Scrivener's Tale (42 page)

‘The Star of Percheron,' she repeated, looking impressed. ‘And it's all perfectly credible?'

‘He is very well known in our west and strikes me as sincere, although I admit he is baffling.'

‘In what way?' she asked, descending the stairs with more decorum than her usual stride, encouraged in this by having a number of skirts to keep out of the way of her feet.

Burrage gave a soft
moue
of helplessness. ‘That's just it. I can't put my finger on it. His motives are admirable but there's something vaguely unsettling about it … about him.'

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Staff and household guard were lining the entrance to the grand doors. Florentyna was to greet King Tamas and Darcelle outside on the steps leading onto the bailey. The heralds were ready to proclaim the foreign sovereign's arrival. It seemed as though everyone was holding a collective breath.

She turned to Burrage. ‘You trust him though.' It didn't sound like a question. She stared at him intently, with a soft frown. Given recent events, he couldn't blame her for being in any way nervous of strangers.

‘I have no reason to mistrust him, majesty, and he will be searched and guided in by soldiers and escorted away by soldiers shortly afterwards. He will be allowed to approach Princess Darcelle and King Tamas only with their express permission and with soldiers either side. He will have only moments with them. I have to tell you, Darcelle will want that jewel. And if you grant it …' He didn't need to say more.

They shared a rueful smile. ‘You'll check for poison too?'

‘Of course. The jewel will be dipped to clean it of any potentially harmful agents, his fingers and lips will be swabbed to nullify any poisons before he is permitted to so much as kiss your sister's hand. I have already sent a message that the clothes he plans to wear are brought to the palace beforehand. They will be checked by our people for hidden pockets or the presence of poison, or any form of weapon. He will only be permitted to dress in the presence of two soldiers.' He shrugged. ‘I've taken this precaution because his request was unexpected and unusual. In the light of what occurred at Rittylworth, I'm very glad I have.'

‘Should we do the same for all the performers?'

He sighed. ‘None will be permitted to get close enough to the royals. Rigorous checking for weapons will be carried out. Household staff will be put through more stringent checks, of course. There will be food and drink tasters for everything.'

Burrage saw the signal from the gate. ‘They're here, my queen.'

‘Do as you see fit, Burrage. I trust your judgement implicitly. Now wish me luck, and please bring Cassien to me at the first available moment I get to myself. This is going to be a most difficult next few hours.'

‘No luck required, my queen. Just be yourself.'

She gave him a wan smile and glided away, through the doorway, as the first trumpets sounded. Burrage signalled to Meek, who was standing by, along with a row of other youngsters for running errands and delivering messages.

‘Yes, Master Burrage,' Meek enquired, his attention helplessly riveted on the arrival of the grandest of the royal coaches.

‘Go to the Keep. There is a man waiting by the name of Cassien Figaret. He is to be escorted to the Orangerie. He is to wait under guard. Make sure he is taken there by four of our men.'

The boy threw him a glance of mystification but nodded and ran away.

From the shadows Burrage could see that the royal carriage was making a wide circuit in the bailey. Any moment, the king would step out and with him his princess. He hoped that Darcelle would keep her emotions in check when the news of Saria was shared. He wished he could have time right now to consider who in the palace had discovered and then leaked the information of Florentyna's journey to Rittylworth. There was only one person he could think of and that realisation frightened him more than Darcelle learning that her beloved ‘mother' had been murdered.

He sighed in private fear. In the distance he caught a glimpse of Meek running nimbly across the bailey, barely noticed by anyone else for their eyes were on the carriage.

‘The Brotherhood,' he murmured, still surprised and more than a little apprehensive that a member of that order was suddenly within their presence. Something in the back of his mind told him that he should be making connections. The arrival of Master Fynch to talk with the queen and Reynard's subsequent mysterious disappearance; the curious death of Flek with the royal sigil burned on his skin; suggestions of a force against the Crown; a direct attack on the queen … seemingly from within. And now the unexpected arrival of one of the Brotherhood. He knew he should be adding something up, but none of it amounted to anything other than a vague, underlying sense of threat.

