“By force of arms? From me, a trained wizard?”
“I don’t care what it takes or what you are, the girl will be mine. I am determined on it. She is to be my wife.”
Ah, thought His Eminence, the light begins to dawn. He wants the Princess of Landover for his bride.
“You are already married, are you not?” he asked, using his most solicitous tone of voice.
“News travels slowly in this part of Landover, I see,” the other snapped. “My wife and son are dead, more than several weeks now, and thus I am left with neither spouse nor heir to my throne. Mistaya Holiday will provide me with both.”
And so much more, His Eminence added silently. “But why would she choose to marry you, if you don’t mind my asking? Not that any girl in her right mind would pass on such an opportunity, but I have discovered that this particular girl can be most obstreperous.”
Laphroig squared his shoulders, sweeping his black cloak behind him dramatically. “I will tame her. She will come to see that I am the right husband for her. It is an excellent match, Crabbit. I will give her freedom from her parents, which she obviously desires, and she will give me sons to rule!”
She will give you a foot in your backside, His Eminence thought but did not say. “Time is an issue here, is it not?” he said instead. “Her father will learn of her presence at Rhyndweir and come to take her home. Likely, she will agree. What to you plan to do about that?”
Laphroig looked momentarily nonplussed. “He won’t find out about her right away. I will have my chances to win her over.”
“But winning over a girl of fifteen might take some doing, especially if she is a Princess of Landover. If you force her in any way, she will go straight to her father and your head will be on the block.” His Eminence saw his chance now and determined to take it. “Suppose I was able to persuade her to accept you as her husband and to enter into marriage with you immediately? You cannot force a girl of fifteen to marry you, but if she signs a valid consent the marriage is binding. What if I were able to produce such a consent? Even a King would be bound by such a document.”
The Frog frowned and shook his head. “How could you manage this, Crabbit? What sort of hold do you have over her?”
His Eminence shrugged. “She came to me for shelter and I provided it. She has come to trust me. I am persuasive when I need to be.”
“You are a purveyor of horse pucky, is what you are. Come to trust you, has she? Persuasive when you need to be, are you? Nonsense! You must know a spell that will bind her to your command. You must have a way to trick her using magic.”
His Eminence glared. “Do you want my help or not? Because if you don’t, then let’s put an end to this. You risk everything by insisting on taking her by force, but that is certainly your choice.”
The Frog considered. “What do you get out of all this? You wouldn’t expect me to believe that you are helping me out of the kindness of your heart, would you?”
His Eminence smiled. “Let us be perfectly open with each other, Lord Laphroig. Your intentions go well beyond the obvious. You hunger for Landover’s throne, and by marrying Mistaya Holiday you put yourself in a position to claim it. If the royal line should diminish sufficiently, rule of Landover could fall to you.”
He held up his hands in warning as the other started to object. “Wait, wait, I am not being in any way critical of your ambitions. I, too, would like to see Ben Holiday removed as King. Having his daughter here furthers that goal. But I think it might be in our best interests to work together on this. Essentially, we both want the same thing. You want access to Landover’s throne, and I want Ben Holiday off it. What if there was a quick and easy way to make that happen?”
Berwyn Laphroig pulled his black cloak closer about him and glanced around uneasily. “You are speaking treason, Crabbit.”
His Eminence had endured being called “Crabbit” just about as long as he could, but he forced himself to stay focused on the matter at hand. “Yes or no? Where do you stand?”
“How would you make this happen?” the other whispered, leaning close enough that His Eminence was forced to take a step back to avoid his rather noxious breath.
“Mistaya Holiday will acquiesce to your marriage and sign a consent in the bargain. I will perform the ceremony myself; I am authorized to do so. You shall remain with her at Libiris when the nuptials are concluded; your conjugal rights shall be concluded and an heir assured. Her father will come to rescue her, but when he does he will find a rather unpleasant surprise awaiting him—a rather long drop down a deep hole. It will be over before he realizes what is happening. A trap has been set and remains in place. His demise will be swift, and your path of ascension to the throne of Landover will be cleared.”
He paused, doing his best to look humble. “All I ask is that I be given free rein to continue my work here as royal librarian.”
“I become King and you become royal librarian?” Laphroig did not look convinced.
His Eminence shrugged. “With certain guarantees. I would also be granted immunity from prosecution for my continued experimentation with magic. There are certain … ah, conjurings I would like to attempt that could have rather unpleasant side effects for the people involved. Of course, I would only use peasants and the like, creatures of no value.” He paused. “You would be welcome to attend at your convenience. You might enjoy it.”
He could see that Laphroig was already envisioning himself as King of Landover and that none of the rest of it mattered. He would wed Mistaya Holiday, engender an heir, and then rid himself of the girl. Ben Holiday and his Queen would be dead and gone by then, the royal family wiped out save for his newborn son. As husband of the Princess and father of the only surviving heir to the throne, he would have an indisputable claim. No one would be able to challenge his right of rule once the boy died, too.
What he didn’t know, however—what he would never know until it was too late—was that he would be dead, as well. Craswell Crabbit did not much care for partnerships, especially with creatures like Laphroig.
Moreover, he would do much better as King of Landover than Rhyndweir’s unstable and unpopular Lord.
“Do we have an agreement?” he asked brightly, beaming down at the smaller man.
Berwyn Laphroig nodded slowly. “We do. If, Crabbit, you can persuade the Princess to marry me right now and without argument.”
“Please wait right here,” His Eminence said, thinking as he turned away that this was the last time Berwyn Laphroig would get what he wanted in this life.
Neither caught sight of the black-and-silver cat sitting quietly and unobtrusively in the shadows, licking its paws.
Mistaya and Thom were sitting side by side on the pallet in the candlelit storeroom, lost in silent contemplation of their predicament and puzzling through methods of escape, when they heard the rasp of the lock bar being drawn back. They rose as the heavy wooden door opened and His Eminence stepped into view. He glanced from one to the other and back again, smiling.
“Well, you both seem to be holding up well enough. How would you like to get out of here?”
The girl and the boy exchanged a suspicious glance. “You know the answer to that question already,” Mistaya replied. “What do you want from us now?”
His Eminence rubbed his hands eagerly. “To begin with, I would like to have a private conversation with you. Thom, would you mind stepping outside and waiting in the storeroom next door? All I ask is that you make no attempt to escape while you are there. It would be a huge mistake for you to try. Mr. Pinch will be there to reinforce the point.”