He chose the gate on the eastern wall, assuming it would be the least busy. Even given the lateness of the hour the main palace gate would be too well guarded, too many mouths to speak of how Vaelin Al Sorna had appeared demanding an audience with the King.
“ Piss off boy,” the sergeant at the gate told him, not bothering to emerge from the shelter of the guard house. “Go sleep it off.”
Vaelin realised he must smell like an ale house. “My name is Brother Vaelin Al Sorna of the Sixth Order,” he said, forcing authority into his voice as if he had every right to be here. “I request an audience with King Janus.”
“ Faith!” the sergeant sighed in exasperation. He came out to fix Vaelin with a fierce glare. “You know a man could find himself flogged for giving a false name to an officer of the King’s Guard?”
A younger guardsman appeared behind the sergeant, staring at Vaelin with a disconcertingly awed expression. “Uh, Sarge…”
“ But it’s late and I’m in a good mood.” The sergeant was advancing on Vaelin with balled fists, his grizzled face tensed with impending violence. “So it’ll just be a beating before I send you on your way.”
“ Sarge!” the younger man said urgently, catching hold of his arm. “It’s him.”
The sergeant's gaze swung to the younger man then back to Vaelin, looking him up and down. “You sure?”
“ Was on duty at the Circle this morning wasn’t I? It’s really him.”
The sergeant’s fists uncurled but he didn’t appear any happier. “What’s your business with the King?”
“ For him alone. He’ll see me if he’s told I’m here. And I’m sure he’ll be displeased if he hears I have been turned away.” An accomplished lie, he congratulated himself. In truth he had no certainty the king would see him at all.
The sergeant thought it over. His scars told of a lifetime of hard service and Vaelin realised he must resent any intrusion into what was no doubt a comfortable billet in which to await his pension. “My compliments and apologies to the Captain,” the sergeant told the younger guardsman. “Wake him and tell him about our visitor.”
They stood regarding each other in wary silence after the guardsman had scampered off, hastily unlocking a small door set into the huge oak wood gate and disappearing inside.
“ Heard you killed five Denier assassins the night of the Aspect massacre,” the sergeant grunted eventually.
“ It was fifty.”
It seemed an age before the door reopened and the young guardsman emerged followed by a trim young man, impeccably dressed in the uniform of a Captain in the King’s Horse Guard. He gave Vaelin a brief look of appraisal before offering his hand. “Brother Vaelin,” he said in a slight Renfaelin accent. “Captain Nirka Smolen, at your service.”
“ Apologies for waking you Captain,” Vaelin said, slightly distracted by the neatness of the young man’s attire. Everything from the shine of his boots to the precise trim of his moustache spoke of a remarkable attention to detail. He certainly didn’t appear to be a man just woken from his bed.
“ Not at all.” Captain Smolen, gestured at the open door. “Shall we?”
Vaelin’s boyhood memories of gleaming opulence were not matched by the interior of the eastern wing of the palace. After crossing a small courtyard he was led into a warren of corridors crammed with a variety of dust covered chests and cloth wrapped paintings.
“ This wing is used mostly for storage,” Captain Smolen explained seeing his bemused expression. “The King receives many gifts.”
He followed the captain through a series of corridors and chambers until they came to a large room with a chequered floor and several grand paintings on the wall. He found his attention immediately drawn to the paintings, each was at least seven feet across and depicted a battle. The setting changed with each painting but the same figure was at the centre of every one; a handsome, flame haired man astride a white charger, sword held high above his head. King Janus. Though Vaelin’s memory of the king was dim he didn’t remember his jaw being quite so square or his shoulders quite so broad.
“ The six battles that united the Realm,” Captain Smolen said. “Painted by Master Benril Lenial. It took him over three years.”
Vaelin remembered Master Benril’s drawings in Aspect Elera’s rooms, the fine detail with which each was rendered, the way the exposed viscera seemed to come out of the parchment. He saw none of the same clarity now. The colours were bright but not vibrant, the battling warriors clearly depicted but stilted somehow, not as if they were fighting at all, simply standing in a pose.
