The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare (7 page)

Delphine jumped up and down in childlike glee, the smile on her face as pure and absolute as the sunlight slanting into the courtyard. She threw her arms around her sister and squeezed the air right out of her lungs. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, dearest. I knew I could count on you. You’ll love him as much as I do, you’ll see. Thank you, Rel.”

Jorelial couldn’t help her own broad smile, even while trying to be firm. “Half an hour, then, and no guarantees.” That’s how Delphine was, she thought, as the younger girl danced back into the crowd: effervescent, persuasive, downright contagious. She shook her head, wondering how to handle this newest wrinkle, and started back toward the Hall of Audience at the other end of the courtyard.

Delphine had been the child of her father’s second marriage, strongly urged upon him by King Darian himself. Her mother had been the daughter of a foreign prince seeking beneficial alliances. She had been very beautiful, in an otherworldly sort of way, and Gareth had loved her well, despite the age difference. She might have loved him in her own way too, but she was always somewhat frail and shy, subject to bouts of depression or nervous anxiety. She was homesick most of the time, and seemed oddly unsuited to the social obligations that a wife of such an important courtier incurred. She never seemed to make any real friends at court, spending much of her time closeted alone in her chambers. Gareth had thought that being with child would give her a new sense of purpose and connection to him, and a new level of maturity. But the pregnancy was difficult. She was miserable and resentful of all it brought with it, and seemed horrified at the prospect of being responsible for raising a child. When Delphine was delivered in a long and troubled labor, the babe was taken to a wet-nurse for care, while her mother lay in bed for weeks, pale and listless, ostensibly recovering from the ordeal. One day she just disappeared, stolen away back to her homeland and family, leaving behind a suckling babe and a note with a single word on it: “Sorry.” Gareth was heartbroken, but not entirely surprised. He turned his affections on his baby daughter, who had inherited her mother’s translucent beauty, but not her frailty or temperament.

A doting father and a competent nanny made sure the child had all her basic needs met. But it was Jorelial, a full ten years older, who stepped into a mother’s role, having fallen in love with the tiny babe on first glimpsing the wide, innocent, green eyes. And now that there was only the two of them, Jorelial still felt the impulse to protect her younger sister as a tiger guards its young. She wanted Delphine to be happy, but it would be difficult learning to let go and allow the young woman to make her own choices – and her own mistakes – in a world of so many dangers and false friends. Rel sighed to think she would not be able to protect her much longer. But that would not stop her from giving this ‘Mark’ a thorough grilling today.

Arriving at the Hall of Audience, she shifted her thoughts to immediate matters, as she came upon Lord Drogue already pacing the room. She decided that gracious diplomacy was her best approach.

“My sincere apologies for keeping you waiting, Lord Drogue. Vital affairs of state detained me. No disrespect was intended. My attention is now all yours. How may I serve you?”

Drogue stopped in mid-stride, turned to face her, bowed, and smiled. He was impeccably and expensively dressed all in black, which was not altogether inappropriate, as the official royal mourning period had only just ended. Jorelial recalled that black was Drogue’s usual preferred color in any case. He was well-groomed and somewhat too liberally scented, but nevertheless a respected man of wealth and property, keen intelligence, and perfect manners. Jorelial could not put her finger on exactly why she disliked him so. Descended from one of the oldest noble families in the realm, Drogue might be considered a handsome man. Tall and trim, with a regal bearing, his high cheekbones and chiseled features spoke of pedigree, and his black hair and mustache, black eyes under perfectly curved brows, and the pale skin of privilege attracted many a longing glance from the eligible maids of the kingdom. Was it her imagination, though, or did the elegant face lose its charm under closer scrutiny? Eyes a bit closer together than aesthetics might wish, and rimmed with dark circles; lines around the mouth, demarcating a haughty, sour expression rarely interrupted by true laughter; fingers that refused to be still, but always seemed to be grasping, roaming, reaching for more. Perhaps it was his remarkable lack of humor and warmth, or the uneasy feeling that he was never quite saying exactly what he really meant that put her on her guard. But none of those qualities were crimes, and she had no concrete reason to treat him rudely. Still, her father had taught her to heed her gut impressions, so it seemed prudent to be cautious, at least. Besides, Tashroth had no use for the man, and a dragon’s instincts should never be dismissed. Drogue addressed her, his voice cultured, and his words chosen with care.

