King's Blades 03 - Sky of Swords Read online

  I can spare. I hope some of you will write a

  proper history of the Blades to replace the

  archives lost in the destruction."

  She stepped down and Dog offered his arm to lead

  her out. The knights bent their knees to her as she

  went by them, but no one could manage to raise a

  cheer. After nearly four centuries, the Blades

  were finished. Radgar Aeleding, once himself a

  candidate in the Order, had destroyed it with a

  single bolt. It was small consolation that his head

  now adorned a spike in Grandon.

  I will be your friend, the lion told the

  antelope. The antelope replied, Then I shall

  not fear my enemies.

  FONATELLES

  On the twentieth of Tenthmoon, Courtney's

  army pitched camp on the outskirts of Grandon,

  having marched from Ironhall without meeting

  resistance. Grand Inquisitor reported that

  Neville's forces were scattering and retreating

  northward. Parliament had adjourned, with many

  members hurrying away to join the triumphant

  Prince, and most of the Privy Council had gone

  with them. Even the Queen's ladies-in-waiting

  had headed home to visit their families, just in

  case.

  The palace seemed deserted. As the sun was

  setting, Malinda sat in her private withdrawing

  room with Burningstar and Secretary Kinwinkle.

  They were eating sweet cakes and sipping dry

  mead. There was nothing more to be done.

  "How early it is getting dark now," the

  Chancellor remarked.

  "Very symbolic," Malinda said. "Tell

  me, both of you, what did I do wrong? If I

  ever write my memoirs, what lessons should I

  pass on to the next queen regnant, if there ever

  is one?"

  Burningstar displayed one of her grim little

  smiles. "You first, Master Secretary."

  Kinwinkle looked stricken at the thought of

  criticizing a monarch, but he plunged bravely

  ahead. "I think you did very little wrong, my

  lady, nothing to be ashamed of. The dice were

  loaded against you right from the start. Lord Granville

  ruled badly and waited far too long to face

  Parliament, so you inherited a bankrupt realm.

  The manner of your father's death ... if you will

  forgive me, there is still some lingering doubt about your

  part in that. And the Blades' rampage alienated

  everyone, so perhaps you should have disowned them instead of

  supporting them." He stopped, watching nervously

  to see how she reacted.

  "Thank you." Disown the Blades after three

  hundred years? Malinda looked to the

  Chancellor, who sniffed.

  "I blame your father. He should have either

  named Lord Granville as his heir or left him

  out entirely, certainly never made him Lord

  Protector. Your claim was left foggy. It

  was a miracle that you managed to win the throne at

  all, Your Grace."

  "And you are too kind to tell me I was too

  kind to keep it?"

  Burningstar took a sip of mead in ladylike

  fashion. "Perhaps. You should certainly have left

  Prince Courtney and Master Fitzambrose in

  the Bastion until you had established your rule.

  Your leniency was an error, although one that does you

  credit. Apart from that, you made no real

  mistakes. Your father certainly blundered more than that

  in his youth, before he learned that kings must listen to their

  councillors and take time to weigh their actions.

  Courtney's capture of the Bael was a drastic

  interference by the spirits of chance, against which no mortal

  can stand. Without that, we might have Neville at the

  gates instead of him."

  That was no figure of speech; Malinda thought

  she could hear cheering in the distance.

  "I am too softhearted. I did not want

  even Granville to die as he did. As one of

  my Blades did ... and other men ... I did

  not want to cause any man's death."

  The Chancellor emptied her goblet in one

  swallow and clinked it down on the table. "If I

  may say so, Your Grace, you may still have time

  to redeem your final mistake." Her eyes

  drilled holes in Malinda. "You admit that you

  do not wish to marry your cousin."

  "I always found Courtney amusing, but as far as

  being married to him ... I hope he still uses

  love potions."

  "With respect, my lady, I have met your

  nephew only briefly, but he seemed a

  pleasant enough young man, quite ordinary. He ought to be

  a lot more malleable than your cousin. If you

  really want my opinion, I still believe you should

  have headed north to join him--yes, married him and

  made him King Consort! That debauched butter

  churn of a Courtney will be a hopeless disaster.

  There is probably still time."

  "Unlikely, I'd say." Malinda sighed.

  The cheering was growing louder. "I have thought much on

  this, these last few days. Neville seemed like a

  strapping stripling, I grant you, but he thinks

  I killed his father. He broke his oath to me.

  If I flee to him, I shall be throwing

  myself on his mercy and will end up a prisoner, not a

  wife or co-ruler." She, too, drained her

  goblet. "It would still cause civil war. I do not

  want innocent people to die because of me!"

  After a moment she added, "Love potions or

  not, I can outlive Courtney."

