Scrivener's Tale (41 page)

‘Who else but a princess and new bride should wear such a magnificent jewel on her wedding night for her king?' Tentrell had asked.

Burrage had stared at the glittering, teardrop-shaped gem. ‘Indeed. Her majesty is going to be speechless at your generosity, Master Tentrell.'

Burrage knew Darcelle would want that stone more than anything. He had to make it possible for her to have it as a show of good will between her and her sister's authority. He must find a way for Layne Tentrell to be given the opportunity to present it as he'd asked.

Florentyna had wanted to invite the man called Cassien and his young friend, Hamelyn, to travel with her party, but she'd noticed his reluctance to mix with the soldiers and the suggestion had died in her throat. She had learned about the Brotherhood as a young girl, certainly before her first blood; that's how seriously her father regarded this fraternity. He had never told Darcelle, though; that secret was not hers to know. The sovereign shared the knowledge of the Brotherhood with his or her heir and their closest, most trusted aide, so this was a special secret between king, chancellor and princess royal. Because she'd learned of their existence so young she'd always thought of the Brotherhood in rather romantic terms, imagining courtly men with shiny armour and daydreaming of them dying for her surrounded by sighs, wistful gazes and heroic actions. The reality was cruel and ugly. There was grunting, the smell of fear and tang of sweat, the shrillness of metal meeting metal, the cry of the wounded, and the impossibly bright colour of fresh blood. She had firsthand experience now.

To her knowledge, the Brotherhood was not involved in any Crown-appointed tasks here or abroad at the present time — no spying, no assassinations required, not even stirring up trouble abroad or embedding themselves politically within other realms. The Brotherhood was under no instructions from the Crown as far as she was concerned.

A few moons after her father's death Burrage had needed to go through his paperwork and a special, rarely opened file of papers was brought before her.

‘This is the correspondence between your father and the Brotherhood during his reign,' he'd explained as he put the vellum-bound sheaf of papers before her.

The new queen had touched the soft hide. ‘Do I need to look at this?' she recalled asking.

‘You need to be acquainted with its …' — Florentyna remembered now how he'd searched for the right word — ‘… projects,' he had finally said. ‘Until yesterday I was as unfamiliar with it as you, your majesty. I do hope you are comfortable that in the absence of Chancellor Reynard I took the liberty of learning more?'

She nodded. ‘Of course. But it's awfully thin,' she had remarked.

‘Which is a good thing, majesty,' Burrage had replied. ‘The fewer dealings with the Brotherhood, the better.'

She'd frowned. ‘They're not bad people, though?'

‘Not at all. I've discovered they are pious men, dedicated to their work, faithful to each other, to their cause and above all, ruthlessly loyal to their king … and now their queen. But their assignments on behalf of the Crown are, as you know, entirely clandestine.'

‘Yes, I do know that. So, do we have any … um … projects underway?'

‘None, according to this file, majesty. Nevertheless, as a matter of course I think we should give some time to going through the pages contained in it and ensuring we understand how our relationship stands with the Brotherhood.'

‘Very well,' she'd replied, only vaguely interested. Now she wished she'd been more focused when she'd flicked through the pages, although the correspondence had been nothing more than polite exchanges and accounts for the upkeep of the facilities where the Brotherhood was housed. She had suggested to Burrage that they follow the same course as her father. He had agreed.

But now here was one of its members, fully engaged in his duty and talking of a threat to her Crown in the same way that Master Fynch had tried to counsel. Was the attack today a part of that overall threat? Or was it coincidence? Whichever it was, who was behind the attack? She had thought of little else during the journey and continually returned to the idea that it was someone with an ear inside the palace who had ordered her assassination.

Each time she turned the concept over in her mind and its hold strengthened, Florentyna winced internally. Few people had the influence to command such an attack; even fewer the financial clout to make the kinds of promises that Hubbard was boasting about. Surely even fewer still who may want her dead?