“ Not his best is it?” Captain Smolen commented. “He was commanded to it, you see. I suspect he had little love for his subject. Have you ever seen his fresco in the Great Library commemorating the victims of the Red Hand? It’s quite breath-taking.”
“ I’ve never seen the Great Library,” Vaelin replied, thinking Captain Smolen would probably find much in common with Caenis.
“ You should, it’s a credit to the Realm. I’ll need your weapons.”
Vaelin unclipped his cloak with the four throwing knives secured within its folds, unbuckled his sword, unhooked his hunting knife from his belt and removed the narrow bladed dagger from his left boot.
“ Nice,” Captain Smolen admired the dagger. “Alpiran?”
“ I don’t know, I took it from a dead man.”
“ These will be waiting for you here.” Smolen laid his weapons out on a nearby table. “No-one will touch them.” With that he moved to a bare patch of wall and pushed, a section of the wall swinging inwards revealing a dark stairwell. “Follow the stairs to the top.”
“ He’s in there?” Vaelin asked. He had expected to be led to a throne room or audience chamber.
“ He is indeed. Best not keep him waiting.”
Vaelin nodded his thanks and entered the stairwell. Oil lamps set into the wall cast a dim light on the steps, the gloom deepening when Smolen closed the door behind him. As instructed he climbed the stairs, the fall of his boots on the stone steps loud in the confined space. The door at the top was slightly ajar, outlined in bright lamplight from the room beyond. It creaked loudly when Vaelin pushed it open but the man seated at the desk before him didn’t look up. He sat crouched over a roll of parchment, his quill scratching over it, leaving a spidery script in its wake. The man was old, in his sixties, but still broad in the shoulder, his long hair hung over his face, once red it was now grey but still had a faint tinge of copper. He wore a plain shirt of white linen, the sleeves stained with ink, his only adornment a gold signet ring on the third finger of his right hand, a signet ring bearing the symbol of a rearing horse.
“ Highness-” Vaelin began, sinking to one knee.
The King raised his left hand, motioning for him to rise then pointing at a nearby chair. His quill didn’t stop on the parchment. Vaelin moved to the chair, finding it piled high with books and scrolls. He hesitated then carefully gathered them together and placed them on the floor before sitting down.
He waited.
The only sound in the room came from the scratch of the King’s quill. Vaelin wondered if he should speak again but something told him it was best to keep silent. Instead he surveyed the room. He had thought Aspect Elera’s room to have been the most book filled space he had ever seen but the King’s room put it to shame. They lined the walls in great stacks rising nearly to the ceiling. In between the stacks were boxes of scrolls, some flaked and withered with age. The only decoration in the room was a large map of the Realm above the fireplace, its surface partly covered with short notations in a spidery script. Oddly some of the notations were written in red ink and others black. Down one edge of the map was a list of some kind, each item had been written in black but crossed through in red. It was a long list.
“ You have your father’s face but your mother’s way of looking at things.”
Vaelin’s gaze snapped back to the King. He had laid his quill aside and reclined in his chair. His green eyes were bright and shrewd in his craggy, weathered face. Vaelin found he couldn’t stop his eyes straying to the livid red scars on the King’s neck, the legacy of his childhood brush with the Red Hand.
“ Highness?” he stammered.
“ Your father was clever in the ways of war but in most other things I have to say he was as dumb as a rock. Your mother on the other hand was clever in almost everything. You had her look just now, when you were looking at my map.”
“ I’m sure she would have been gratified to know you held such a high opinion of her, Highness.”
The King raised an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter me, boy. I have servants aplenty for that. Besides, you’re no good at it. In that, at least, you are like your father.”
Vaelin felt himself flush and bit back an apology. He’s right, I’m no courtier. “Forgive my intrusion, Highness. I have come to ask for your help.”
“ Most people who come before me do. Although, usually with obscenely expensive gifts and several hours worth of grovelling. Will you grovel for me, young brother?” The King’s mouth had curved in a small, humourless smile.
