Tomorrow's Kingdom (25 page)

As Big Ben plopped down and resumed trimming his nails, Persephone said, “I would also like to announce that I've decided to establish a royal Council that will henceforth advise me on matters of war and state and—”

“Pass!” said Big Ben loudly.

“You're not interested in sitting on my Council, Ben? Oh, how very unfortunate,” lied Persephone, who'd never had any
intention
of inviting him to join her Council. “Still, I suppose I'll have to respect your wishes. Will the rest of you agree to sit on my Council and promise to willingly welcome members of all other tribes to sit with you?”

After everyone else agreed that they would, Robert said, “Your Majesty, even if the messengers leave within the hour, it could take them a fortnight to reach their destinations and another to get back. What shall the rest of us do in the meantime? What shall
you
do in the meantime?”

“Like any good mother, I'm sure the queen will want
to use the time to eat and rest and grow strong for the sake of her child,” said Cairn quickly.

“I am already strong,” said Persephone, lifting her chin. “And since there are some things that none but I can do, food and rest will have to wait.”

THIRTY

“
W
HAT DO YOU THINK?”
asked Persephone in a hushed voice.

“I think it has long since been deserted,” replied Azriel.

As Persephone let her gaze wander over Pembleton Estate, she had to agree. Nothing moved save for the occasional tumbleweed blowing across the deserted courtyard; nothing could be heard except for the wind whistling through the trees of the untended orchard. The walking paths were unkempt, the gardens were choked with weeds, and the water in the decorative pond was covered with a thick layer of scum. No smoke rose from any of the manor chimneys, the roof was missing tiles, and half a dozen panes of glass were broken.

Altogether, it painted a stark picture of the hard times poor Lord Pembleton had fallen on since the execution of his son, the death of his infant grandson and the loss of his health.

A fortnight earlier, Persephone had seized upon the idea of approaching him when she'd heard Ariel speak so
matter-of-factly of asking the other three tribes to stand with her against Mordecai. With a start, she'd realized that there were not three other tribes besides the Gypsies, there were
four
—the Khan, the Marinese, the Gorgish
and
the Erok. The prophecy of the Gypsy King spoke of uniting
five
tribes, and it was easy to see why, for a monarch who failed to win over the most powerful members of the most populous tribe in the kingdom would not be monarch for long. Persephone did not yet know where Lord Bartok's loyalties lay, but she was certain that Lord Pembleton's loyalties would not lie either with the man who'd executed his son or with the powerful lords who'd laughed at the sight. She would be safe with him, and although he was now powerless, perhaps he was not entirely friendless. Perhaps some of the minor lords who'd never benefited from Mordecai's munificence felt a kinship with him yet. Perhaps, sick as he was, Lord Pembleton could be the key to forging some sort of alliance with the nobility of the realm.

Azriel, Cairn, Rachel—well, everybody, really—had tried to convince Persephone to send someone in her stead, but why on earth would Lord Pembleton trust a stranger who claimed to come in the name of a queen in hiding? And how could she ask someone who'd lost so much to risk even more while she, herself, risked nothing at all?

To appease everyone's concerns, however, Persephone
had
agreed to spend a week recuperating before she and Azriel set out. Fortunately, the journey to Lord Pembleton's estate had been uneventful. As Azriel had predicted, a poor man and his wife travelling on foot along back roads attracted almost no attention in a realm on the brink of—

Out of the corner of her eye, Persephone saw a flicker of movement. Jerking her head around, she saw a woman step out of the manor. The woman's dress was drab, her hair was unkempt, and she had what looked to be a basket of laundry tucked under one arm. After pausing briefly to look around, she walked across the courtyard and disappeared into one of the dilapidated outer buildings.

“A vagrant taking advantage of a deserted manor?” wondered Azriel.

“I don't think so,” said Persephone with a frown. “She acts as if she belongs. I think perhaps she is a maid left behind to care for the place in her master's absence.”

“Lord Pembleton is a sick and broken man,” said Azriel. “Where would he have gone?”

“I don't know,” said Persephone. “Let's go find out.”

They waited until the woman went back into the manor to leave the cover of the overgrown topiary dolphin, cross the scraggly lawn and knock on the manor door. After a brief delay—during which time Persephone guessed that the woman was probably studying them from some hidden peephole, trying to decide if they posed a danger—the door swung halfway open.

“Good day,” said Persephone to the woman who might have been pretty once, but who now had the washed-out look of one who was old before her time. “I am—”

“Queen Persephone,” interrupted the woman, nervously licking her dry lips. “Yes, I know. I recognize you. From my time in the capital.”

