Scrivener's Tale (23 page)

King Magnus died not long after Myrren, and his son, Prince Celimus, ascended the throne. This was a very muddled time as the two great realms of Morgravia and Briavel endeavoured to stop their age-old enmity through the oldest form of strategic alliance. Prince Celimus of Morgravia was to marry Princess Valentyna of Briavel and everyone hoped for the promised peace, but the Razor Kingdom was becoming bolder, and its daring — some said far-sighted — ruler began to believe he would make the better emperor. He also believed he would make the better husband and it seemed Valentyna agreed. When they united the realms, they destroyed the inquisitions and any form of witch hunting. Belief in magic gradually declined and spiritual devotion intensified.

Pearlis Cathedral never lacked for pilgrims, but Florentyna always felt sad that they no longer believed in the power of the creatures which featured so strongly in that cathedral. Florentyna adored the notion that each person was born to one and that it would be their protector. She was born to the dragon, like the royals before her …
only
those with royal lineage could be allied to the dragon. Did that mean the legendary boy who became the king of the beasts was born to the dragon? How else could he defy it, stare it down, make it his, ride it, love it as his own? She blinked. Had the boy of legend been royal, then? A royal bastard, perhaps?

Perhaps what she loved most about the Cailech and Valentyna story was the vague whiff of magic that seemed to surround them. Historians coldly recorded that King Celimus had died of poisoning and that his chancellor, Jessom, had been murdered, but there were anomalies in the history that were deliberately vague. Florentyna was a gifted student of history, but it did not worry her to have these gaps in the family records because she filled them with her own idea that magic, which seemed to abound in her ancestors' time, had its part to play in their lives. In fact, it fired her romantic notion that Cailech, who had once been considered little more than a barbaric tribesman — and liked nothing more than to dine on his enemies — had employed magic to win his queen. Even the history books attested, in a roundabout fashion, to a personality change once Cailech left the Razors and headed south into Briavel and met Queen Valentyna.

Florentyna smiled thinking about her romantic forebears. When the vision of the wolf came to mind again, she told herself she'd imagined it; of course she had, for when she tentatively leaned over the pool she saw only her dark hair, sensibly pulled back and plaited behind the familiar oval face. She wore no earrings, no necklace, no bracelets or finery, no colour on her cheeks or lips. For a queen she was singularly unadorned. Even her gowns were neat, practical — although like her famous ancestor, Valentyna, she really preferred riding gear — and she had convinced herself she looked best in neutral hues. She left all the frippery to Darcelle. Her sister was the beautiful one — which Florentyna had been told so often as they grew up. Darcelle was the one with the gregarious personality and plenty of suitors; the one who really cared about the family's jewellery and gold vaults, the latest fashions, the best silks.

Everyone knew this. Even the king.

Their father had loved them both deeply, but had admitted that he was glad she was the one who would wear the crown. He thought he'd been saying this privately to Chancellor Reynard, but Florentyna had been in the solar, just outside his main salon.

She'd been permitted in by the king's secretary, who knew he could leave the princess while he ran an errand.

‘Does his majesty know you're coming?' he'd asked kindly.

‘I want to surprise him,' she had replied in a conspiratorial tone. ‘He doesn't know Darcelle and I are back from our trip to Argorn yet and I have a special gift for him.'

‘Oh, then if you don't mind waiting, your highness,' he'd murmured, ‘I'm sure the chancellor won't be long with your father. Welcome home, highness.'

‘I'm happy to wait, Kilryck,' she had assured him, giving him a smile as he'd left.

However, the door had been open and she could hear the two men. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Their voices carried. As she heard her name spoken she frowned, moved closer to listen.

‘… Darcelle has it all,' her father's deep voice said. ‘Looks, personality, desire to be loved. She will be fine. She will be rich and happy as long as everyone dotes on her and looks after her. And in this she is fortunate too, for her elder sister indulges her. Darcelle will not have to inherit a crown to wear one.'

Reynard had always held a soft spot for Florentyna and she mentally hugged him for his sharp reply. ‘And you think Florentyna will?'