“ No.” Vaelin found his trepidation was quickly disappearing in the face of a cold anger. “No, Highness. I will not.”
“ And yet you come here at this forsaken hour and demand favours.”
“ I demand nothing.”
“ But you do want something. What is it, I wonder? Money? I doubt it. It meant little to your parents, I daresay it means little to you. Help with a marriage proposal perhaps? Got your eye on some wench but her father doesn’t want a penniless Order boy for a son-in-law?” The King angled his head, studying Vaelin closely. “Oh no, hardly that. So what can it be?”
“ Justice,” Vaelin said. “Justice for a murdered man, justice for his family.”
“ Murdered eh? By whom?”
“ By me, Highness. Today I killed a man in the Test of the Sword. He was innocent, a victim of a false conviction brought simply to make him face me in the test.”
The humour faded from the King’s face, replaced with something much more serious but otherwise unreadable. “Tell me.”
Vaelin told him all of it, Urlian’s arrest, his wife’s imprisonment in the Blackhold, the names of those responsible: Jentil Al Hilsa, the magistrate who had condemned Urlian, and Mandril Al Unsa and Haris Estian, the two wealthy men who had sought to profit from his death.
“ And how do you come by this intelligence?” the King asked when he had finished.
“ A man came to me tonight, a man I trust.” Vaelin paused, gathering his will for the risk he knew he had to take. “A man who knows much of the troubles besetting Deniers in the Realm.”
“ Ah. For a member of an Order you choose unusual friends.”
“ The Faith teaches us that a man’s mind should be open to truth, wherever he finds it.”
“ It seems you have your mother’s way with words as well.” The King pulled a fresh piece of parchment from a stack on his desk, dipped his quill in a bottle of black ink and wrote a short passage. He then wiped the quill on his shirt sleeve, dipped it in a pot of red ink and wrote a list below the black text. He completed the document with an elaborate signature, then took a candle and a block of sealing wax, touching the flame to the wax to melt a droplet onto the bottom of the parchment. He blew softly on the wax for a moment then pressed his signet ring into it.
“ Every time I sign my name to one of these,” he said putting his quill aside, “I have to amend my map.” Vaelin turned back to the chart on the wall, looking again at the list, black words crossed through with red. Names, he realised. Names of men he’s killed. Nortah’s father must be there somewhere.
“ I’ll execute these men,” the King said. “On the strength of what you’ve told me. There will be no trial, the King’s Word is above all law. Their families will hate me for what I’ve done, but since I intend to confiscate their property and render them penniless it matters not.”
Vaelin met the King’s gaze, trying to decide if this was some kind of bluff, but saw no deception. “A family should not be punished for the crimes of but one of its members.”
“ It is how it must be with nobles, leave the family its wealth and they’ll use it against me sooner or later. Besides, I know these men and their families. They’re a vile, greedy lot by and large. Life in the gutter will suit them well.”
“ You put much stock in my word, highness. I could be lying…”
“ You’re not. Thirty years a King teaches a man how to hear lies.”
A King’s justice is hard indeed, Vaelin decided. Could he stomach it? Seeing the certainty in the King’s expression he realised he had no choice. The course had already been set as soon as he opened his mouth. “And the man’s wife?”
“ Well there we have a problem. She’s an unrepentant Denier. Aspect Tendris will no doubt seek to hang her from the walls in a cage. If she doesn’t die under questioning first, of course.”
“ Highness, you are the King of this Realm and the Champion of the Faith. There must be some influence…”
“ Must there?” The King's expression was a mix of anger and amusement. “I have done what I must this night.” He gestured to the death warrant he had written. “It is a King’s duty to dispense justice where he can. I will kill these men because they have broken the laws of this Realm and deserve their end. As for their victim’s wife, her crimes fall outside my jurisdiction. Therefore, it is not a question of what I must do, but what I may do, if it serves my purpose. So, Vaelin Al Sorna, tell me how saving this woman’s life will serve my purpose. You used your name to get in here, do you have nothing else to say?”