  The door swung open. Lady Burningstar and

  Master Kinwinkle rose. Two burly

  men-at-arms entered, Grand Inquisitor peered

  over their heads, and then all three went out again.

  Courtney came mincing in, resplendent in

  gold and scarlet, the feather in his hat as long as

  a scythe. He paused to consider Burningstar, who

  was halfway to the door already. She offered him a

  barely visible curtsey.

  He pouted. "You should have stayed with the wimple,

  darling. That neck is an eyesore. I'll

  take the chain now." He held out a finely

  manicured hand.

  She straightened so she could look down at him

  from as high as possible. "Her Majesty gave me

  this chain and until Her Majesty--"

  "Let him have it, Chancellor," Malinda said.

  "He's spiteful. And thank you again for all you have

  done."

  Burningstar angrily lifted the golden chain

  over her bonnet and relinquished it.

  "If you are wise, lady, you will now return

  to Oakendown and stay there." Courtney turned

  away from her and frowned thoughtfully at Master

  Kinwinkle, who wilted.

  "Footman? Gardener? Night soil

  attendant? No ... You were the herald who read

  out Uncle's will so badly. Well, run along

  and find something useful to do."

  Dismissing them with a flick of his fingers,

  Courtney pranced the rest of the way to Malinda,

  bringing a powerful odor of cloves. The door

  closed, leaving them alone.

  "I di
d warn you, darling." He helped himself

  to a chair and held the flask of mead up to the

  light to see how much remained.

  "You have still not sworn allegiance. I should not have

  let you get away with that."

  "No, you shouldn't." He filled Burningstar's

  discarded goblet. "But you did. And now you are going

  to be swearing wedding vows. I did warn you." He

  sipped. "Mm? Too dry for my palate. We

  are currently preparing a brief ceremony, at

  which you will sign and seal a few simple

  documents: our betrothal, a proclamation

  announcing it and setting the date for our wedding, a

  bill granting me the crown matrimonial--and

  precedence--and letters patent appointing me regent

  in the meantime with plenipotentiary powers to stamp out

  the current unrest." Removing his hat

  briefly, he looped the gold chain over his

  head.

  She did not bother to hide her contempt. His

  face was freshly powdered, the rich red velvet of

  his jerkin displayed not one speck of dust, and his

  fingers glittered with gems. He smirked like a

  satisfied child and took up his goblet again.

  "Can't you at least say you are glad to see

  me? Even relatively speaking? Would you rather have that

  ghastly Fitzambrose boy sitting here? A

  marriage knot is preferable to a hangman's.

  He has sworn to post your head next to King

  Radgar's."

  "He's no threat now," she said. "He must be

  scampering back over the Wylderland border about

  now."

  Courtney smirked. "Um ... no, darling.

  You have been misinformed. He's south of

  Pompifarth, heading this way. But I am advised

  that we can meet him and wipe him out before he

  disturbs the peace around here. That's assuming he

  turns down my final offer, which he probably

  won't--it's very generous. He will live in

  luxury for the rest of his days, few though those will

  undoubtedly be. Forget him, beloved, and think

  only of our future together. Tomorrow we shall hold the

  formal betrothal ceremony for the peers and

  diplomatic corps and so on. Then I will go off

  and deal with the Fitzambrose pest. You will stay here

  to bake the wedding cake."

  "You must be the only general in history to lead

  his army in a coach and four."

  He winced. "Dearest! You are not suggesting I

  should ride a horse are you? I leave all the

  nasty sweaty, smelly rough stuff to underlings.

  Except for breeding heirs, of course. I'll

  attend to that in person."

  "And if I refuse this romantic proposal

  you ply me with love potions as you did all those

  other women?"

  Courtney chuckled, laid down the goblet, and

  rose to his feet. He came close, and she

  instinctively leaned away from him. She had never

  cared for cloves.

  "Daaaarling!" he said, smiling down at

  her. "Do you know the nicest part of having an army

  at your back? You don't have to keep being nice

  to people all the time! It did get to be wearing

  sometimes. No, my love, no potions. Have you ever

  heard of the Quiet Pool?"

  Something unpleasant was coming. "No."

  "Well, you know those elementaries your father

  suppressed so energetically? All their books of

  evil enchantments were supposed to be destroyed,

  yes? Well, they weren't. Very few, in fact.

  The College managed to get their palsied hands

  on some, but the Dark Chamber collected most.

  The Quiet Pool is a conjuration that used to be

  especially popular with henpecked husbands and

  bullied wives." He chuckled again, studying her

  with bloodshot eyes.

  "You wouldn't dare!" she said, her mouth suddenly

  dry with fear.

  Grinning inanely, he nodded and chucked her under

  the chin. "Oh, yes I would, kitten! Let's

  settle it right now. Which is it to be? Will you be a

  good, obedient, and passionate wife, or do I have

  Grand Inquisitor turn you into royal jelly?"