‘It's not like that, Reynard,' her father admonished. ‘But you know as well as I that my elder daughter is a plainer, more serious girl and genuinely more suited to rule. She's sensible and intelligent, well read and took her studies seriously. She's done everything right. A sovereign can't expect to be loved as Darcelle is … a sovereign must earn the love that comes with mutual respect. You hear me wrong if you think I criticise Florentyna. She makes me proud and, if not for her intensely romantic nature, I think she's perfect to rule after I'm gone.'

‘And yet your praise sounds somehow damning,' Reynard had said sadly. He could get away with it, although her father would tolerate no-one else chastising him so. She heard Reynard continue. ‘Your majesty, forgive me, but Florentyna is poorer emotionally for your attitude. The only reason you think your elder daughter is plainer is because Queen Saria has made her so over the past decade. She was an absolutely beautiful child, as I'm sure you recall, and while that beauty doesn't necessarily follow into adulthood, I think you're only seeing the Florentyna she has been shaped to be rather than the one you knew. The beautiful girl with the wide smile and ready affection is still there. It's just been …' She heard a pause as Reynard searched for the right word. ‘Well, damn it, my king, it's been all but coerced out of her.'

She heard her father sigh then, heard his soft footsteps and she knew he'd be walking over to the window to look out beyond Stoneheart's huge bailey. ‘They've had a difficult relationship, it's true.'

‘Except Queen Saria was the adult in that relationship, sire. She came into your daughter's life when Florentyna was just nine and possessed loving memories of her own mother. Your new wife, dare I say, majesty, was not a good friend to the child at a time when Florentyna most needed one to guide her out of mourning and back into life. Florentyna has remained grief-stricken and I have to say it — isolated.' The king must have swung around and glared, because Reynard suddenly sounded defensive. ‘You know it's true. Oh, she hides it well, because she knows her place, her role, and because she knows you demand it of her. She's been groomed as second heir since her first breath. But look at her dress and lack of adornment. Her mother has been dead more than a decade, but you wouldn't know it. One could be forgiven for thinking Florentyna's mother died a few moons back.'

‘Stop, Reynard,' her father said.

But Reynard didn't stop. He obviously knew how hard he could push his king. ‘Meanwhile, your second queen was a role model to the cherubic baby. Darcelle was an infant and easily moulded and Queen Saria has lavished her attention and care on her. She has taught Darcelle brilliantly and look how the girl has blossomed, but Queen Saria has left Florentyna to essentially raise herself in all things feminine. It is fair to say, and we all know it, my king, that the queen dislikes Princess Florentyna. There's no reason for it, other than that she loved her mother so deeply and resembles you and your forebears so keenly but she is a lonely, lonely young woman in a palace full of people.'

Florentyna had felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment, but mostly pain.

She did love her little sister, but she also knew Darcelle was easily impressed, deeply selfish and desperately keen to wear a crown. And while Darcelle made all the right noises toward her as a sister, Florentyna knew that Saria — even from a distance — still enjoyed enormous influence over Darcelle and poisoned her mind as often as she could against Florentyna.

Florentyna stared into the pool, stung by thoughts and memories. Even when her moonblood had arrived, with all of its strange ache and uncertainty, it wasn't Saria who helped, but dear Reynard, for even Twillie had become too old and hadn't been nearby. She'd sobbed in his arms that frightening night, claiming that she was dying. Reynard had carried her, stained and weeping to his rooms and summoned Keely, one of the gentlest, prettiest, most sweet-tempered servants in the palace. And Keely had been left with Florentyna to explain that she was now in a position to bring life into the world. Reynard had quickly appointed Keely as head maid to the princess and, with only a decade separating them, they had become firm friends.

Saria noticed that Florentyna was becoming far too confident and independent. She blamed Keely, having watched Florentyna beginning to blossom under the woman's care. And when Reynard had been away with her father, the queen had cornered Keely and suggested she do a ‘tour', as she had called it, to the leper colony on the Isle of Trey. This was another of Cailech's innovations, encouraging his palace staff to show they were not above such things even though they were employed at Stoneheart and enjoyed many benefits as a result.