“My esteemed Lady Rey, no offense taken, as I am aware of the great responsibilities resting on your slim shoulders. It is precisely that about which I have come to speak with you. Perhaps it is I who may serve you.”

“Oh? Go on, please.” She eschewed the grand throne on its raised dais, and instead took a seat at a long conference table on the floor, and motioned for Drogue to sit as well. He did.

“Lady Rey, while others of your tender years are out enjoying the pleasures of youth and the lovely spring sunshine, I have perceived you are here at Theriole day and night in musty chambers, meeting with dull old ministers, poring over documents, and attending to the multitude of endless details involved in running a kingdom. Your father, a great man, and such a tragic loss for all of us (she nodded at this homage), has trained you well to step into his very large shoes, and we are all fortunate to be the beneficiaries of his foresight and your devotion to duty…”

“Perhaps you could come a little more quickly to your point, sir, though your kind words are noted. Time is precious, as you are aware. Are you about to question my ability to carry out those duties?”

Drogue started backward with a theatrical gesture, his hands flying to his breast, “No, no – of course, not a bit! Rather, I question the appropriateness of placing so great a burden on so young, and, might I say, lovely, a personage. Forgive my concern, my lady, but you are pale and weary, and are grown serious. You do not laugh and caper like the other youth of the court, and it is well past time for you to be considering an appropriate union…”

Jorelial was struggling to maintain her composure, but at this last she cleared her throat. The man was one word away from overstepping the bounds of propriety. If she hadn’t been amused at his blatant strategizing, she might have been incensed. Drogue responded to her prompt.

“My sincere apologies if I overreach, my lady, but I have ever been your admirer, and only speak in thought for your well-being.”

“Your concern for my health and happiness are heart-warming to me, my lord, but I assure you it is my choice to step up to the task fate has assigned me. The times are not usual, and therefore demand unusual commitment.”

He seized the opening she had thrown him, “Exactly! Exactly, my lady. The times are not usual. In fact, perilous. In times such as these, it is essential that men of quality, experience, courage, and vision come forward to take the helm and guide the ship to safe harbor.”

“An unfortunate analogy, Lord Drogue, considering the source of our recent woes.”

“My apologies again, but the image holds.” He rose from the chair and began to pace the floor, agitated. “The entire kingdom of Eneri Clare founders, my lady, on stormy seas. Our king is taken untimely from us, and we are left rudderless under the rule of a mere child. After years of easy living, we barely have an army to protect ourselves from foreign princes, and the lords of the alliance squabble amongst themselves for control of trivialities…”

“Sir, we are at peace with all of our neighbors. Long-honored treaties protect our mutual interests – why manufacture enemies where none exist?”

Drogue turned back to her with a canny expression, “Your faith is commendable, but experience teaches a man to plan for the unexpected. In our current state of vulnerability, we are a tempting prize for some ambitious state to pick off or annex. It is only prudent to imagine these likelihoods and prepare for them.”

Jorelial was uncomfortable with his assessment of foreign policy, but entertained a moment of doubt that he might indeed know what he was talking about. Drogue went on with his well-rehearsed points, still pacing.

“A firm hand is needed on the economy, and on the merchants and farmers of this land, who too often shirk their financial and physical obligations to the Crown. And most certainly, the lords must be reigned in and united in purpose under a strong, central leader, by force if necessary. You have done an admirable job of keeping things running in this brief interim, but, Lady Rey, I seriously question if you have the stomach or the experience to tackle such difficult problems.” He had become carried away in his narrative, and revealed a little too much of his inner mind. One glance at her face stopped him in both his speech and his stride. With great deliberateness, projecting her best illusion of stature, Jorelial Rey rose from her seat and turned to face the speechless man.