Persephone's eyebrows peaked in surprise when she heard the woman's noble accent. “Have we—”

“Met?” said the woman, reaching up to smooth back her tangled hair. “No. But I saw you that day. With the Regent. Before they took my husband's head.”

Persephone exhaled softly. “You're the wife of young Lord Pembleton,” she said gently.

“Was the wife,” corrected the woman mechanically before casting a twitchy glance at Azriel and saying, “And this is …”

“My husband,” said Persephone, watching the woman's eyes widen slightly at the word
husband
. “His name is Azriel.”

“Mine is Alice.” said the woman, after a moment's hesitation. Stepping back, she pushed the door farther open with a work-reddened hand and said, “Would you like me to see if my father-in-law, Lord Pembleton, will receive you?”

“Yes,” said Persephone. “That is exactly what we would like.”

Lord Pembleton agreed to receive them, although how Alice knew this was a mystery to Persephone, for the apoplexy he'd suffered following the loss of his son and infant grandson had rendered him little better than a vegetable. He lay in his rumpled bed unmoving, his head lolling to one side, his hands curled into claws. The once round face was gaunt, sallow and slack; the mouth, a puckered hole. Only his eyes moved—darting from Persephone to Azriel to his daughter-in-law, shining with the panic of a man trapped alive.

Although Persephone felt like retching at the sickly smell in the chamber, she forced herself not to show it as she murmured, “Alice, I knew from my brother, the king, that your father-in-law had suffered apoplexy, but … but I was under the impression that he had improved.”

“He has improved,” said Alice in an oddly expressionless voice as she wiped her hands back and forth against her limp skirts. “He can wait for the bedpan now. Mostly. And he can swallow. Only mush, like what you'd feed a … a baby. But still.”

“That's … that's good,” said Persephone as she cast a furtive but despairing look at Azriel.

“It is good,” agreed Alice before leaning close to Lord Pembleton and loudly saying, “What is that, Father? You wish to know why the queen has come?” Turning to Persephone, she said, “My father-in-law wishes to know why you have come.”

“How do you know that he wishes to know this?” asked Persephone, her gaze straying to the bedridden nobleman.

“I have tended him since the apoplexy that felled him,” replied Alice. “He speaks to me with his eyes.”

“Oh,” said Persephone uncertainly, before explaining her and Azriel's purpose in being there.

After listening intently, Alice nodded and said, “You
were right in thinking that my father-in-law despises Mordecai and the more powerful lords—and also in thinking that he yet has friends among the lesser nobility. Many friends. None who have suffered as he has, of course, but still.” Once more leaning close to Lord Pembleton, she stared into his eyes for a long moment before saying, “He wishes to know if you'd like me to contact these friends, urging them to support you. He says that while we await their replies, you are welcome to avail yourselves of what meagre hospitality we are able to offer. Hot water with which to wash. A clean bed. Food.”

Though there was something undeniably peculiar about Alice, Persephone was delighted by her offer to contact other noblemen. Moreover, at the word
food
Persephone's mouth had begun to water copiously. Azriel had done a fair job taking down game on the journey to Pembleton Estate, but for a girl four months pregnant, “fair” was not quite good enough.

Turning to Azriel, she murmured, “What do you think?”

“I think we need to be cautious,” he replied as he absently laid his hand against the small of her back. “But I also think … you have done well, wife.”

Flushing at the compliment—and at the tingling warmth of his hand so close to her skin—Persephone informed Alice that they'd be honoured to stay, at least for a night or two. After wrenching her gaze away from Azriel's hand, Alice fetched a large armful of firewood and shovelful of glowing embers from the fireplace in Lord Pembleton's chamber. Then, after declining Azriel's offer to carry both, she led him and Persephone up three flights of stairs to the top floor of the manor.

“This is our finest guest bedroom,” said Alice as she came to a halt before a door that looked no different from any other. Peering over the firewood at Azriel, she said, “Would you mind getting the door?”

Azriel swept her a bow, then flung open the chamber door and stepped aside to allow Persephone to enter first. She'd taken half a dozen paces into the shabby chamber when she heard the sound of firewood clattering to the floor. Looking around, Persephone smiled at the sight of her dashing husband on one knee in the hallway, picking up the dropped firewood for their flustered hostess.

Feeling Persephone's eyes upon him, Azriel paused to look her way. As their eyes locked and he started to smile, Alice hit him across the temple with the fireplace shovel so hard that his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he dropped like a rock.

Persephone stared in horror for one forever instant.

Then she lunged for the open door.

THIRTY-ONE