Keely was quickly pressed into service and even though she went quietly and indeed graciously, it was obvious to Florentyna that Reynard would not have permitted such a close aide to the royal family to be away for so long. Then Keely had become ill; not for a moment did Florentyna believe it to be leprosy, for the talk was simply that Keely was coughing a great deal, but that was irrelevant to Saria, who gleefully and instantly forbade Keely returning to Stoneheart. She was to remain on the island as, according to Saria, she had contracted the suppurating sores of the leper.

Florentyna's blood boiled even now at the memory of it, but she'd been a child and helpless. Her father was distracted on his return and even Reynard would not involve himself in domestic spats despite his disapproval of what had occurred. So Florentyna's life had again turned inward. Some had even begun calling her fey because of her reticence.

She smiled, allowing herself a rare moment of malicious joy as she recalled the moment when she realised what her father's death signified. It had nothing to do with wearing a crown, or ruling, or wealth or status. It wasn't about being the most revered person in the empire or the most powerful. It was quite simply about being in a position to give one particular command.

The king's death was unexpected and traumatic. Pearlis had slipped into shock as quietly as her father had slid from his horse two mornings previously in the bailey soon after mounting up. What had been dismissed as indigestion had been his heart weakening. The king had been immediately confined to his bed and his physics prodded, poked and generally shook their heads at his worsening condition while his breath became laboured and then shallow. His complexion had lost its grey pallor and turned waxy pale. The queen, accompanied by Darcelle, was called back from her sojourn to the famed spa at Tyntar, north of Pearlis, and was at her husband's side that same night, cooing and soothing in a way that made Florentyna feel ill.

As far as Florentyna was concerned, Saria, a widow of a distant cousin on her mother's side, had deliberately set about catching the king's attention and had done so through slyness, cunning and manipulation. Saria was still relatively young at thirty-five summers, still capable of bearing a son. She had been all smiles and friendliness in the early days of their courtship, but once the banns had been called and the echoes of the wedding bells had stopped resounding, Florentyna saw a different and far more ugly side to the new queen she now bowed to.

At the king's bedside, both she and the queen had locked gazes over the sick man. Florentyna remembered well that sudden shift of awareness as the pendulum of power seemed to swing from the queen's side of the bed to hers. And she could all but smell Saria's fear on the other side. Her father was still young by the standard of the day. No-one had counted on him having a weakness of the heart, least of all Saria.

And in that moment Florentyna had realised that Saria was petrified. Florentyna did not want her father to die, but she privately revelled in the uncertainty and terror reflected in the look her stepmother levelled at her as understanding dawned of how life might be about to change for both of them.

To Saria's despair her husband had suddenly awoken from the stupor he'd drifted into in an unnaturally alert state; it was a bad sign. The king spoke briefly to each of his loved ones separately, and then in front of those gathered, he had taken a deep, sad-sounding breath and closed his eyes. Saria had begun to shriek immediately.

Here was Florentyna's defining moment, as Reynard had later remarked. She stepped up to Saria when she could bear the woman's histrionics no more and delivered a stinging smack across one cheek, ignoring Darcelle's shriek of indignation.

‘Hold yourself together!' she'd demanded of her elder. Saria was tall in her heels but Florentyna was taller … without them. She used that height now to intimidate the woman who had been the bane of her life for years. ‘Quiet yourself, woman! A hush for the dead, I beg you. Let my father's soul travel to Shar in peace.'

Saria had whimpered and clasped a hand to her shocked face, covering the reddening cheek that bore the mark of Florentyna's fingers. She had become mute, humiliated in front of her audience. Florentyna saw the woman glance at Darcelle but ignored both.

Into the difficult silence the chancellor spoke gravely. ‘The king is dead!' he announced at a sombre nod from the head physician. ‘Long live Queen Florentyna!'

Florentyna had taken their low bows, working hard to control her breathing, to hold her own tears in for just a while longer. And when each had straightened she'd looked to her sister. ‘Master Burrage, would you please see to it that Princess Darcelle is taken to her chambers.' She helped her weeping sister to her feet and kissed her head. ‘Go now, dear one. Grieve for our father in private. I will take care of everything and I will see you when I have made the necessary arrangements.'