Mother, forgive me. “I know your Highness had plans for me, before my father sent me to the Order. If it pleases you, I will submit to your plans if you will secure the release of Urlian’s wife.”
The King’s reached for a crystal decanter on his desk and poured a measure of red wine into a glass. “Cumbraelin, ten years old. One of the benefits of Kingship is a well stocked cellar.” He offered the decanter to Vaelin. “Would you care for some?”
Vaelin’s head still ached from his binge in the ale house. “No thank you, Highness.”
“ You father wouldn’t drink with me either.” The King sipped his wine slowly. “But then he never sought to bargain with me. I commanded and he followed.”
“ Loyalty is our strength.”
“ Yes. A fine motto, one of my best. I chose it for him, even chose the hawk as your family crest. It was something of a joke actually. Your father hated hawking, it’s a sport for nobles after all.” He took another sip from his wine, wiping the red stain from his lips with an ink spattered sleeve. “Do you know why he left my service?”
“ I had heard there was discord between you over his wish to marry and legitimise my sister.”
“ Know about her, eh? That must’ve been a shock. It’s true enough that I refused your father’s request to marry and he was angry over it. But in truth I believe he had resolved to leave my side when I had to kill my First Minister. They were at each other’s throats for years but when Al Sendahl’s thievery came to light it was your father that spoke for him when no other would. He had to die of course, although it was a grievous loss. Few other men knew finance so well as Artis Al Sendahl.”
“ I have served with his son since we were boys, Highness. He could never accept his father stole from your purse.”
“ Oh he wasn’t a thief of coin, he was a thief of power. It’s a terribly seductive thing, Vaelin. But to wield it well you have to hate it as much as you love it. Lord Artis never understood that, his actions became driven wholly by ambition, endangering the peace of the Realm, and so I killed him.”
“ And took his family’s wealth?”
“ Of course. Made sure the wife and daughters were taken care of though, felt I owed him that much. Tower Lord Al Myrna was kind enough to take them in, gave the woman some land in the Northern Reaches, under a false name of course. Can’t have my nobles thinking I’m soft-hearted.”
“ It would ease my brother’s mind greatly if I could tell him this.”
“ I’m sure. But you won’t.”
The King put down his wine glass and rose, rubbing and groaning at the stiffness of his legs, going to the map above the fireplace. “The Unified Realm,” he said. “Four Fiefs once divided by war and hatred now united in loyalty to me. Except, of course, they aren’t. Nilsael sold itself to me because it was tired of armies raping its land for fodder every few years. Renfael lost half her knights in battle and Lord Theros saw that if he fought me any longer he would soon lose the other half. Cumbrael hates and fears me in equal measure, but they fear the Faith more and will stay loyal as long as I keep it from their door. This is the Realm I spilt a sea of blood to build and through you I would have stopped it tearing itself apart when I die.
“ You are right, I had many plans for you. The son of a Battle Lord and a former Mistress in the Fifth Order, both commoners at that. You would be the means by which I would bind the common folk to my line, not just in Asrael but in all the Fiefs. And when I had the hearts of the commons their nobles could call for war but none would answer. I had plans for you indeed, young hawk.” He scanned the map, his sigh heavy with regret. “But your mother had plans of her own. When she persuaded Aspect Arlyn to take you into the Sixth Order she made you a brother, bound to the Faith, not to me.”
“ Highness, if it is your wish that I leave the Order…”
“ It’s too late for that. It would be clear to all that you had left the Faith at my command. Robbing the Order of its most famous son would do little to make the people love me. No, the plans I had for you are long dead.”