Florentyna took a breath and looked out of the window of her carriage into the mellowing light of the afternoon, which seemed to smooth all the rough edges of the countryside. Tree branches became outlined by a glow, leaves softened, the lines of the hedgerow were blurred and glimpses of light peeked through the spaces between the shrubs and trees. Meadows were brushed with a golden hue and the sky had lost its sharpness; its bright thaw blue had ripened into a gentle, blushing pink where the sky met the land. With the sun's passing she felt thaw's chill sneaking its way into the velvet-lined cocoon and was rocked by the rhythm of the four horses sweeping her rapidly south. In her wake and moving far more slowly were the bodies of those who had been speaking with her only this morning; she couldn't rid herself of the image of Felyx laughing as the arrow struck.

Reliving the death scenes, her thoughts fled to Cassien and she wondered if he was following at their heels or taking his own course to Pearlis. Would he move ahead, preparing to await her arrival at the gates of Stoneheart?

Suddenly she hoped he would. Maybe she could convince him to stand alongside her when she had to break the news to Darcelle about Saria. She wasn't relishing that confrontation. And King Tamas would be arriving soon.

As if on cue, a polite rapping on the roof occurred.

‘Stoneheart ahead, your majesty,' the voice called.

Burrage paced outside the queen's salon. How had so much gone so spectacularly wrong in such a short space of time? Why hadn't he listened to his misgivings? His instincts had screamed at him not to permit the queen to have her way in travelling with so light a guard. Now people were dead, among them the dowager queen. Her noble family in Briavel would have to be told and the repercussions of that would surely only hack away further at the already weakened bonds between the realms. He suspected he would need to advise both stepdaughters to make the journey east to deliver the news and comfort their relatives. Florentyna's presence at the funeral too would add valuable weight to the empire's display of grief at Saria's loss. He sighed — the Ciprean king's visit took precedence, but that too only complicated how Briavel might feel sidestepped.

There was still the horrifying question of which party had designed an attack on two of the royals, one of them the sovereign. Who would commit regicide? He had never seen Florentyna so wrathful or determined. She'd already promised Burrage that as soon as Tamas had left Morgravian shores she would be devoting all her energies to hunting down the perpetrators and bringing them to account on the end of her executioner's axe. For now she had to calm her uncharacteristically high temper and go through the motions with her important foreign visitor.

Then there was poor Felyx. Every time he thought about Felyx, his hand would move to grip his forehead in pain and regret.

They'd agreed to tell Darcelle about the dowager as soon as the princess arrived back at Stoneheart from meeting Tamas. Florentyna had baulked at the suggestion to hold off until the festivities were complete.

‘Absolutely not!' she'd rounded on him. ‘I couldn't sleep last night. My sister is seeing me through dark enough eyes at the moment — you heard her rant, Burrage — and I'm not giving her an excuse to hate me. As it is, I have no idea how she will take this news other than badly.'

‘It is not your fault, majesty.'

‘But Darcelle won't see it that way. She will need to blame someone. I am the logical target.'

The queen was likely correct in this, but Burrage was hoping against hope that Darcelle's joy in seeing her betrothed might help calm her reaction.

The door to the salon opened, interrupting his troubled thoughts. ‘You may go in,' the queen's private maid announced. Her tense smile said a lot to Burrage about the mood within. He entered. Florentyna looked surprisingly beautiful. Gone were the riding trews and she was now in a gown befitting a queen of Morgravia. It was too rare that her people saw her like this, though he knew she preferred not to compete with Darcelle.

Burrage bowed. ‘They are moments from the city gates, your majesty.'

He watched her nod and run a hand down the bodice of her exquisite gown. It was fashioned from the fabulously rich and exclusive imperial purple — formerly known as Percheron Purple. It won this name in the west because the dye was extracted from a large whelk common only to that exotic peninsula's glittering emerald waters. Nowadays, most sovereigns had garments dyed this deep, vibrant hue and it had become known as ‘royal' — or in Morgravia's case ‘imperial' — purple. No-one else but the sovereign in Morgravia was permitted to wear it. Certainly, few but the sovereign could afford to in any case, given that the dye fetched its own weight in gold. He knew she would prefer to be garbed in dark mourning clothing this evening, out of respect for the fallen, but she was required to be nothing less than empress today as she received a neighbouring king.

