by the members of the court to survey any visitors as they made the long and intimidating walk along the concourse, or to wait in silence as the queen delivered speeches, passed judgments, and made declarations.

A hundred arched, stained-glass windows set in polished granite walls let in so much light that it was almost possible to believe the throne room had no roof, but high above the court curved headseed beams supporting thousands of sharrok pine shingles set in patterns that suggested waves lapping against a calm shore. Standing to attention before each of the pillars was one of the Royal Guards, under the eye of their constable standing only a few steps from the dais; next to Kumul was Usharna’s private secretary, Harnan Beresard, sitting behind his small writing desk.

Lynan always felt out of place among the august group occupying the dais. Shorter than most, dressed less finely, and without the haughty demeanor that usually came with rank or blood, he thought of himself as an interloper who at any moment would be exposed and escorted out of the palace. The rest of the court, bigger now than it had ever been before, peered up at them with eager, envious, and often spiteful eyes. The back of Lynan’s neck ached with all the long stares boring through it. He risked turning his head to look behind him, but the faces there were all directed toward Usharna herself, looking splendid and pale on her black throne. Of course no one would bother noticing him. He was only the fourth son of the monarch, half noble and half commoner, and since it was the half-commoner part that obviously counted in the palace, why should anyone pay him any attention at all?

Because I am Elynd Chisal’s son, that’s why
! he roared at them in his mind.
Because I am the son of the best soldier who ever came from Kendra, the soldier who saved the queen from defeat during the Slaver War, because
…

He ran out of reasons, embarrassed by his own anger. There were many more reasons, he was sure, but here and now they did not seem to matter. At least not to the court. He looked over his shoulder again, got some idea of just how many there were behind him, and then did the same for those along the opposite wall. Kumul was right. The crows were gathering for the feast, all hoping it would come sooner rather than later. He wondered how many of them sided with the Twenty Houses, and how many of them with Usharna. How far would the aristocracy go to reclaim the power it had lost to the queen? The only certainty was that no move would be made against the queen herself, such was the love and respect held for her by the common people. But after her death? Where would Lynan stand then, and what chance would he have against the scavengers?

There was a great metal clanging from the other end of the throne room. The wide bronze doors swung open and the court sergeant stood there with his heavy black spear. With great solemnity and grace he made his way up the concourse to the foot of the dais.

“Berayma Kolls, son of Queen Usharna Rosetheme, son of her consort Milgrom Kolls, Prince of the Kingdom of Kendra and all its Realms, returns from an embassy to he Majesty’s realm of Hume.”

“Then let him come to me,” Usharna answered formally The sergeant returned to the entrance and called out Berayma’s name and title. Usharna’s eldest son appeared at the entrance. Tall and wide-shouldered, dark-haired, stern-faced, and erect, he looked splendid in his fine woolen clothes and fur coat. He started the long walk, led by the sergeant and followed by the small retinue he had taken with him to Hume. When he reached the dais, he and his followers bowed low.

“Your Majesty, I bring word from your loyal subject. Queen Charion of Hume. She sends her greetings and devotion.”

“I am much pleased to hear it,” Usharna replied. “Anc much pleased to see you safely returned. Take your place, my son.”

Berayma bowed again and mounted the dais, taking a position on the queen’s right-hand side, above his siblings. His retinue dispersed.

“Court Sergeant, do I have any other visitors?”

“Two applicants, your Majesty, awaiting your pleasure.”

“Then let them come to me.”

For the next hour, the queen and her court listened to the appeals of two applicants, the first a minor nobleman asking for the return of some land taken from his father during the Slaver War for taking sides against the throne. The queen asked what else his father had lost.

“His head, your Majesty,” the son replied.

“And who holds this land?” she asked.

“Yourself, your Majesty.”

The queen asked Harnan the secretary if any wrongs had been recorded against the son, and being told there were none, announced that the nobleman should not inherit the crimes of his father, and returned the land. Harnan officially recorded the decision. The nobleman thanked the queen for her wisdom and generosity, and quickly departed.

The second applicant was a merchant from Aman, who declared in a longwinded speech that some of Ushama’s officials were blocking his trade from reaching the city of Kendra.

“On what grounds?” Usharna asked.

“On the grounds that I am an Amanite, your Majesty,” he replied.

The queen looked sideways at her Amanite chancellor, but Orkid was stonefaced. The queen promised that she would look into the matter, declaring that every member of the kingdom, whether from Kendra or Aman or distant Hume, had equal access to the capital’s markets, and again nodded to Harnan Beresard.

The queen ended the session by rising from the throne. The formalities over, everyone visibly relaxed and started to mingle and talk. The throne room was instantly filled with the low and incessant babble of a hundred, gossiping voices.

Berayma approached the queen and said in a low, urgent voice: “I have been told that you used one of the Keys of Power last night.”

“You are well informed,” Usharna said.

“Everyone is talking about it!” Berayma declared.