“Lord Drogue, I have listened with rapt attention to your
opinions
, and will take all that you have said under serious consideration. Is there something right now that I can do for you?” Drogue hesitated, and seemed to make a tactical decision.

“Well, to be blunt, yes. I have come here to ask for your support next week when the Grand Council meets to select a permanent regent. I plan to put myself forward as the best qualified candidate, and with your backing, Lady Rey, I believe the members will be swayed in my favor.”

“You believe my voice will carry such weight in the deliberations?”

“But, of course, my lady. You are well respected in all circles. Allow me to plead my case to you here and now. The position of regent is a decades-long commitment, and will require a great deal of dedication and self-sacrifice. I am no stranger to this court, and have always been a lover and supporter of our king and his royal house. I am of noble birth, a man of property and means, with no reason to seek access to the royal coffers. I am a seasoned warrior, having learned the craft in overseas conflicts in my youth. I am a practiced statesman, in fact, a man of great experience in all arenas pertaining to governing. I have always been reckoned a strong leader of men, and I have a vision for this kingdom, to keep it secure, wealthy, orderly, and powerful in the world. You know I speak the truth of my credentials.”

“Indeed, sir, you paint a compelling picture.” She was revealing nothing of her inner reaction to his speech. It seemed to occur to him that he might have forgotten something.

“And of course, in exchange for your vote, I would want you to continue in the vital advisory capacity your family has traditionally held, and would value your input most highly.”

Kind of him,
she thought, but smiled and said, “Lord Drogue, you have presented your case most excellently…”

“Then I may count on your support?”

“Sir, you must give me time to consider. As I am, ‘young and inexperienced,’ I would not wish to leap to any decision of import in haste.”

“I would not leave this room without your promise…”

“You have my promise to consider the matter. It is the Council, in the end, who will decide, I have no doubt, wisely. Before this interview, it had not occurred to me to throw my personal support behind any one candidate, nor am I convinced that it would influence the members in any case. I appreciate your taking the time today to present to me your unique qualifications, and I am heartened to see that we are both, above all, committed to the welfare of the kingdom, its citizens, and its rightful heir. And now, I believe, I have another appointment to keep…good day, Lord Drogue.”

Unaccustomed to not getting his way, Lord Drogue stood with his mouth open in disbelief.

“Thank you, sir. Good day.” Jorelial Rey repeated, and motioned for the doorman, who kept watch over the room’s only entrance, to approach. She was never so relieved that she had instructed Delphine to send Mark about this time, and prayed that the young man was indeed just outside waiting for his audience. She had been truthful that it had not occurred to her to support any one candidate for the position of regent, but if anything had become clear to her during the course of this interview, it was that she would most assuredly
not
be voting for Lord Drogue. Everything about him – his manner, his ideas – seemed to run contrary to her most cherished beliefs. He was a petty tyrant in the making, and she prayed that someone else would emerge as the clear frontrunner by next week, so that she would not have to deal with his nonsense at all.

The doorman came up beside her with a little bow, “My lady?” She spoke to him in a low voice. “Can you tell me if the bard Mark is outside awaiting an audience?”

“He is indeed, my lady.”

“Will you please ask him to come right in,” then in a more public tone, “and please escort our good friend Lord Drogue back to the courtyard. Thank you.”

Drogue found himself confronted by the doorman, and, out of options, began crossing the floor toward the oversized door. “You will consider what we have discussed?” he called back, “I will expect an answer…”

“Of course, sir. You shall have it soon.”

“I do protest this summary dismissal. There was more that might have been said.”

“Apologies, sir, but I do have quite a full schedule today. I believe I have the gist of you. Please do stay to dinner if you are so inclined.” This last was spoken as he vanished over the doorframe, shaking his head.
And don’t let the door hit you on your way out,
she added to herself.
Good riddance!
She hurried to the dais and the big throne from which the king usually greeted state visitors. Settling herself on the thick red cushion, she thought, with a wicked grin, that she would really give Mark the full treatment, and see how he handled himself.