Vaelin fumbled for something to say, some argument to secure the King’s assistance. The prospect of leaving Urlian’s wife to torture and slow execution was unbearable. Wild schemes flickered through his mind as panic gripped him. He would sneak into the Blackhold and rescue her, his brothers would help him, he was sure of it, although it probably meant death for all of them…
“ I was not the first, you know?” the King said softly. Vaelin saw he was looking at a short list scribbled at the top of the map. “There have been five before me.” The King tapped a finger to the five names on the list. “Five Kings since Varin led our people to this land and drove the Seordah into the forests and the Lonak into the mountains. And in five hundred years no ruling family has held the Realm for more than a generation.”
“ Prince Malcius is a good man, Highness.”
“ My butcher is a good man, boy!” the King snapped, suddenly angry. “So is my stable-master and the man who sweeps dung from my courtyard. My son is a good man it is true, but it takes more than goodness to make a king. When he took the throne you were to be at his side to do what he could not. Now all I can do is make this Realm so great that those who would tear it down will fear being crushed by its fall.”
He returned to his chair, sitting down stiffly. “And so I will make a new plan. And you, brother Vaelin Al Sorna, will serve my purpose again.” He searched through a pile of papers on his desk, extracting a sheaf of documents sealed with black wax. “Aspect Tendris keeps me busy with his loyal guidance and humble requests for new measures to combat the scourge of the unfaithful. Here,” the King selected the top most document, “he suggests the Realm Guard flog any subject who cannot recite the Catechism of Faith on command.”
“ Aspect Tendris is zealous in his beliefs, Highness.”
“ Aspect Tendris is a deluded fanatic. But even a fanatic can be bargained with.” The King held up another document and began to read: “‘I would most humbly remind your Highness of the regular reports that the unfaithful are gathering in unprecedented numbers in the Martishe forest. I have heard from the most reliable sources that these are adherents of the Cumbraelin form of god worship and are most vehement in their heresy. They are well armed and, my sources assure me, resolved to meet any attempt to dislodge them with the utmost violence. I implore your Highness, with the greatest respect, to heed my calls to act decisively in this matter.’”
The King tossed the parchment aside. “What do you make of this?”
“ The Aspect wishes you to send the Realm Guard to the Martishe to root out Deniers.”
“ Indeed, as if my soldiers have little better to do than run around the woods for months with Cumbraelin longbowmen waiting behind every tree. Oh no, the Realm Guard will not go within ten miles of the Martishe. But you will.”
“ Me, Highness?”
“ Yes. I will prevail upon Aspect Arlyn to send a small contingent of brothers to the Martishe, you will be among them. As will a young man named Linden Al Hestian. You know this name?”
“ Al Hestian.” Vaelin recalled the furious man lashing his way through the crowd at the Summertide fair where Nortah’s father had met his end. “I once met a Lord Marshal of that name.”
“ Lakrhil Al Hestian, Lord Marshal of my Twenty-Seventh Regiment of Horse. A capable officer and one of my wealthier nobles. Like my late First Minister a man of great ambition, particularly where his son is concerned. His elder son, Linden.”
Vaelin felt a hard ball of dread form in the pit of his stomach. “His son, Highness?”
“ A fine young man with many admirable qualities, sadly humility and intelligence are not among them. The fellow has a wide circle of friends, in truth a gang of admirers and sycophants. Nothing attracts friends like wealth and arrogance. He is currently the darling of my esteemed court, winning tournaments, bedding ladies, fighting duels. It’s a rather tediously familiar story, I’m afraid. A young man achieves great fame and success at an early age and begins to believe his own legend, not helped by the indulgence of an ambitious father. He is by far the most popular young man in court, far more popular than my own son who has never been gifted in the ways of artifice. Every day I’m beset with entreaties to give the younger Al Hestian a commission, something to help him prove his worth, set him on the path to glory. And so I will. He will be made a Sword of the Realm and commanded to raise his own regiment which he will take into the Martishe to root out the Deniers currently infesting it. Sadly, I predict this will be a long and arduous campaign and after,” the King paused to think, “six months or so he will, tragically, meet his end in a Denier ambush.”
Their eyes met, Vaelin’s stomach churning with mingled anger and despair. I am a fool, he decided. A mouse seeking bargains with an owl. “Urlian’s wife, Highness?” he grated.