  "He wouldn't dare!"

  "No? He drools at the thought. You really

  should not have struck him that night in the Bastion, my

  sweet. He even dreams of being Chancellor--

  we'll let him dream a little longer. Now,

  beloved, will you marry me?"

  That it had come to this! She wondered how bad

  Radgar Aeleding would have been, really.

  "Yes, I will marry you. I have no choice."

  "With passion and babies and all the

  naked-body-in-bed stuff?"

  "I will provide the body, as required.

  You'll have to supply the passion."

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. "Tonight,

  beloved, I will test your commitment. Until then,

  keep me in your heart."

  She had always suspected that Courtney's

  cynical mask hid a wounded, sensitive soul.

  Now she knew that the inside was much nastier than the

  outside.

  He paused on his way to the door. "I'll have

  you fetched when we're ready for the signing

  ceremony. Meanwhile, stay here, out of trouble."

  THE TRIAL, DAY THREE

  (Concluded)

  The Governor's hospitality must have been

  even more splendid than the chairman had

  predicted, because Malinda was left to her own

  devices for several hours. She paced her cell

  frantically, planning what she would say in her

  defense. "I know he's vindictive," she

  told Winter, "but even Horatio Lambskin will

  have to allow me a chance to speak. He must!

  Briefly, maybe, but he must let me make a

  statement and have an inquisitor tell them I am

  speaking the truth. Even in treason trials, they

  all get that grace. So what do I deny first?"

  Winter did not answer. Nor did

  Horatio, and poor little Moment down on the

  floor had been washed away by the fish soup

  Malinda had dropped two days ago, or had

  fled from it. Malinda had looked everywhere for her.

  Eventually she realized that she was staggering with

  exhaustion, weakened by the ordeal of the last three

  days on top of the months of physical and mental

  inaction. She fumbled in the dark to find her chair

  and flopped down on it. She had waited too

  long. It seemed only a few minutes before a

  chink of light crept in under the door, the lock

  clattered, hinges creaked. In came Nightmare,

  holding a lantern. Pestilence followed her and

  headed straight to Malinda, reaching for her,

  one-handed. Malinda leaped up and backed away,

  but there was nowhere to go. She was slammed back against

  the masonry with fingers at her throat choking her.

  A fist pounded into her chest--once, twice.

  She croaked, trying to protest. Her head was

  ground against the stonework. She knew better now

  than to struggle or fight back. That brought much

  worse hurt and humiliation.

  "This is a warning," Pestilence snarled. Her


  breath was rank. "Tonight you behave yourself, or tomorrow

  we put the men to work on you. You think this hurts?"

  A foot stamped on her instep. Malinda

  squealed.

  "That was nothing, nothing at all. Now go!" The

  jailer hurled her across the room in the general

  direction of the door.

  Obediently, the prisoner limped down the

  gloomy, twisted stairs, with Pestilence and

  Nightmare and the lantern at her back, giant

  shadows swimming on the stonework ahead.

  At the bottom the usual squad of men-at-arms

  waited to escort her along tunnel-like

  corridors, back to Great Hall and her

  solitary chair in the center.

  Two of the commissioners already had their heads on the

  table. Another three arrived late, weaving along

  the walls in efforts to make inconspicuous

  entrances. Several of the foreign observers came with

  them, in a similar unsteady state.

  "The inquiry will come to order," the chairman

  said, folding his snaky hands. He frowned to right and

  left, until the sleeping commissioners had been

  prodded awake by their neighbors. "We must now

  consider the last and perhaps the most despicable of this

  woman's crimes. She will describe to the

  honorable commissioners her actions on the night of the

  twentieth of Tenthmoon."

  Malinda gathered her wits for the battle. "I

  went to bed. I had instructed my ladies not

  to open the outer door of the suite to anyone or for

  any reason short of the palace being on fire.

  I bolted myself in, lay down, and went

  to sleep."

  "There were how many doors to your chamber?"

  She was not going to let Dog be dragged into this.

  She had sent him away days before, and by that night

  he should have already been safe in Ness Royal.

  She hoped desperately that he was still safe, not

  caught up in the web of the Usurper's vengeance.

  "Officially one. There was also a secret door

  known only to me, the sovereign, and senior

  members of my Royal Guard. The Guard had

  by then been disbanded and--"

  "A secret door to a lady's bedchamber would

  be for purposes of illicit fornication?"

  "If you say so, Chancellor. It dates from

  long before my time."

  "But you had a lover who used it?"

  Malinda stayed silent. She was not going

  to implicate Dog in this, no matter what. She

  had nightmares of him already chained up in a

  dungeon, tortured or mutilated. They might

  even try to shock her into some dangerous admission