Although he hadn't told the queen, Burrage had ordered more than a dozen senior archers to be in the bailey, positioned at various strategic locations, with an eye only on her majesty. Any person perceived to be a direct threat was to be brought down immediately. They had orders to shoot first — but not to kill — and questions would be asked later. In the meantime, soldiers out of uniform and kitted in appropriate regal clothes were already peppered throughout the household, watching everything and everyone. If this Cassien could truly live up to the reputation of the Brotherhood, then perhaps he too must be brought into the secret circle that was now ringing the queen without her knowledge.

On the other hand, if today's attack had been prompted from within the palace walls, as suspected, then she was not safe in Stoneheart no matter how much security was thrown around her. They had to get through these next few days and then Burrage would make arrangements for the queen to be whisked off to Briavel and ultimately to a secret location, no matter how much she protested. And he would personally oversee the hunt for the traitor and his or her network.

Two days. That's all he needed. He saw the carriage door open and a strapping man step out. It was King Tamas. His luxuriant golden beard was knitted through with the silver of age … or wisdom, as some liked to call it. He was grinning broadly, showing his enjoyment of the trumpets playing and the cheering of the people in the bailey. He offered his hand to help his princess from the carriage; she emerged into the evening wearing a dazzling smile and a gown of mauve. Darcelle looked enchanting, as always, but Burrage thought he noticed her falter slightly when she saw the queen awaiting them on the stairs. He would give her the benefit of doubt that this wasn't the shock of her being alive. Instead he would allow that perhaps like him, Darcelle had been surprised to see Florentyna looking so beautiful. None of them were used to seeing her in such finery.

He watched Florentyna descend the grand stairway of Stoneheart, gliding regally into the bailey proper and he felt a pang of pride for this young sovereign. She could so easily have remained at the top of the stairs, waiting for her less important sister and Darcelle's more important guest to ascend to meet her: somewhere in that stillness Florentyna could have silently reinforced her status and particularly her power. Instead she had made an altruistic gesture — welcoming without reservation.

Burrage didn't need to look into the eyes of King Tamas to know that the Ciprean king acknowledged her benevolence; it was conveyed in the way he watched the Queen of Morgravia arrive to stand before him, in the deferential bow that he gave, and in the way he touched his lips to her hand bending low as he did so.

The watching chancellor was impressed. King Tamas was far more regal and his presence infinitely more daunting than he'd imagined. Why he'd imagined a less imposing, maybe even paunchy, effeminate older man, rather than this earthy ‘man's man', he couldn't be sure. Perhaps because Cipres was famed for its art, culture and the exquisite pale beauty of its royal palace. He blinked, surprised at himself for being so judgemental; King Tamas looked as though he could ride, drink and swap punches with the best of his soldiers. Darcelle curtsied alongside her betrothed and suddenly Florentyna was beyond officialdom and pulling both sister and brother-in-law-to-be toward her in the embrace of family.

Cassien stood quietly within the fragrant tranquillity of the Orangerie — an inner courtyard of Stoneheart. He noticed no servants bustling around here; the only sounds were the soft coo of pigeons beginning their evening roost, together with the low drone of the last determined bees of the day. Hamelyn, too, had fallen silent and sat on the edge of a low stone wall watching a small army of ants swarming over a dead beetle. Cassien was sure the boy must be famished and exhausted after the ride, although he heard no complaint.

There were no fruits on the citrus trees but the thaw blossom was just bursting and the perfume of their explosions was heady and romantic. He was thinking about the queen and how courageous she had been, not shrinking from Hubbard despite death lying around her. His mind wandered, and suddenly he was considering his physical reaction to Florentyna. At first sight he'd found her irresistible, standing there in her oversized cassock, flushed and angry, with the hood fallen back and her hair tumbling in strands from the tight pins she'd hoped might hide her femininity. But the rules of the Brotherhood were clear. No emotion was to cloud his judgement. He had to go about his business with a cold detachment or fail in the eyes of Brother Josse and his elders. There was also Vivienne, but he would not permit himself to dwell on her.

He had been given what was arguably the single most important task undertaken by his fraternity. The direct championing of a monarch was unheard of in the Brotherhood. It was a testament to the serious nature of the present threat that the Brotherhood would sanction such a public mission. He would not let his emotions interfere.