“ Oh, I daresay Aspect Tendris will be in a more amenable frame of mind when I tell of him of my plans for a crusade in the Martishe, especially since you will be part of it. He’s fond of you, you know. I’ll vouch for the woman, tell him I’m convinced of her redemption, provided she says nothing to the contrary she will be free by tomorrow evening.”
“ I need assurance she and her son will be provided for.” Vaelin forced himself to keep his eyes locked on the King’s. “If I’m to be part of your crusade.”
“ I’m sure Tower Lord Al Myrna can find room for another exile or two. The distinction between Faithful and Denier means little in the Northern Reaches.” The King turned back to his desk, lifting his quill and smoothing a blank parchment out before him. “You will receive your orders in the next few days.” He began to write again, his quill scratching its path across the page.
It took a moment for Vaelin to realise he had been dismissed. He got to his feet, finding himself slightly dizzy, whether with anger or sorrow he couldn’t tell. “My thanks for your time, Highness,” he forced the words out and moved to the door.
“ Remember, young hawk,” the King said, not looking up from his parchment. “This is not the whole of my plan for you. Merely the beginning. I command, you follow. That is the bargain you made this night.” He glanced up, meeting Vaelin’s eyes again. “You understand?”
“ I understand perfectly, Highness.”
The King held his gaze a moment longer, then returned to his writing, saying nothing as Vaelin left.
Captain Smolen was waiting for him when he emerged from the wall. “Your visit is concluded, brother?”
Vaelin nodded and collected his weapons from the table, re-equipping himself quickly, possessed by a strong desire to be away from this place. He needed time alone to think. The enormity of his bargain with the king had stirred his thoughts into a confused jumble. He followed Smolen back along the myriad corridors lined with forgotten gifts, his mind continually repeating the King’s final words. This is not the whole of my plan for you. Merely the beginning.
“ You’ll forgive me if I leave you here,” Smolen said at the corner to what Vaelin recognised as the corridor leading to the east gate. “I have pressing duties elsewhere.”
Vaelin peered at the shadowy end of the corridor then turned back to Smolen seeing a faint discomfort in the set of the man’s face. “Pressing duties, captain?”
“ Yes.” Smolen coughed. “Very pressing.” He took a step backwards, nodded formally then turned and strode back the way they had come.
Vaelin took another look at the corridor ahead of him, a faint sensation of wrongness making his heart beat faster. Ambush, he decided. The King has untrustworthy servants. He considered going after the Captain and forcing him to walk ahead into whatever was waiting but found he couldn’t summon the will. It had been a very long night. Besides he could always find him later. He palmed a throwing knife from the folds of his cloak and started along the corridor.
He expected the attack to come at the darkest point, near the corridor’s end, but nothing happened. No black clad men with curved swords leaping out to challenge him. But there was a faint scent in the air, subtle, sweet, like flowers on a hot day…
“ I’d heard you were handsome.”
He pivoted towards the sound of the voice, the knife half out of his hand before he saw her. A girl, standing half in shadow. He managed to move his hand at the last instant, sending the throw wide, the knife thudding into the wall an inch from her head. She glanced at it briefly before stepping forward into the light. Vaelin had seen beautiful women before, he had always thought Aspect Elera the most beautiful woman he was likely to meet, but this girl was different. Everything about her, from the flawless porcelain of her skin, the soft curve of her face and the lustrous red-gold of her hair, spoke of effortless perfection.
“ You’re not,” she said, coming closer, head angled as she studied him with bright green eyes. “But your face is interesting.” She reached up, fingers extended into a caress.
Vaelin took a step back before her hand could touch his face. He dropped to one knee and bowed low. “Highness.”
“ Please get up,” said Princess Lyrna Al Nieren. “We can’t talk properly if your face is constantly pointed at the floor.”
Vaelin rose. Waiting and trying not to stare.
“ I’m sorry if I surprised you,” the Princess apologised. “Captain Smolen was kind enough to inform me of your visit. I thought we should talk.”