The sumptuous imperial purple echoed the blue–black sheen that one hundred brushstrokes had coaxed from her hair. It was loosely pinned up, a few wisps allowed to escape, adding a touch of feminine whimsy to the austere line she was cutting with her tall silhouette. He noticed how slim she'd become. He would have to talk to the cook about what the queen was eating … or not.

‘Will this do?' she asked, smoothing her skirt.

‘You look perfect, your majesty.'

He didn't want to say that she looked sad.

‘I keep trying to find the words, Burrage.'

‘They will find you, my queen. This is not a discussion you can rehearse.'

‘No, I believe you. It is better I speak with all the emotion and fear that I'm feeling.'

He closed his eyes and nodded gently. ‘Princess Darcelle knows what is expected of her, majesty. She will not let you down in a formal situation … and not in front of the king.'

‘You're right, I hope.'

‘There's a man calling himself Cassien Figaret. I've asked him to wait in the Keep. Apparently, you've invited him to the palace?'

‘Yes, I did.' Her creamy skin flushed at her cheeks and his curiosity deepened. ‘This is the man who saved my life.'

‘Truly,' he said. ‘No doubt you wish to speak with him.'

‘I do.' She checked herself once more in the long glass and walked closer. Burrage noted how the tiny beads of amethyst sewn onto the bodice of her gown caught the light and shimmered when she moved. ‘There is something I should tell you about Cassien.'

‘Yes, majesty?'

‘He is of the Brotherhood,' she said evenly.

‘Brotherhood?' he repeated, astonished.

She nodded. ‘What is curious is that he was travelling to Pearlis to seek me out, but instead stumbled across me at Rittylworth.'

Burrage's mind had already begun to dart in a dozen directions but he gathered himself. ‘And how glad we are he did.'

‘I would be dead if not for Cassien. Please show him and Hamelyn — the boy he travels with — every courtesy.'

‘Of course.'

There was a knock at the door. Burrage answered it, nodding once. He returned to Florentyna.

‘We must go, your majesty.'

‘Walk with me, Burrage. You'll have to brief me as we descend the stairs. I'm sorry to have left you so little time.'

He knew it was not her fault and moved straight into his briefing. ‘Tonight is the official welcome, but I suspect they will be fatigued so I plan to keep the celebrations brief. It will be intimate — no more than forty guests. Tomorrow I have arranged a festive picnic with sporting activities, a hunt if his majesty would like to participate; food will be laid out down by the stream. We've brought in mummers, poets, minstrels and jongleurs to entertain. I believe Samwyl Tooley has crafted a poem in honour of the marriage —' He noted Florentyna's eyebrow lift at that news. Tooley was the most angst-ridden and overly theatrical artist in the land; at the death of the king he had declared he would never write another poem. Burrage smiled and continued. ‘And Justyn Faircluff has a new ballad he would like to sing for the couple. In essence, tonight is a formality. Tomorrow is the real betrothal celebration, and in the evening we will have the formal feast — more than three hundred nobles will be arriving to pay their respects. A civic gathering first, of course. We are following the plan we set out moons ago. I saw no reason to change that structure. Festivities will end with an open carriage ride through the capital the following afternoon, your majesty, after you and the king have completed your formal talks. The people will want to see Princess Darcelle and her handsome King Tamas.'

‘Everything sounds marvellous. The people will be given food and ale?' she enquired, as they began to descend the great staircase.

‘My word, yes. There is to be a vast two-day street party, from what I can tell. Decorations are up everywhere, with the colours of Morgravia and the colours of Cipres flying together.'

‘I look forward to seeing that.'

‘Oh, and I've granted permission to a merchant called Layne Tentrell to attend the picnic and present the most exquisite jewel to her highness.'

‘Jewel?' she queried.

He explained about the merchant from Robissun Marth.

‘How magnanimous,' she remarked.

‘My sentiment exactly, majesty.'