‘Cassien?' Hamelyn said, breaking into his fractured thoughts.

He emerged from the grove into the early evening sunlight. It was warm in the courtyard, more so than outside it, because its smallish size and thick walls had managed to trap the sun's thin warmth through the day.

‘Yes?' He saw the boy's frown. ‘Is something wrong?'

‘I'm not sure whether something's wrong but …'

‘Say it.'

‘Something isn't quite right.'

Cassien moved closer to where his friend sat. ‘Tell me.' He'd become used to Ham's cryptic notions and was now fully accepting of the youngster's invisible senses. ‘Is the sword making noises again?' His sword was hanging at his side, openly visible — he'd deliberately made no secret of it.

‘That's just it. It has always made some sort of sound. Now there's nothing.'

This was Ham's specialty. Cassien had no idea what to suggest. ‘Follow your instincts,' he offered. ‘What are they telling you?'

Ham looked up at him. ‘It's hiding.'

Their conversation came to an abrupt end as one of the soldiers approached. ‘The queen will see you now.' Cassien nodded, threw a tight glance at Ham. ‘Follow us, please. The boy is to go with this messenger.'

A sandy-haired youngster not far off Ham's age, but far better dressed and rosy-cheeked, regarded them. ‘I am Meek, sir,' he said to Cassien, and nodded at Hamelyn. ‘I was told to take you to the kitchens … to make sure you were given some food.'

Hamelyn's eyes lit up.

‘Off you go,' Cassien urged. ‘I'll see you shortly. And, Ham … keep listening,' he said carefully. Ham nodded.

The senior soldier put a hand up and gestured for one of his men to search Ham and he was duly given permission to go with Meek. Now the senior man turned to Cassien. ‘I need your weapons. You cannot meet with her majesty wearing that sword.'

He understood, could tell the man was baffled that he'd got this far into the palace wearing it. ‘Perhaps you'd like my blades as well?' he offered, pulling back his cloak.

The soldier's eyes widened. ‘I'll need
all
your weapons.'

Cassien obliged. He unbuckled the two belts and noted the amazement in the soldier's face as he accepted them. ‘These will be returned to you after your audience with her majesty.'

‘Fair enough.'

He felt curiously naked without them and for the first time realised how comfortable they had felt strapped to his body.

‘Your weapons will be cared for.'

He hadn't realised his concerns were etched on his expression. He brightened. ‘Of course. Shall we go?'

Cassien walked between his two minders down long draughty corridors, poorly lit, and assumed they must be approaching from the back of the palace. He had not taken too much notice of his path to the Orangerie and was now working hard to make sense of which direction they were travelling in; there were no clues but he was alert for a glimpse of sunlight that would prompt him. Soon the men had him climbing a narrow staircase. They passed a small arched window and he immediately took his bearings and knew that he was facing east. By the time they had escorted him down a few more passages — these more lavishly lit, and decorated with tapestries and pieces of furniture — he was sure, despite all the twists and turns, that he could pinpoint in which direction they moved. The larger spaces, no longer bare, had taken on a sense of life with their trimmings, and the lit sconces added a deeper elegance to the dark stone of the castle, which had looked so sombre from a distance.

As they travelled, Cassien began to see carvings in the stone and he recognised the great beasts of myth whose fabulous likenesses were sculpted in huge form within the cathedral of Pearlis. He was longing to see the famous nave; yearning to test again which beast was his. He was sure that this time Lupus would call, convinced that as a child his fanciful notion of the dragon was mere whimsy.

They walked along an arcade, the open corridor linking two parts of the palace like a bridge. Cassien glanced over the balustrade and saw an orchard below with ragged trees, still in their winter nakedness, awaiting blossomtide's warmth to coax them into a fresh burst of life. He was impressed that Stoneheart defied its name; he was discovering that there was much softness around this palace, the further he walked through it. The love of orchards and fragrant shrubs was evident from the multitude of winterblossom bushes he saw beneath him. Their blooms were finished but he was sure he could conjure the vaguest hint of their gorgeous scent still lingering on the waxy green leaves.