Vaelin said nothing, his sense of wrongness hadn’t faded. Something about this encounter was dangerous. He knew he should make an excuse and leave but found himself unable to find the words. He wanted her to talk to him, he wanted to be near her. It was a compulsion that provoked a sudden and deep resentment.
“ I had intended to watch you fight today,” the Princess went on. “My father wouldn’t let me, of course. I was told it was a very stirring contest.”
Her smile was dazzling, performed with a precise affectation of sincerity that put Nortah to shame. She’s expects me to be flattered, he realised. “Is there something you wish of me, Highness? Like Captain Smolen I have pressing business elsewhere.”
“ Oh don’t be angry with the Captain. He’s normally so correct in his duties. I’m afraid I may be corrupting him terribly.” She turned and went to the wall where his throwing knife was embedded, working it loose with difficulty. “I like trinkets,” she said, examining the blade, running her delicate fingers over the metal. “Young men give them to me all the time. None of them have yet given me a weapon though.”
“ Keep it,” Vaelin told her. “If you’ll excuse me, Highness.” He bowed and turned to go.
“ I won’t,” she said flatly. “We haven’t finished our talk. Come,” she beckoned to him with the knife, moving away from the wall. “We will talk together beneath the stars, you and I. It will be as if we are in a song.”
I could just leave, he realised. She couldn’t stop me… could she? After briefly considering the prospect of fighting off hordes of guardsmen summoned to prevent him leaving he followed her back along the corridor. She led him to a door in an unobtrusive alcove, pushing it open and gesturing for him to enter. The garden beyond was small but even in moonlight the beauty on display in its flower beds was remarkable. There seemed to be an endless variety of blooms, far more than in Aspect Elera’s garden.
“ It should really be seen in daylight,” Princess Lyrna said, closing the door and stepping past him, pausing to examine a rose bush. “And it’s a little late in the year, many of my darlings are already shrinking in the cold.”
She walked to a low stone bench in the centre of the garden, her gown swaying gracefully. Vaelin distracted himself by searching the flower beds for something vaguely familiar, to his surprise he found it in the shape of a yellow buds nestling beneath a small maple tree. “Winterblooms.”
“ You know flowers?” The princess sounded surprised. “I was told brothers of the Sixth Order knew nothing beyond the arts of war.”
“ We are taught many things.”
She sat on the bench and raised her hands, gesturing at the flower beds. “Well, do you like my garden?”
“ It’s very beautiful, Highness.”
“ When I was little my father asked me what I wanted as a Winterfall gift. Growing up in the palace meant I was never alone, there were always guards or maids or tutors, so I said I wanted somewhere to be alone. He brought me here. It was just an old empty courtyard then, I made it a garden. No one else is allowed here and I have never shown this place to anyone, before now.” She was studying him intently, gauging his reaction.
“ I am… honoured, Highness.”
“ I’m glad. So, as I have honoured you with a confidence, perhaps you will honour me with one in return. What business did you have with my father?”
He was tempted to say nothing but knew he couldn’t simply ignore her. Various lies flicked through his mind but he had a sense that the princess had her father’s ear for untruth. “I don’t think King Janus would wish me to discuss it,” he said after a moment.
“ Really? Then I am forced to guess. Please tell me if I guess well. You found out one of the men you killed today had been forced into the fight. You came here asking my father for justice. Am I correct?”
“ You know much, Highness.”
“ Yes. But sadly, I find that I never know enough. Did my father grant your request?”
“ He was gracious enough to dispense justice.”
“ Oh.” There was a faint note of pity in her voice. “Poor Lord Al Unsa. He always used to make me laugh at the Warding’s Night ball, the way he would stumble about the dance floor.”
“ I’m sure your fond memories will be a great comfort to him on the gallows, Highness.”
Her smile faded. “You think me cold? Perhaps I am. I’ve known many lords over the years. Smiling, friendly men who gave me candies and presents and told me how pretty I am, all seeking to win my father’s favour. Some he sent away, some he allowed to remain in his service and some he killed.”