“I was being gently sarcastic, my son. I wish to God you would develop a sense of humor.”

“There is nothing funny about what happened, your Majesty. You are old and weak and—”

Usharna glared at him. “Too old and weak to rule, you mean?”

There was a hush among those on the dais. All eyes were on Berayma. His face flushed. “No! That is not what I meant at all, but that if you use the Keys, you will exhaust yourself—”

“Enough, Berayma,” Usharna said harshly. “I am the queen, and the Keys of Power are my instruments, to be used at the right time and in the right place and for the right purpose. If I did not use them thus, I would not deserve to wear my crown.”

“But, mother, to save the life of a drunk cripple!”

It was Usharna’s turn to flush, but in anger. “This man you speak of was captain of the Kendra Spears during the Slaver War. He served me faithfully and paid dearly for it. He was dying from a wound inflicted on him by doing me another great service…”

Berayma turned on Lynan. “By saving
him
from petty bandits—”

“By saving your brother’s life, and that of my constable.”

Berayma said no more; he recognized the tone in his mother’s voice, that sharp edge of righteous anger that always made nobles, courtiers, soldiers, husbands, and children shut their mouths against any argument with their queen.

Usharna looked around at the others gathered by the dais, including Orkid and Dejanus. “Any one else volunteering to comment on my actions last night?” Some shook their heads, most just dropped their gaze. “Then the day’s business is over.” She beckoned to Harnan. “Meet me in my sitting room. We have correspondence to complete.”

The secretary, a thin reedy man who looked barely strong enough to support his own weight, nodded, packed up his papers and pens, and followed Usharna and her ladies-in-waiting as they left the throne room. Dejanus brought up the rear. All talk stopped as the court, acting as one, bowed out the queen.

When she was gone, Berayma strode to Kumul. “It is your fault, Constable. I have been told that you allowed my brother to leave the palace at night and stroll around taverns and hotels at his own discretion, inviting the very sort of attack visited on him last night!”

Kumul said nothing. He knew better than to answer back to one of the royal family, especially Berayma who was such a stickler for court protocol.

“How can we trust the man in charge of the Royal Guards to protect the palace if he cannot even protect one small, irresponsible youth?” Berayma pressed.

Kumul, impassive, stared straight ahead.

Lynan, who was almost as afraid of Berayma as he was of the queen, wanted to speak up in Kumul’s defense, but his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth.

Berayma, however, had finished his public dressing down of the constable and stalked off to join a group of his friends from the Twenty Houses who were loitering nearby and enjoying the show. Lynan thought they looked ridiculous in their silk tights and decorated codpieces, a fashion only lately come to the court from Haxus in the north.

Lynan was about to move to Kumul, to apologize, when he was confronted by his sister Areava. “Is this true?” she demanded.

“Sister?”

“Don’t feign ignorance, Lynan, I know you far too well.” Almost as tall as Berayma, but with the golden hair their mother had once possessed, Areava made an imposing spectacle, and when her face was pinched in fury as it was now, she reminded Lynan of stories of the beautiful mountain witches who ate the faces of lost travelers.

Before he could answer, Olio joined them and said to his sister: “It is unfair to b—b-blame Lynan for the actions of thieves, Areava. It was not his fault. And as our m-m-mother said, the cripple she helped last night was owed something b—b-by this family for p—p-previous service.”

“I do not question our mother’s actions, but Lynan’s,” she said to Olio, but not harshly, since she loved him above all others. She glared again at Lynan. “Well?” she insisted.

“I did not mean to place anyone in danger, least of all the queen,” he said meekly.

“You are a thoughtless boy, Lynan. One day someone will pay for your self-centeredness.”

“I am sure you are right.” Lynan could not help himself; before he could catch the words, they were out.

Areava acted as if she had been slapped across the face. She looked at her half-brother almost with distaste. “You assume too much from your position,” she said tightly and stormed off.

“What did she mean by that?” Lynan asked Olio.

Olio shrugged. “I had b-b-better follow her and calm her down b-b-before she insults some visiting dignitary.”

Left alone, Lynan felt he had come off badly from the morning’s events, not unusual in his experience of court life. He remembered Kumul and went to him.

“I’m sorry for what Berayma said to you. It was all my fault, not yours or Ager’s or the queen’s.”

“Berayma was only demonstrating his concern for Her Majesty,” Kumul replied, his face as impassive as it had been when he was being publicly berated. He looked around the room. “Do you see them all, Lynan?”

“See all the what?”

“All the newcomers. See, over there, new staff for Aman’s commission in Kendra.” Lynan saw a trio of heavily bearded gentlemen wearing long hide coats. They looked like smaller versions of Orkid. “And over there, old Duke Petra, back from his retirement on the Lurisia coast. Next to him are representatives of Hume’s merchant navy; they came with Berayma.” Kumul pointed to a group of men and women dressed in leather jerkins and breeches. “Mercenary commanders, from all over the kingdom, come to sell then-services as bodyguards, or worse.”