He realised his own father must have been among the many lords she had met and wondered if she had aroused as much uncertainty in him. “Did my father give you presents?”
“ All your father ever gave me was a hard stare. Though not as hard as the stare your mother gave me. My father’s plan for us made them wary of me I suppose.”
“ Us, Highness?”
She raised an eyebrow. “We were to be married. Didn’t you know?”
Married? It was absurd, ridiculous. Married to a princess. Married to her. He recalled the rude little girl from his boyhood visit to the palace. I’m not marrying you, you’re dirty. Was this really how the king intended to bind him to his line?
“ No, I never liked the idea much either,” Princess Lyrna said, reading his face. “But now I can appreciate the elegance of it. My father’s designs often take years before their intent is revealed. In this case he intended to place you at my brother’s side and enhance my standing. Together we would guide my brother in his rule.”
“ Perhaps your brother will need no guidance.”
She raised her perfect face to the sky, studying the spectacular array of stars. “Time will tell. I should come here at night more often. The view is really quite lovely.” She turned to him, her face serious now. “What does it feel like when you take a life?”
Her tone was one of simple curiosity. Either she didn’t know her question might cause offence or didn’t care. Oddly, he found he wasn’t offended. It was something no one had ever asked him. Although he knew the answer all too well.
“ It feels like your soul has been soiled,” he said.
“ And yet you continue to do it.”
“ Until today it has always been… necessary.”
“ And so you come to my father seeking to assuage your guilt. What price did he extract I wonder? I expect he took you into his service. A spy within the Sixth Order would be an asset indeed.”
A spy? If only that were all. “Did you lead me here simply to ask questions to which you already know the answer, Highness?”
To his surprise she laughed, it sounded rich, genuine. “How refreshing you are. You offer me no flattery, you sing me no songs and quote me no sonnets. You are singularly without charm or calculation.” She looked down at the throwing knife in her hand. “And you are the only man I’ve met that has succeeded in making me afraid. As ever I am amazed at my father’s foresight.” Her gaze was uncomfortably direct and he had to force himself to meet it, keeping silent.
“ What I have to say to you is simple,” she told him. “Leave the Order, serve my father at court and in war, in time you will become a Sword of the Realm, and we may fulfil the plan he laid for us.”
He searched her face for some sign of mockery or deceit but found only serious intent. “You wish us to marry, Highness?”
“ I wish to honour my father.”
“ Your father believes his plan for me dead. Leaving the Order would be of no value to him now. If I followed your command I would be acting against his wishes.”
“ I will speak to him. He listens to my counsel in most things, he will hear the wisdom of my course.” He saw it then, the faint glimmer in her eyes. The wrongness deepened as he realised he had seen it before, in Sister Henna’s eyes when she tried to kill him. It wasn’t malice exactly, more calculation mixed with desire. But where Sister Henna had desired his death the princess wanted more, and he doubted it was the delightful prospect of being his wife.
“ You honour me greatly, Highness,” he said, his tone as formal as he could make it. “But I’m sure you will understand that I have given my life in service to the Faith. I am a brother of the Sixth Order and this meeting is unseemly. I would be very grateful if you would permit me to withdraw.”
She looked down, a small wry smile on her lips. “Of course, brother. Please forgive my discourtesy in delaying you.”
He bowed and turned to leave, reaching the door before she stopped him.
“ I have much to do, Vaelin.” Her tone was devoid of humour or affectation, entirely serious and sincere. Her true voice, he thought.
He paused at the door and didn’t turn. Waiting.
“ What I have to do would have been easier with you at my side but I will do it nevertheless. And I will tolerate no obstacle. Believe me when I say I should hate us to be enemies.”
He glanced back at her. “Thank you for showing me your garden, Highness.”
She inclined her head and turned her gaze back to the sky. He was dismissed. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen, bathed in moonlight. It was a truly captivating sight, one he found himself fervently wishing he never saw again.